I went home and asked the word processor to run off copies of all the reports, for the Serious Fraud boys. According to the Data Protection Act I shouldn't store information like that on my computer, so I closed the curtains while I did it.
The first four people I met next morning asked me how my haemorrhoids were and suggested a variety of treatments. Then word must have passed round that it was a touchy subject, and concern began to diminish. I buried myself in the small hill of paperwork that Tony had decided I ought to know about, and fielded enquiries about my holiday. The first worthwhile phone call I received was from Diaz.
"Good morning, Charlie, or may I call you Inspector Priest?
I thought you would be back at work today. How was the drive?"
"Hello, Rafael, it's good to hear from you. The drive was hard work, not to be recommended. Any developments?"
"Yes. One of my men was in a bar and he saw a youth wearing a leather jacket which had some interesting marks on the back. He brought him in. The stuff we took from under your fingernails was a perfect match.
We now have the accomplice and the scooter, too."
"Well done. No gun?"
"Unfortunately, no, but they are known to be associates of gangsters.
Rest assured, they are the ones."
"Good, thanks for telling me, Rafael. I've put copies of all the relevant reports in the post for you. They should keep you entertained for a day or two."
He went on to tell me when the funeral was arranged for, and offered to send flowers on my behalf. After a shaky start, I decided that I had a lot of time for Capitano Diaz.
In the afternoon we had a briefing on Monday's raids. It was hard, but I had to drag myself down out of the clouds and start being a cop at Heckley again. There might be links stretching from our ram-raiders to Cakebread and Puerto Banus, but so far that was for the birds. Gilbert did the introductions and handed over to me. I split the troops into two teams and explained that Mr. Wood was in overall command and Acting Inspector Willis was running the show in the street. I'd be going in with the marines. We then split up to study our separate targets. That's when I discovered the identity of the occupier of the house I'd volunteered to enter. He was called Willy O'Hagan. I'd never heard of him, but his record said he had one conviction for armed robbery.
I put my finger on the relevant sentence and said: "Looks like we'll need to be armed."
"Sorry, boss," said Tony. "Didn't you know? Rose told us he keeps a gun in his car boot. I thought you were a bit eager to be up front."
We were nearly finished when I was called to the phone. "Priest here,"
I said.
"Good afternoon, Inspector. I'm Chief Superintendent Fearnside, Serious Fraud Office. I'd like to see you, in about fifteen minutes, if that's all right."
A real chief super, they meant business. "No problem, sir. Are you coming here?"
"No. I'll be at the Little Chef near Cattleshaw. I'll see you there."
I hesitated, remembering the last arrangement I'd made on the telephone. Fearnside must have read my mind; he went on: "If you ask Superintendent Wood, he'll tell you that he recommended the place. I'll be in a black Granada."
"Right, sir, I'm on my way, but fifteen minutes is pushing it a bit."
"Then you'd better get moving."
I rang Gilbert, more to tell him where I was going than to check on Fearnside. "What's the coffee like in the Little Chef?" I asked him.
He laughed: "Okay, they do decaffeinated."
"I'm going now."
"Give 'em hell, Charlie."
I parked a few spaces away from the Granada. There were two of them in it. We didn't go in for a coffee; as I approached the car the passenger got out. He let himself into the rear seat and gestured for me to join him. Fearnside was burly and prosperous-looking. He could have been a captain of industry. The one in the driving seat was tall and slim, and equally smooth. It was no good: if I wanted to get on I'd have to buy myself a suit. I took out my warrant card and offered it to Fearnside. He didn't look at it, but he got the message and they both showed me theirs. His aide-de-camp was an inspector called Longfellow.
The delights of production-line catering for hoi polloi apparently didn't appeal, for we went for a drive up on to the moors. I let Fearnside break the silence.
"Fascinating landscape," he said. "Absolutely fascinating. Am I right in believing the Bronte girls were from these parts?"
"That's right, sir, not too far away." I wanted to add: "And Robbie Burns, too," but managed to stop myself. Eventually we pulled into a lay-by.
"Right, Inspector Priest, let's get down to business. Superintendent Wood has told us the main story, but we need a few details from you.
First of all, tell us everything you can about Truscott."
I didn't tell them everything I knew, just the relevant stuff. I also handed over the copies of the reports.
When I'd finished he asked: "How do you believe the paintings were switched?"
"In the security van. The fakes were already in the van, laid flat under the carpet, or wherever. On the journey the genuines were removed from the frames and the fakes substituted. One of the guards riding in the back was about the same size as Truscott, so I'm assuming it was him. The tacks would go back into the same holes, so they still looked the same from the back, as well as from the front. The breakdown was to give them more time; the loud music covered the sound of hammering."
"Breakdown? Loud music?"
Gilbert had obviously not gone into such detail.
"Sorry, it's all in the reports." After a few moments' silence I said:
"I take it that the art world is making waves. Have the paintings been switched?"
He pondered on what to tell me. "Unofficially, yes," he confided.
I felt strangely pleased. I clean forgot to mention the Picasso, but later a chill ran through me as I realised that I'd gone away and left it hanging over the fireplace.
"And now, Inspector, let's hear about your Spanish trip."
They dropped me off back at the restaurant. It was out of my hands now. They had the resources and the intelligence network to really crack who was behind the theft of the paintings. A little bit of me was sorry, though George's death apart, I'd enjoyed my foray into international crime. Nicked videos and pensioners' purses lacked the glamour of drug cartels and international smuggling. It was Friday evening. I dallied in my car until the Granada left the car park, then I went in and ordered an all-day, American-style breakfast.
Chapter Twelve
I hadn't had enough time back to become snowed under with all the must-be-done-yesterday jobs that are usually threatening to engulf me.
Usually I have a couple of hours in the office on a Saturday morning, and maybe spend some time coordinating any of the troops who might be working. But, apart from a brief phone call from ADI Willis, I had a weekend off. Tony asked me if I wanted to take over on Monday, instead of being on the pointed end, but I declined his offer. The exercise would do me good I had two flights of stairs to run up.
The dead flies and streaks of yellow dirt that covered the Jaguar gave it a purposeful air, but they weren't good for the paint. I put it through a car wash and applied touch-up to the scrape. It was hardly noticeable. Then I pushed it to the back of the garage and covered it with a dust sheet In the afternoon I mowed the lawn and did some weeding. As soon as the garden looked only marginally worse than my neighbours', I stopped. Sunday, I hoovered. I love weekends like dentists love garlic.
We rendezvoused at the station at five a.m. Monday. People you've known for years always look different in situations like this. We were all wearing dark, casual clothes, with silent shoes, and one or two drew on cigarettes. There was tension behind the banter.