‘Then I’ll have to be satisfied with what they raise at auction.’
‘I think that might be advisable, Mrs Faulkner, and don’t forget you have already had an offer of five million for Limpton Hall, and I’ve had it confirmed that the £500,000 has been deposited with the other side’s solicitors.’
‘Which will make it possible for me to put down a deposit on my dream house in Florida on the same terms.’
‘When are you thinking of moving to the States?’
‘As soon as the paintings have been sold. Christie’s have valued the collection at around thirty million, and will be picking them up next week, ready for their spring sale. The timing couldn’t be better.’
‘Are you confident that they’re all originals, and not copies?’ asked Sir Julian. ‘Something your ex is well capable of arranging.’
‘I’m certain. They’ve all been authenticated by the relevant experts at Christie’s. Otherwise I would never have signed the divorce papers.’
‘And where will you live once Limpton Hall is sold?’
‘In our apartment in Eaton Square. It’s only got a few months left on the lease, but that should be more than enough to see me through before I take up residence in Florida.’
‘Then everything is settled, unless there is anything else you need to seek my advice on?’
‘Yes. I have a gift for your daughter-in-law, or to be more accurate, the Fitzmolean. It’s my way of saying thank you for all your family has done for me.’
She picked up a Sainsbury’s carrier bag by her side, took out a small painting, and held it up for Sir Julian to admire. He stared in awe at The White Lace Collar by Vermeer, the masterpiece Beth had raved about after having tea with Christina at Limpton Hall.
‘That’s extremely generous of you,’ he said. ‘But are you sure you’re willing to part with such a valuable painting?’
‘Quite sure,’ said Christina. ‘After all, there are seventy-two more where that came from.’
The phone was ringing on his side of the bed, but he didn’t manage to grab it before a heavily pregnant Beth had turned over and groaned.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered, as he picked it up. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Hawksby.’
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Get yourself to Battersea heliport as quickly as possible, DS Warwick. A car will be with you in a few minutes’ time. Don’t keep me waiting.’
‘Anything I ought to know, sir?’
‘It’s snowing,’ said the Hawk before the line went dead.
William put the phone down and quickly threw on yesterday’s clothes, before kissing Beth, which elicited a second groan, as he headed for the door.
‘Where are you off to at this time in the morning, caveman?’
‘I wish I knew,’ he said, and had closed the bedroom door before she could ask any more questions he couldn’t answer. As he opened the front door a squad car was pulling up outside.
‘Morning, sarge,’ said a familiar voice as the car drove off through the falling snow.
‘Morning, Danny. Any idea what’s going on?’
‘Above my pay grade. All I know is that I’ve got to get you to Battersea heliport sharpish, where you’ll meet up with Commander Hawksby.’
Danny sped off down Royal Hospital Road, blue light flashing, but no siren. ‘Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbours, would we?’
‘Or Beth,’ said William, as he thought about his pregnant wife. Not long now.
There wasn’t much traffic on the road at that time in the morning, so Danny didn’t need to perform his usual box of tricks, though William still had to cling on to the dashboard whenever he took a corner, as if they were on a vast skid-pad.
‘I bet the Hawk’s already standing there waiting for us,’ said William, as they shot across Battersea Bridge and took a sharp right.
‘Sitting, actually, sarge, in the back of the helicopter.’
‘Of course he is,’ said William, as they passed through the front gate of the heliport. He jumped out of the car as it skidded to a halt, nearly losing his balance as he sloshed through the snow to the waiting helicopter. He dived into the back.
‘Good morning, sir,’ William said, as he strapped himself in.
‘A perfect morning for what I have in mind, DS Warwick,’ responded the commander as the rotor blades began to spin. ‘As you’re about to find out.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Wrong question. It’s not where we’re going that’s important, but what we’re looking for. So keep your eyes peeled.’
‘Any clues?’ asked William, as the helicopter rose into the sky, and he looked back over his shoulder to see the House of Commons covered in snow, looking like a Christmas card.
‘Not if you’re hoping for your next promotion.’
The helicopter banked left and headed south-east, leaving Westminster behind them.
‘Any observations you want to share with me?’ asked the Hawk after a few minutes.
‘We’re flying over Wandsworth, Southwark and Brixton,’ said William. ‘So we must be looking for tower blocks, and one in particular?’
‘You’re halfway there,’ said the commander, as the pilot made a smooth 180-degree turn, before heading back towards Brixton. ‘So, what’s unusual about this morning?’
‘It’s snowing heavily,’ said William, but didn’t add, so what?
‘You’re so sharp, DS Warwick, you could peel an apple.’
They flew over Battersea Bridge for a second time, but William was still none the wiser, although the commander clearly knew exactly what he was looking for, as his eyes remained focused on the buildings below.
After the pilot had turned back for a third time and took a slightly different route, the Hawk suddenly declared, ‘There it is, staring us both in the face.’
‘There’s what?’ said William, as the helicopter swooped down to hover for a moment above one particular tower block.
‘Take a closer look, DS Warwick, and tell me what you see. Or more important, what you don’t see.’
William stared through the falling snow and then suddenly let
