Nothing Ventured

William looked in the direction the bookseller was pointing but only caught a glimpse of the man as he turned the corner.

‘Thanks!’ William shouted as he took up the chase on foot. His eyes continually searching the crowd ahead, but he had to dodge between pedestrians, as he no longer had the help of a siren. And then he spotted a man in a beige raincoat. He was just about to grab him, when William noticed he was pushing a stroller with one hand and holding a small child’s hand with the other.

William charged on, becoming less and less confident with each step, but then he caught sight of another beige raincoat disappearing into Sloane Square tube station. When he reached the ticket barrier he took out his ID card but didn’t give the inspector a chance to check it as he raced past. He saw the man near the bottom of the escalator, but then he disappeared again. William dashed down the escalator, brushing aside the early evening commuters, and had nearly caught up with the man when he turned right and headed for the eastbound District line.

William emerged onto the crowded platform as a train screeched to a halt. He looked left and right before he spotted the man boarding the train about five carriages away. William leapt into the nearest carriage as the doors began to close, grabbed a handrail to steady himself, and caught his breath. When the train came to a halt at the next station, he jumped off, but a beige raincoat didn’t appear. So, like the king on a chessboard, he advanced one square at a time, slipping into the next carriage at each stop.

The passenger in the raincoat didn’t get off, and four stops later William was in the adjoining carriage. He took a seat near the front and glanced through the window of the dividing door to take a closer look at his quarry. The man was turning a page of the Evening Standard, and when they stopped at the next station he didn’t even look up. This was going to be a long journey.

By the time the man folded his newspaper, they had stopped twenty-one times, which had given William more than enough time to be sure

he was following the right man. Sixty, sixty-five, greying hair, slight stoop. He didn’t need to hear his accent to know this was the same customer the manager of Hatchards had described to him.

The man finally got off at Dagenham East. William kept his distance as he left the station. To begin with he was able to lose himself in the crowd, but as the passengers thinned out he had to hang further and further back. He considered arresting the man there and then, but first he needed to find out where he lived, so he would know where the evidence was hidden.

The man turned down a side street, and stopped at a little wicket gate. William kept on walking, and noted the number, 43, as the man unlocked his front door and disappeared inside. When William reached the end of the street, he added Monkside Drive to his memory bank and reluctantly decided it might be wiser not to attempt to enter the house until he’d reported back to DCI Lamont and obtained a search warrant. He felt confident that the man in the beige raincoat wasn’t going anywhere soon.

William turned back and headed for the station, feeling triumphant, but a few moments later his mood changed. He checked his watch: 7.21. Beth must be wondering where he was.

He ran all the way back to the station, but knew as he stood alone on the cold, windy platform waiting for the next train to appear that he had no chance of being in Kensington in time for Dr Knox’s lecture. The jolting progress between each stop, which William hadn’t noticed during the journey to Dagenham when his adrenalin was pumping and he was having to concentrate every second, seemed interminable. The train finally pulled into South Kensington at 8.15. William ran up the escalator and out onto Thurloe Place, but by the time he reached the entrance to the Fitzmolean, the building was in darkness.

As he walked slowly in the direction of Beth’s home, he began to prepare a speech explaining why he hadn’t turned up in time for the lecture. He was almost word perfect by the time he reached her front door.

He stood there for some time before giving two gentle taps on the knocker. A few moments later, the door opened and a tall, handsome young man asked, ‘Can I help you?’

William felt sick.

‘I was hoping to see Beth,’ he blurted out as a figure in a dressing gown appeared, a towel wrapped around her hair.

‘Come in, William,’ said Beth. ‘I can’t wait to find out why you stood me up. Can I assume you’ve found the Rembrandt? While I’m drying my hair, Jez,’ she said to the young man, ‘would you take William into the sitting room and give him a drink? Not that he deserves one.’

11

‘DID YOU GET to the bookshop in time?’ asked Lamont when William walked into the office the following morning.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So you arrested him?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Why not?’

‘By the time I caught up with him he was on a tube train to Dagenham East. I decided to first find out where he lived, then return with a search warrant this morning.’

‘Cretin,’ said Lamont. ‘You should have arrested him there and then, and immediately searched his house. Let’s hope you won’t have to explain to the Hawk why he’s disappeared overnight.’

‘He’s not going anywhere, sir.’

‘How can you possibly know that, detective constable? You’re a policeman, not a fortune teller. Did he see you following him?’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Let’s hope not, because you’ve certainly given him more than enough time to destroy the evidence, and even make a bolt for it.’

William felt like an errant schoolboy receiving a dressing down from the headmaster because he hadn’t done his homework properly.

‘And can I also ask, laddie, why you’re still dressed in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?’