‘You didn’t have to wash your hair just for me,’ said William.
‘Don’t try and get off the hook,’ said Beth, as she sat down next to him on the couch. ‘I still want to know why you stood me up.’
William didn’t get as far as Dagenham before he kissed her for the first time, and he would have finished the story of his pursuit of the Churchill forger over breakfast, if Beth hadn’t reminded him what time it was.
‘I’m going to visit the Fake Gallery tomorrow,’ he said as he headed for the door. ‘Would you like to join me?’
‘Yes, assuming you’re not held up by the Boston Strangler.’
When William turned up at Scotland Yard later that morning he’d spent a few minutes in the washroom, doing his best to make himself presentable. But his feeble efforts hadn’t fooled Lamont.
The moment he’d returned to his little room in Trenchard House, he showered, shaved, and put on some fresh clothes. He was back at his desk within the hour, by which time Lamont had identified the suspect from his address in Dagenham — a Mr. Cyril Amhurst. He’d also secured a search warrant from a local magistrate.
‘Jackie will be accompanying you,’ he told William, ‘as you clearly need a nanny to hold your hand. Let’s hope for your sake that Mr. Amhurst hasn’t scarpered.’
William picked up a car from the pool and headed east along the Embankment toward Dagenham, with nanny seated in the passenger seat. It was their first extended time together, other than the occasional team bonding session in the Tank, the popular watering hole on the ground floor of Scotland Yard. He still hadn’t found the snooker room.
As they traveled through the East End, William discovered that Jackie was divorced with one daughter, called Michelle, and an understanding mother who made it possible for her to do the job she loved.
William didn’t mention his parents or his sister, but he did tell Jackie that he intended to visit the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill the next day, with a research assistant from the Fitzmolean.
‘Is she the reason you were late this morning?’
‘Yes,’ said William, turning to look out of the window.
‘Then let’s hope she’s understanding.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There are more breakups in the police force than any other profession. I still adore my ex-husband, but he got fed up with never knowing when I’d be home, even if I would be home, so he found someone else who was always back in time for supper, not breakfast. By the way, it might be wise to let the boss know you plan to visit the Fake Gallery tomorrow.’
‘Why? It’s my day off.’
‘Even so, he doesn’t like to find out things second-hand.’
‘Thanks for the advice,’ said William, as they drove into Dagenham.
William had learned more about Jackie in the past forty minutes than he had during the previous month.
‘What do we do if he isn’t in?’ he asked as they pulled up outside 43 Monkside Drive.
‘We wait until he shows up. A lot of police work consists of just hanging around.’
‘You or me?’ asked William as they walked up the path.
‘You. You’re the case officer.’
William felt nervous when he rapped on the door, and as the seconds passed, began to fear the worst. He was just about to go back to the car when the door opened.
‘Mr. Cyril Amhurst?’
‘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 labeled 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, dialed 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.’