Nothing Ventured (Detective William Warwick 1)

‘And when did you become aware that the pai

nting had in fact been stolen from the Fitzmolean Museum?’

‘A couple of weeks later when I saw it on the News at Ten.’

‘Did you tell your husband about that news report?’

‘Certainly not. I was far too frightened, as I knew only too well how he would react.’

‘Understandably.’

‘Mr Palmer,’ said the judge firmly.

‘I apologize, Your Honour,’ said Palmer, with a slight bow, well aware that he had made his point. He turned back to the witness. ‘And when you could no longer bear the deception, you took it upon yourself to do something about it.’

‘Yes, I felt that if I did nothing, I would be condoning a crime. So when my husband was away in Australia last Christmas, I packed up the painting and sent it back to England on our yacht, with clear instructions that it should be returned to the Fitzmolean.’

Booth Watson scribbled a note on the pad in front of him.

‘But weren’t you worried about the consequences of that decision when your husband returned?’

‘Extremely worried, which is why I made plans to leave the country before he got back.’

Booth Watson made a further note.

‘Then why didn’t you do so?’

‘Because Miles somehow found out what I was planning, and took the next flight back to London to try and prevent me from giving back the painting to its rightful owner.’ She bowed her head shyly.

‘And when did you next see your husband?’

‘In Southampton, when he boarded our yacht, and was so desperate not to lose the Rembrandt, he switched the labels with one on another crate.’

Booth Watson made a third note.

‘But this attempt to fool the police failed.’

‘Thankfully yes, but only because a detective from Scotland Yard, who’d travelled to Southampton to collect the painting, became suspicious and insisted that another crate should be opened. That’s when they discovered the missing Rembrandt.’

The journalists’ pencils didn’t stop scribbling.

‘And thanks to your courage and fortitude, Mrs Faulkner, this national treasure once again hangs on the wall of the Fitzmolean Museum.’

‘It does indeed, Mr Palmer, and I recently visited the museum to witness the masterpiece being rehung in its rightful place. It gave me great pleasure to see how many members of the public were, like me, enjoying the experience.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Faulkner. No more questions, Your Honour.’

Booth Watson looked across at the jury, who appeared to be on the point of bursting into applause when Mr Palmer sat down.

‘Mr Booth Watson,’ said the judge, ‘do you wish to cross-examine this witness?’

‘I most certainly do, Your Honour,’ said Booth Watson, heaving himself up from his place and smiling sweetly at the witness.

‘Do remind me, Mrs Faulkner, when it was you first saw the Rembrandt?’

‘Seven years ago, at our home in the country.’

‘Then I’m bound to ask, what took you so long?’