Hidden in Plain Sight (Detective William Warwick 2)

“Unlikely,” said Lamont. “Criminals rarely travel by train. They don’t

want to be in a situation where they can find themselves trapped. They like to be able to make themselves scarce at a moment’s notice, which is difficult on a moving train.”

“What about the commander?” asked William.

“He’ll be behind his desk waiting impatiently for any news. It took all my powers of persuasion to convince him he shouldn’t join us.”

“Winston Churchill had the same problem with King George the Sixth on D-Day,” said William.

“That’s a comfort to know,” said Lamont, his dry Scottish humor getting the better of him. They returned to the car. Only Danny seemed to be relaxed.

“So in theory, DS Warwick, the next car to come over that hill will be driven by your OSC, who’ll be on his way to deliver the gear to Faulkner. Should he fail to make an appearance,” Lamont added, his tone changing, “the Hawk’s orders couldn’t have been clearer. Abort. We’re not going to raid Faulkner’s house unless we can be sure the evidence we need to convict him has been delivered.”

“No pressure,” whispered Jackie as William checked his watch: 18:47.

No one spoke as they all stared intently in one direction, willing a car to appear. Heath might have been casual about his meetings with William, but surely he’d be on time for an important customer like Faulkner. Several more minutes passed before William breathed a sigh of relief, when he spotted a red MGB heading toward them. The binoculars confirmed that it was Heath at the wheel. He drove past them a few minutes after seven.

Lamont followed the car’s progress all the way to the front gates, where it came to a halt. A guard stepped out of the gatehouse, clipboard in hand. He spent a few moments talking to Heath before the gates swung open and the MGB proceeded up the long drive before disappearing from view.

Lamont picked up his radio and pressed the red button. “OSC has arrived and entered the grounds.”

“Call me the minute he comes back out,” responded the Hawk.

“Will do, sir.”

Lamont began to pace around among the trees, uncomfortably aware that the success or failure of the operation was now in the hands of others. “Did you remember the sandwiches, Jackie?” was all he had left to say.

“Yes, sir. Cheese and tomato, or ham?”

“Cheese and tomato.”

“William?”

“No, thank you,” he said, recalling that less than forty-eight hours ago he had been with Beth, sitting in a restaurant in the Campo de’ Fiori, enjoying linguine alle vongole and a bottle of Barolo from a vineyard in Piedmont.

Twenty-six minutes later, the gates opened and Heath’s car reappeared. They all watched in silence as it came closer and closer, until he drove past their hiding place and disappeared back over the hill. Lamont radioed the commander and brought him up to date.

“In theory,” said Hawksby, “the next car should be the first of the dinner guests. Maintain radio silence until they’re all accounted for.”

They didn’t have to wait long before a green Jaguar sailed past them, the passenger in the back completely hidden behind gray-smoked windows.

“If the windows in the back are clear, the passenger has nothing to hide,” remarked Lamont.

“I can’t imagine many of Faulkner’s friends having nothing to hide,” said William, as he recorded the number plate in his pocket book. Three more cars followed in quick succession, and three more number plates were noted by William, before the radio crackled to life again. It was the temporary porter at the local railway station.

“Yes, DC Adaja?” said Lamont.

“One of the guests has just arrived on the seven thirty-two from Waterloo and is on his way to Limpton Hall in the first of our cabs.”

“That means we’ll get someone past the gates and up as far as the house, if only for a few minutes.”

“I told him to report to you when he comes back out.”

“Good thinking, Paul. Keep sweeping the platform.”

A few minutes later a black cab passed them and flashed its headlights twice. The photographer smiled for the first time as he had a clear view of the passenger. Lamont followed the taxi’s progress all the way to the front gates; a stopwatch in one hand, binoculars in the other. Two minutes and eighteen seconds later, the guard finished checking the invitation and the gates swung open once again.

“With any luck,” said Lamont, as another large chauffeur-driven car sped by, “our man should be back with us in a few minutes’ time, and I’ll be able to ask him some questions we don’t yet have an answer to.”