Nothing Ventured

‘Yes,’ the man said, giving them a warm smile. ‘How can I help you?’

‘My name is Detective Constable Warwick, and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Roycroft.’ They produced their warrant cards, causing Amhurst’s smile to evaporate. ‘May we come in, sir?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, less warmly. He led them through to the front room, but didn’t sit down. ‘So what’s all this about?’ he asked.

‘We have received complaints from several London bookshops that you’ve been selling them signed copies of Winston Churchill’s The Second World War.’

‘I didn’t realize that was a crime.’

‘It is if the signature’s yours, and not Sir Winston’s,’ said Jackie firmly.

‘I also have to inform you,’ said William, ‘that I am in possession of a warrant to search these premises.’

The blood drained out of Amhurst’s face, and he collapsed onto the sofa. For a moment, William thought he was going to faint.

William and Jackie spent the next two hours going about their task, one of them always remaining in the living room, where Amhurst sat meekly on the sofa. It quickly became clear to William that DS Roycroft had carried out the procedure many times before.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Amhurst asked as a molehill of books grew into a mountain in the middle of the room.

‘No thank you,’ said William, placing two bottles of Waterman’s black ink next to several sheets of lined paper covered with row upon row of Winston S. Churchill signatures.

By the time Jackie considered

the job had been done to her satisfaction, they had between them unearthed several gems, including a complete six-volume set of Churchill’s The Second World War, of which three of the volumes were signed, as well as books by Lewis Carroll, Field Marshal Montgomery and President Eisenhower, unsigned. But the ultimate prize was a first edition of A Christmas Carol, signed by Charles Dickens.

After Jackie had placed each item in separate exhibit bags and labelled them, William arrested Mr Amhurst and cautioned him.

‘Am I going to jail?’ Amhurst asked anxiously.

‘Not for the moment. But you’ll have to accompany us to Dagenham police station where you will be interviewed and possibly charged. The custody sergeant will then decide if you should be granted bail. To be on the safe side, I’d recommend you pack an overnight bag.’

Amhurst couldn’t stop shaking.

William and Jackie escorted him to the local nick, booked him in, and handed over the evidential exhibits to the sergeant on duty. When Amhurst was charged, he made no comment, other than to ask if he might phone his solicitor. He was being fingerprinted and photographed when William and Jackie signed off to make their way back to Scotland Yard.

Once William had deposited the car keys in the pound, he joined Jackie in reception and they took the lift up to the fifth floor. When they stepped out into the corridor, William noticed that a light was still on under the commander’s door.

‘Do you think he leaves it on, even when he’s not there?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ said Jackie. ‘But there’s no way we’re ever going to find out.’

When they walked into their office they found Lamont on the phone, but once he’d finished his call, he sat back and listened to their report.

‘You got lucky, William,’ he said when they came to the end. ‘Just be sure you don’t make such a damn stupid mistake again. And remember that your responsibilities in this case aren’t over yet. If Amhurst pleads not guilty, you’ll be called upon to give evidence.’

‘Surely he’ll plead guilty,’ said William. ‘The evidence is overwhelming.’

‘You can never count on it. I haven’t got the time to tell you how many slam dunk cases I’ve lost. But I admit this one looks pretty solid. By the way, SO Rose called from Pentonville. He wants you to give him a buzz.’

After William had returned to his desk he sat in silence for a few moments, so many different thoughts whirling around in his head. Amhurst, followed by Beth, squeezed out by Rose. He picked up the phone, dialled HMP Pentonville and asked to be put through to the SO.

‘Rose.’

‘Warwick, sir, returning your call.’

‘You’re in luck, DC Warwick.’ William flicked open his notebook. ‘Three women named Angie visited Pentonville to see prisoners between April the ninth and April the thirtieth 1981. A Mrs Angie Oldbury, Angela Ibrahim and Angie Carter.’

‘If I could take down the details of all three, sir.’