‘He will be,’ said Heath, ‘even if he’s locked up. What are you going to do about it?’
‘All in good time,’ replied William. ‘First, we need to ask you some questions, and your answers will determine how much help we’re willing to offer you.’
‘But I kept my side of the bargain,’ protested Heath, who began to shake uncontrollably.
‘You did indeed,’ said William. ‘But there’s one thing that still puzzles me. After you supplied Faulkner with twelve wraps of cocaine, you say he handed over eight hundred pounds in twenty-pound notes.’
‘Yes, but first he opened a wrap, cut a line and snorted it through one of the notes to test the quality, and only after he was satisfied did he finally hand over the cash.’
‘But when the police picked you up after you’d left the house, Mr Heath,’ said DC Adaja, ‘you were only in possession of seven hundred and eighty pounds.’
‘He must have forgotten to put the one he used for snorting back in the pile.’
‘This one?’ said William, holding up the twenty-pound note he’d found on the desk in Faulkner’s study.
‘If you say so,’ said Heath. ‘Now when do I get my money?’
William handed over two cellophane packets containing Heath’s latest addiction – cash.
‘And don’t forget the eight hundred you took off me. That’s also mine.’
‘That’s now part of the Crown’s evidence,’ said Paul. ‘But we’ll make sure you’re properly compensated.’ He paused. ‘That’s assuming you continue to keep your side of the bargain. You’ll get the full amount back the moment the trial is over.’
‘So, what happens next?’ asked Heath.
‘You’ll appear as the Crown’s principal witness when Faulkner comes up for trial in about six months’ time,’ said William. ‘You’ll be questioned in the witness box, and be expected to tell the truth under oath. No more and no less.’
‘I’ve written out the statement you volunteered earlier,’ said Adaja. ‘DS Warwick and I have witnessed it, so all you have to do is sign it.’
‘Before I do, I want to know what I’m getting in return.’
‘Ten thousand pounds in cash, two one-way tickets to Rio de Janeiro for you and Miss Maria Ruiz—’
‘Business class. Plus a passport under a new name.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Adaja.
‘What about the six months before the trial takes place? I’ll be a sitting duck if I’m found roaming around without police protection,’ said Heath.
‘We can do better than that,’ said William. ‘You and Maria will enter our witness protection programme, and be housed at a secret location. After you’ve given your evidence, you’ll be driven straight to Heathrow. So, while Faulkner is in a Black Maria on his way to Pentonville, you and Maria will be flying business class to Rio.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Heath. ‘That man’s found more ways to escape than Houdini.’
‘The choice is yours,’ said William. ‘Sitting duck or safe house?’
‘Put like that, I don’t have a lot of choice. So where do I go from here?’
‘There’s a car outside waiting to take the two of you to the safe house.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Even I don’t know,’ said William.
‘If you’ll come with me, sir,’ said the desk sergeant, ‘I’ll take you to see your client.’
The officer led Booth Watson down a dimly lit brick-walled corridor, past a couple of cells, before stopping outside a door with a young constable stationed outside. The sergeant selected a key from his chain, unlocked the heavy door and pulled it open. The two officers stood aside to allow the senior silk to enter. The constable closed the door behind him and remained in his place, while the sergeant returned to his desk.
Booth Watson found his client seated on the end of the bed, clearly impatient to see him. He was still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing at the party on Saturday night but he now looked tired, dishevelled and badly in need of a shave.
‘Get me out of here,’ Faulkner mumbled, before his counsel had spoken a word.
‘Good morning, Miles,’ said Booth Watson, as if this was a normal consultation taking place in his Middle Temple chambers. He sat down on the other end of the bed, placed his briefcase to one side and an overnight bag on the other.
‘I’ve spent the night in this hell-hole,’ said Faulkner, not displaying his usual bravado. ‘I’ve already been booked in, fingerprinted and questioned. So I’m bound to ask, what’s the point of you?’
‘Did they question you under caution?’ asked Booth Watson, ignoring the outburst.
‘Yes. But as I didn’t say a word, all they’ve got is a lot of questions, and no answers.’
‘Good,’ said Booth Watson, pleased his client had carried out his instructions to the letter.
‘What happens now?’
‘We’re up in front of the magistrate tomorrow afternoon, when I’ll be making an application for bail on your behalf.’
‘What are my chances?’
‘Depends who’s on the bench. If it’s a local councillor who’s looking for fifteen minutes of fame, you’ll be placed on remand. However, if it’s one of the more experienced JPs, you’re in with a chance. We’ll find out soon enough.’
‘And if the application fails?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll be detained in prison while the Crown prepares its case.’
‘How long could that take?’
‘Six or seven months, but don’t waste any time worrying about that. Just try to focus on your bail application.’
‘What will I be expected to do once I’m in the magistrates’ court?’
‘Not a lot, other than to state your name and address.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Not quite. It’s important that you look like a decent law-abiding citizen, and not as if you’ve just emerged from a drunken orgy. So I took the liberty of picking up a change of clothes from your home that I felt would be more appropriate for the occasion.’ He opened the overnight bag and laid out on the bunk a dark blue suit, white shirt, a pair of pants and socks, and an old Harrovian tie. He finally placed a monogrammed washbag by the side of the toilet.
‘I’m going to need
