Hidden in Plain Sight (Detective William Warwick 2)

“But they went up in smoke with the house.”

“Lamont doesn’t think so, and claims he can prove it.”

“Sherlock Holmes couldn’t prove it.”

“But William Warwick has.”

“Not that damn man again.”

“He spent a day raking through the ashes of Limpton Hall, and has found sixty-one picture hooks.”

“That only proves the paintings were there at the time of the fire.”

“On the contrary, he says it proves they weren’t. It’s not what he’s found that’s important, but what he didn’t find. And before you say anything, Miles, I suggest you remain silent until you’ve answered a couple of questions I feel sure the superintendent is likely to ask you.”

Faulkner reluctantly held his tongue.

“If the pictures were hanging on the hooks Warwick found in the rubble, what was holding them up?”

“Picture wire of course. Except for the larger paintings, which would have needed ch—” He paused for a few moments before saying, “Ah, yes, now I remember. I had them all changed to rope a couple of years ago.”

“Enough to hang yourself with,” said Booth Watson, “because your ex-wife claims—”

“It will be her word against mine.”

“I only wish it was. But unfortunately, Warwick has recently paid a visit to the Fitzmolean, where he found the Vermeer Christina donated to the museum hanging by a steel and brass interwoven picture wire, and both the Rembrandt and the Rubens that you so generously presented to the gallery last year were still hanging on their original brass chains. So, before I fix a date for Superintendent Lamont to question you under caution, Miles, you’d better come up with something more convincing than rope. Otherwise the only way you’ll be getting out of Pentonville will be to face a new trial for arson and the theft of seventy-two paintings worth over thirty million pounds. In which case, your present accommodation could end up being permanent well into the next century.”

26

“In an hour’s time the battle will be over, one way or another,” were the commander’s opening words to his troops on the ground.

The Hawk had assembled a crack team of specialists from every field of law enforcement in the Met’s armory. They had all played their individual roles on smaller stages across the capital many times, but this was the first time they’d come together to form the biggest gang in town.

The previous night they’d taken part in a dress rehearsal with only the commander sitting in the audience.

At ten o’clock, that wretched hour when more drugs and money change hands than at any other time of the day or night, and well hidden from the public gaze, they had all assembled at Battersea power station. Four fully equipped armored vehicles, six Black Marias, a dozen squad cars, four ambulances, and a double-decker bus. Inside the power station were eighty-three men and women who had been given strict orders to remain silent about where and when this covert army would be assembling the following night, including their colleagues.

The commander surveyed his troops. As with everything else connected with Operation Trojan Horse, he’d gone over his speech again and again.

“Fellow officers, we are about to take part in one of the biggest operations in the Met’s history. Every one of you was handpicked because you are recognized as the acknowledged leaders in your particular field. Drugs are the scourge of our society, and have caused the biggest rise in crime for decades. They indiscriminately kill the young and the vulnerable, while a small group of ruthless individuals line their pockets, untroubled by the human suffering they’re causing, and arrogantly convinced they’re above the law.

“Tonight, we have a chance to strike a blow against these vile individuals, by capturing one of the most prominent of their leaders, Khalil Rashidi, and closing down his empire, which stretches from one end of London to the other. Let’s put this monster behind bars for the rest of his life.”

Everyone rose to their feet and cheered, and William was reminded why he’d always wanted to be a copper. It was some time before the commander was able to continue.

“If our operation goes to plan, we will also arrest his four closest acolytes, preventing the hydra from simply replacing its lost head. And finally, we will permanently shut down the drugs factory where Rashidi’s deadly wares are prepared before they’re released onto the streets.”

Once again, the commander was held up by the eager response of his troops.

“If we succeed, you will be able to tell tales of heroic deeds performed tonight that will become part of police folklore. Many of your colleagues will claim they were members of the Capital Gang, when drug barons became drug serfs, when our young were freed from being victims of these cynical predators. But you yourselves will never talk of the role you played, other than to those who stand by your side tonight.

“As the one chosen to lead you into battle—for a battle it will surely be—this is unquestionably the high point of my career. So now let’s go about our task, and in the great tradition of the force, let’s make a difference.”

The Hawk stepped down from the stage to a storm of cheers that only died down after he had climbed aboard the battle bus to join his inner team, who had spent so many months preparing for this moment.

“This wouldn’t be St. Crispin’s Day by any chance?” said William, suppressing a grin when the commander joined them on the top deck.

“If it is, let’s hope we achieve the same result as Henry the Fifth,” replied Hawksby as he took his place in front of a command center that looked capable of delivering a man on the moon rather than just a couple of dozen armed officers to the top floor of a tower block in Brixton.