poured her guest a coffee, “that you are a detective, Mr. Warwick?”
“Yes, I am,” William replied, without adding, but not a very experienced one.
“Then I wonder if I might seek your advice on a personal matter?” she said, crossing her legs.
William stopped staring at The Syndics and turned to face his hostess. “Yes, of course,” he managed.
“But before I do, I need to be sure I can rely on your discretion.”
“Of course,” he repeated.
“I need the services of a private detective. Someone who’s discreet, professional, and more important, can be trusted.”
“A number of retired Met officers act as private detectives,” said William, “and I’m sure my boss would be happy to recommend one of them. Unofficially,” he added.
“That’s good to know, Mr. Warwick. However, I can’t stress how important it is that my husband doesn’t find out. He’s away at the moment and won’t be back for at least a month.”
“I’m sure I’ll be able to find the right person for you, Mrs. Faulkner, long before your husband returns.” He stole a final glance at a picture he doubted he would ever see again.
“You really like that painting, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” admitted William without guile.
“It’s also one of Miles’s favorites, which may be the reason we have one just like it in our drawing room in Monte Carlo. In fact I can never tell the difference between the two.”
William’s hand began shaking so much he spilled some coffee on the carpet. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “How clumsy of me.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Warwick, it’s not important.”
If you only knew how important it is, thought William, his mind still racing with the implications of what she’d just revealed.
“Can I tempt you to stay for lunch?” asked Mrs. Faulkner. “It would give me a chance to show you the rest of the collection.”
“That’s kind of you, but my boss will be wondering where I am. So I ought to be getting back.”
“Another time, perhaps.”
William nodded nervously, as Mrs. Faulkner accompanied him back into the hall, to find the butler standing by the front door.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Warwick,” she said as they shook hands.
“You too, Mrs. Faulkner,” said William, aware that the butler was watching him closely.
William couldn’t wait to get back to the Yard and let the team know that Mrs. Faulkner had accidentally let slip that the original of The Syndics was hanging in Faulkner’s villa in Monte Carlo. He could already see Beth jumping up and down with joy when he told her the news. But as the gates closed behind him, he put his head in his hands and shouted, “You’re an idiot!” Why hadn’t he accepted her invitation to lunch? He could have seen the entire collection and possibly identified other paintings that were unaccounted for.
“Idiot!” he repeated even louder. Perhaps he wouldn’t mention the missed opportunity to Lamont when he wrote his report.
* * *
William reluctantly left Limpton Hall, but not before repeating the word “idiot” several more times before he reached the motorway.
On his arrival back at the Yard, he parked the van, returned the keys, and went straight up to the office. He found Lamont and Jackie poring over a map covered in little red flags, as they put the finishing touches to Operation Blue Period, which he knew was planned for the following evening. They both looked up as he entered the room.
“Did you get past the front gates?” asked Lamont.
“I not only got past the front gates, I can tell you where the Rembrandt is.”
The little red flags were abandoned while Lamont and Jackie listened to William’s report. After he had fully briefed them—well, almost fully—all Lamont had to say was, “We should inform the commander immediately.”
As William and Jackie assumed he wasn’t using the royal “We,” they followed him out of the room and down the corridor to Hawksby’s office.
“Angela, I need to see the commander urgently,” Lamont told Hawksby’s secretary as he entered the room.
“Chief Inspector Mullins is with him at the moment,” she said, “but I don’t expect them to be too much longer.”
“Mullins?” whispered William to Jackie.
“Drugs. Pray you don’t get transferred to his section. Few survive, and the ones that do are never the same again.”
After a few more minutes the door opened and the chief inspector came out, accompanied by Commander Hawksby.
“Good morning, Bruce,” said Mullins, not breaking his stride as he left the room.
“I hope you have some good news for me,” said Hawksby. “Because so far, it’s been one lousy