Hidden in Plain Sight (Detective William Warwick 2)

“Marijuana occasionally, but who hasn’t? He’s certainly not an addict.”

“You can still get six months if you’re caught in possession of marijuana, and added to his suspended four-year sentence—”

“If he was caught, Booth Watson would appear on his behalf, and claim you’d lit the joint for him.”

“Having captured the prestigious prize, Stephenson was awarded the contract to build seven more locomotives for the Liverpool and Manchester Railway Company.”

“All I can tell you is that since I’ve moved out of Limpton Hall, Miles has started hosting all-night parties, and I’d be surprised if one or two of his friends didn’t snort coke or even worse. But you’d still have to get past the front gates to catch them at it, and so far, you’re the only policeman who’s ever managed that—and just in case you’ve forgotten, Miles was away at the time. In any case, I can’t see a magistrate issuing a search warrant on such flimsy grounds as you suspecting that somebody just might be smoking pot during a private dinner party.”

“At the opening ceremony of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway in 1830, Rocket struck a local member of parliament while he was standing on the track, and his injuries sadly proved fatal.”

“Mind you, I’m still in touch with our old housekeeper, so if I hear anything, I could let you know.”

“Please do,” said William, turning back toward the lecturer.

“After Rocket completed its final run in 1862, the L and MR donated Stephenson’s masterpiece to the Science Museum, where it has resided to this day.”

“Anything else, detective constable?” asked Christina. “I’m already late for my lunch at the Ritz.”

“If you were able to find out the date of his next party—”

“You’ll be the first to hear, William,” she said before slipping quietly away.

“That’s the end of my little talk,” said the guide. “If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.”

Several hands shot up as William turned to leave. But then, all his questions had been answered.

* * *

William was waiting for a train at South Kensington tube station, on his way back to Scotland Yard, when he spotted him standing on the opposite platform, looking like any commuter on his way to work. William recognized him immediately; he was even carrying the same Tesco shopping bag. The moment their eyes met, Tulip immediately turned and began running toward the nearest exit. That was his first mistake. Instead of getting on the next train, he’d made a run for it.

William charged up the escalator steps two at a time. As he approached the barrier, he saw Tulip handing his ticket to a collector, who, after checking it, looked puzzled. William didn’t stop running and flashed his warrant card at the collector without breaking his stride. He began to gain on his prey, but then this time he was sober.

Each time Tulip looked back over his shoulder, William had gained a precious yard. But then he stopped to hail a passing cab and leaped inside. Tulip’s second mistake. William was just a couple of yards adrift when the cab moved off, and it had only traveled a hundred yards before it stopped at a red light. William treated the chase like an Olympic final, and was only a few strides from the tape when the light turned amber. He grabbed the cab door and was still h

olding on when the light turned to green, causing the driver to slam on his brakes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” shouted the cabbie, as he got out from behind the wheel, while the cars behind angrily blasted their horns. “I’ve already got a customer.”

“Police,” said William, producing his warrant card. He jumped into the cab, only to see Tulip leaping out of the other side. But he immediately collided with a cyclist, giving William enough time to grab his arm and bend it halfway up his back, before dragging him inside the cab.

“Drop us off at the nearest police station,” said William firmly. “And leave your meter running.”

The cabbie drove off without another word, while William kept Tulip’s nose pressed up against a side window.

A few minutes later they pulled up outside Kensington police station, where the driver even opened the back door to let his passengers out.

“Don’t move,” said William to the cabbie, before frogmarching Tulip into the nick, only letting go of his arm so he could produce his warrant card for the desk sergeant.

William began to empty Tulip’s pockets, placing the contents on the counter along with the Tesco carrier bag. He grabbed Tulip’s wallet and extracted two pound notes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded the desk sergeant.

“He forgot to pay his taxi fare,” said William, as he turned to leave.

“And what’s this?” said the sergeant, pointing to the bag.

“The evidence,” said William. “Enter it on the charge sheet. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left the station and handed the two pounds to the cabbie, who smiled for the first time. “One more thing before you leave,” said William. “Where did he ask you to take him?”