‘I need to see you urgently,’ said a familiar voice.
Me too, thought William, but satisfied himself with, ‘Where? When?’
‘The Tate at eleven o’clock tomorrow.’
‘Why the Tate?’
‘There are unlikely to be many dealers hanging about in an art gallery on the off-chance of finding a customer. As I recall, art was your favourite subject at school, so you can decide where.’
‘There’s a large Henry Moore in gallery three.’
‘Who’s Henry Moore?’
‘You won’t be able to miss her.’
‘Then I’ll see you there at eleven tomorrow.’
‘Today,’ William said, but Adrian had already put down the phone.
‘Who was that?’ said Beth.
‘Josephine Hawksby.’
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Hawksby. My name’s Beth Rainsford. I’m sorry to bother you, but—’
‘You’ve invited Jack and me to your wedding next month, and we’re both looking forward to it.’
‘That’s kind of you to say so,’ said Beth. ‘William and I are delighted you’ll be able to make it. But that wasn’t why I was calling. I was hoping you’d be able to advise me on a personal matter, but preferably not over the phone.’
‘Of course. Why don’t we have tea next Friday, say five o’clock at Fortnum’s? That’s one place I can be fairly confident we won’t be overheard by any nosy policemen.’
After briefing Lamont on his early morning phone call, William left Scotland Yard and set off for the Tate to catch up with his OSC. He was anxious to discover why Adrian wanted to see him so urgently, and had several questions prepared long before he climbed the steep flight of steps that led up to the gallery entrance.
Although he was early, William headed straight for gallery three, where he found a small group of visitors admiring Moore’s Reclining Figure. While he waited for Heath to appear, he tried to relax by walking around the room, familiarizing himself with some old friends, while making new ones. He occasionally glanced back at the Moore, but once again Heath was late, so he circled the room a second time, even more slowly.
Heath strolled into gallery three at twenty past eleven, possibly imagining that being late gave him the upper hand. William had drifted across to Eric Gill’s Crucifix, where Heath joined him a few moments later.
‘Let’s talk on the move,’ said William, ‘then we won’t be overheard.’
Heath nodded as William walked on to stand in front of Millais’ Ophelia floating in a river surrounded by flowers. He tried to concentrate on the man and not the woman. ‘Why did you want to see me so urgently?’
‘Do you remember Tulip?’
‘Your dealer.’
‘Not any longer.’
‘How come?’ William asked. Someone had joined them to drool over Ophelia, so they quickly moved across to Stubbs’s Horse Attacked by a Lion.
‘Tulip ended up in hospital after swallowing a clingfilm wrap of cocaine just before he was arrested.’
‘An occupational hazard,’ said William, without emotion.
‘Which I intend to take advantage of, because he’s asked me to service his customers while he’s away.’
William thought about the significance of these words while pretending to concentrate on a Norfolk river scene by Constable.
‘Constable and Turner were born only a year apart,’ he said, as someone else joined them. ‘But they couldn’t have been more different: one old-fashioned and traditional, the other genuinely original and rebellious. Which is probably why they were never friends.’
‘Sounds a bit like us,’ said Heath, before walking away and pretending to look at another picture. ‘But let’s get down to business. I need a favour,’ he said once William had rejoined him.
‘What do you have in mind?’ William asked, as one of them took a closer look at Morland’s The Fortune Teller.
‘While Tulip’s away, it’s my big chance to make some real money so I can finally escape, but I’ll need your boys to give me a free run for a few weeks, no more.’
‘Why would we agree to do that?’
‘Because as soon as Tulip’s back, I’ll give you the names of every one of his contacts.’
‘He’ll kill you.’
‘Not if I’m on the other side of the world before he finds out, he won’t.’
‘It’s not enough,’ said William, as two members of the public paused to admire the Morland.
‘What more do you want?’ asked Heath, as they walked on to the next painting.
‘The location of Rashidi’s slaughter.’
‘Even Maria doesn’t know that. But I’m working on it.’
‘Then let’s start you off with something a little easier as proof of your goodwill.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘We know that one of Tulip’s customers is a man called Miles Faulkner.’
‘I’ve seen his name on Tulip’s list, but he’s not a regular. Always expects the purest gear, and pays top whack. But he hasn’t been in touch recently.’
‘He will be,’ said William without explanation. ‘And when he is, I need to know exactly which drugs he orders and where he wants them delivered.’
‘And if I tell you that, you’ll let me get on with my job until Tulip gets back?’
‘Only my guv’nor can sanction that, but if he agrees, and you fail to deliver, I’ll personally visit Tulip in hospital and tell him what you’ve been up to in his absence.’
‘You wouldn’t do that to an old friend.’
‘Like Turner, you’re not an old friend,’ said William, as they arrived back at Gill’s Crucifix.
‘I must admit,’ said Heath, ‘Moore’s good.’
8
‘IT’S A DIFFERENT number plate, but the same taxi,’ said Jackie, lowering her binoculars.
‘How can you be sure?’ asked William, as they watched a black cab drive slowly into The Boltons.
‘Same box of Kleenex on the back shelf.’
‘Well spotted,’ said William. They continued to watch as Rashidi stepped out of the cab and opened the front gate of No. 24.
‘Same hat, gloves, coat and scarf,’ said Paul. ‘Clearly a man of habit.’
‘Which might well turn out to be his downfall,’ said William.
The photographer had begun snapping away as soon as Rashidi stepped out of the taxi, although he’d warned William that because he was so well covered up, he
