When William eventually became the commissioner, Jackie wondered if he would even remember her name.
William stuck to the middle lane and kept a steady speed so as not to wake her. It wasn’t long before his mind drifted back to Beth. How long would she tolerate a boyfriend who was so unreliable? He would call her the moment they arrived in Barnstaple and explain why he wouldn’t be joining her for supper.
Old silver, a missing Rembrandt, and how to get into Faulkner’s house and meet his wife continued to occupy his mind, although Beth was continually trying to butt in.
The moment William turned off the motorway, Jackie woke up and immediately began to check the map on her lap. “Head for the town center,” she said, as if she’d never been asleep. “It will be a left turn for the street Carter lives in. I’ll warn you in good time.”
After a couple more miles Jackie said, “Take the next turning on the left, and slow down when you pass number ninety-one. Then first right, and make sure you park well out of sight.”
Jackie took a close look at the modern semidetached house with its pocket-handkerchief garden as they passed number 91 Mulberry Avenue, but it wasn’t the house that caught her attention. William turned right and parked behind a large van.
Jackie got out of the car, stretched her arms, and scanned the horizon. “Do you see what I see?” she said.
William looked in the direction she was pointing. “Do you mean that large house up on the hill?”
“The Romans would have occupied that position and built a fortress so they could keep a close eye on their enemies.”
“But it’s a long way away.”
“True, but it has a panoramic view of the town, including Carter’s house. But as we’re not Romans let’s hope it’s a hotel,” Jackie said as she climbed back into the car.
William kept the building in sight as he wound his way slowly up the hill until he spotted a sign announcing SEA VIEW HOTEL, with an arrow pointing up a long drive.
“All we need now is for the room with that big bay window at the front to be available for the next few days,” said Jackie. “You do the talking. I’ll try and look meek.”
“That will be a first,” muttered William as he parked the car.
“Good afternoon,” said the young woman at the reception desk. “How can I help you?”
“We were wondering if the room overlooking the bay was free,” said William.
“The Queen Anne suite? Let me check, sir.” She took a moment to look at the register, before saying, “Yes, but only for a couple of nights. The room’s already booked for Wednesday.”
“How much?” asked William.
“Thirty pounds a night, breakfast included.”
William hesitated. “We’ll take it,” said Jackie, and whispered, “Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” before he signed the register.
“The porter will take the bags up to your room, Mr. Smith,” the receptionist said, handing him a key.
William wondered how many Mr. and Mrs. Smiths had occupied the Queen Anne suite over the years. Certainly none to do what he and Jackie had in mind.
They took the lift to the top floor, where they found the porter already standing by an open door carrying their bags.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked after showing them the room.
“No, thank you,” said William, handing him 50p that he was certain Mrs. Walters wouldn’t be reimbursing.
By the time the porter had closed the door, Jackie was already looking out of the window through a pair of binoculars.
“A professional hitman couldn’t ask for a better sight line,” she said as she focused in on Carter’s front room.
“Isn’t Lamont going to kick up a fuss about the cost of a suite?”
“Only if we go back to London empty-handed.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” said William, looking enviously at the double bed.
“No one’s going to sleep on the couch,” said Jackie. “We’ll work in shifts, night and day, so we can both get some kip, while never letting Carter out of our sight. Now, you keep your eye on the house while I go and report to the local nick and let them know what we’re up to. And don’t eat all the biscuits, because we won’t be ordering room service.”
William settled into a comfortable chair and focused the binoculars on Carter’s house. He could just make out the number plate of a Volvo parked in the drive, and made a note of it. He shifted his attention to a