‘If I could take down the details of all three, sir.’
‘No need,’ said Rose, ‘because one of the prisoners who was visited by an Angie is still in Pentonville, and one was black, which I have a feeling Appleyard might have noticed. The third was released just over a year ago.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Patience, young man. The one you might be interested in is a right little villain called Kevin Carter, who lives in Barnstaple. That’s in Devon, in case you don’t know. He’s an engraver by day, and a burglar by night. So now it’s your turn to prove you’re worthy of the prefix in front of your name.’
‘I’ll get on to it straight away, sir.’
‘And did you pass on my salutations to your boss?’
‘I did indeed, sir.’
‘And what was his response?’
‘I think you’d better ask him yourself, sir.’
‘That bad,’ said Rose before he put the phone down.
William wrote a detailed memo of his conversation with SO Rose before handing it to the boss.
‘And what is the one word that leaps off the page?’ said Lamont after he’d read the report.
‘Engraver.’
‘You’re learning fast,’ said Lamont. ‘Though Carter and Barnstaple would be a close second and third.’ He swiveled his chair around. ‘Jackie, you’d better join us.’
Once DS Roycroft had settled, the inevitable biro in hand, notebook open, Lamont continued.
‘The two of you are going to have to spend at least a couple of days in the West Country keeping a close eye on Carter. I need you to find out what he’s up to, and exactly what he’s engraving on the silver he purchased from the vaults. And why he’s suddenly a buyer, when he usually nicks the stuff. He doesn’t have that sort of money, so someone must be bankrolling him. But who?’
‘When do you want us to leave, sir?’ asked Jackie.
‘As soon as possible. Unless either of you have anything more important to keep you in London?’
‘I may have,’ said William. ‘I recently met a researcher at the Fitzmolean, and although I didn’t learn a great deal more about the theft of the Rembrandt, she suggested I visit the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill, which I had intended to do tomorrow morning.’
‘Why?’ barked Lamont.
‘On the off chance I might spot a similar work by the artist who produced the copy of the Rembrandt.’
‘Worth a try,’ said Lamont. ‘And take the young lady along with you, especially if she was the reason you were late this morning.’
Jackie suppressed a smile.
‘So that’s settled,’ said Lamont. ‘You and Jackie can drive down to Barnstaple first thing on Monday morning.’
‘Can I ask how the diamond smuggling is going, sir?’ asked William.
‘Don’t get cheeky with me, detective constable, or you might just find yourself back in Lambeth in time for the night shift.’
‘I have an interesting case that might just appeal to you,’ said Clare as she handed over a file marked PRIVATE.
Grace took her time studying her instructing solicitor’s appraisal of the case before saying, ‘But surely the presiding judge wouldn’t allow the trial to proceed, given the circumstances?’
‘There’s a precedent,’ said Clare. ‘Mr. Justice Havers allowed his son and daughter to appear before him, with one of them representing the Crown while the other appeared for the defense. But not before the defendant had agreed to the arrangement.’
‘Not my usual fare,’ admitted Grace as she read the charge sheet for a second time. ‘But I confess I find the challenge irresistible. And I bet my father wouldn’t put up any objection.’
‘Have you told him about us?’ inquired Clare, trying not to sound anxious.
‘I haven’t found the right opportunity yet.’
‘Will you ever?’ sighed Clare, before adding, ‘I looked up the word “reactionary” in my OED, and your father’s name appeared in the footnotes.’
Grace laughed. ‘I’ve told my mother all about you, and she couldn’t have been more supportive. She asked if you’d like to join us for lunch on Sunday, and let Dad work it out for himself?’
‘Who do you think your father would be more happy to propose as a member of the Garrick — a mass murderer or a lesbian?’
‘Mass, I couldn’t be sure about,’ said Grace as she placed the folder on the bedside table and turned out the light.
12
They sat together on the top deck of a bus heading for Notting Hill.
‘Do you have a plan, Detective Constable Warwick,’ asked Beth, ‘or are we just winging it?’
‘We’re winging it,’ admitted William. ‘But I’m hoping that by the time we get back on the bus I’ll know who painted the copy of the missing Rembrandt.’
‘Did you manage to dig up anything interesting about the gallery?’
‘It was founded twelve years ago by two brothers, Malcolm and Zac Knight. It started out as a portrait gallery, but they soon found there wasn’t a profit in that and moved on to producing unsigned copies of famous paintings for customers who couldn’t afford the real thing, but want a masterpiece on their wall for a thousandth of the price. That was when the business really took off. How about you?’
‘I asked around my arty friends. A lot of them don’t approve of the gallery, although one or two did admit that it’s given some struggling artists a reasonable living they wouldn’t otherwise have had. Apparently some of the copies are of exceptional quality. But I’d still rather have an original.’
‘Then you’re going to have to steal one. Or marry a very rich man.’
‘Neither will be necessary,’ said Beth. ‘I already live with some of the finest artists on earth, and my latest boyfriend is practically penniless, so that doesn’t look too promising.’
‘But most of those artists are dead Dutch men, so your boyfriend must be in with a chance.’
‘Not unless he finds my Rembrandt.’
‘Is that why you tried to pick me up?’
‘It was you who tried to pick me up, in case you’ve forgotten. And on our second date, you didn’t even show up.’
‘I’d already heard the lecture,’ said William, taking her hand.
‘Well, I hope you’re not thinking of leaving the Art and Antiques squad before you’ve found my Rembrandt.’
‘I won’t be moving for some time yet. But if I pass my sergeant’s exam, in a couple of years’ time they’ll probably move me to another department.’
‘You’re not going anywhere until my Rembrandt is back in its frame, otherwise I shall transfer my affections to whoever takes your place.’
‘Lucky man. But if we find out who copied The Syndics, we’ll be one step nearer to discovering what happened to the original.’
The bus came to a halt, and William stood aside to allow Beth to go ahead of him.
‘Not many men bother to do that nowadays,’ Beth commented as she made her way down the stairs. ‘I can’t wait to meet your father. He must be an old-fashioned gentleman.’
‘That’s something I’ve always taken for granted,’ admitted William, ‘and have only begun to appreciate recently.’
‘You’ll remember Mark Twain’s comment about his father,’ said Beth as they stepped off the bus. ‘“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he’d learned in seven years.”’ William laughed, and Beth asked, ‘Do you have any idea where you’re going?’
‘No,’ said William, ‘but I’ve seen someone who might.’ He stopped a passing bobby and asked him if he knew where Abbots Road was.