“I must have missed something,” said William. “Why didn’t Booth Watson make a deal with the insurers and settle the claim soon after Faulkner had stolen the Rembrandt?”
“The Fitzmolean were lamentably underinsured. A problem several leading galleries face at the moment. Their paintings and sculptures have soared in value over the years, and they simply can’t afford to insure them for realistic sums.”
“However,” chipped in Lamont, “the setback will have taught Faulkner one lesson. Don’t steal from galleries that aren’t fully insured or don’t have sufficient resources to offer a reward.”
“Any questions, Warwick?” said Hawksby.
“Yes, sir,” said William. “We now know that the Rembrandt you thought was the original is in fact a copy.”
“What’s your point?” said Jackie, still smarting from her mistake.
“Someone must have painted that copy.”
“Faulkner perhaps?” suggested Lamont. “After all, he began life as an art student.”
“Not if the Slade’s opinion of his talent is to be believed. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t know an artist who was capable of doing the job. They might well have been contemporaries at the Slade.”
“If that’s the case,” said Lamont, “you’re the obvious man to find out who that person is.”
“Agreed,” said Commander Hawksby, checking his watch. “Do you have any more questions, DC Warwick?”
“Just one, sir. How did you get hold of the copy?”
“We were able to convince a local magistrate that we had reason to believe Faulkner might be in possession of an important work of art that had been stolen from the Fitzmolean. He signed a search warrant, and we raided Faulkner’s home later that night. Until you appeared, we thought we’d hit the jackpot.”
“Did you get a chance to study the rest of his collection while you were in his home?”
“Yes,” said Lamont, “and not one of them was on our list of missing pictures, and he was also able to produce receipts for all his other paintings.”
“So he reinvests his ill-gotten gains in artwork, which makes me even more convinced he won’t have destroyed the Rembrandt.”
“Don’t bet your pensions on it,” said Hawksby as he closed his file. “That brings us up to date, and I don’t need to remind you that this is not the only case we are currently investigating. So don’t neglect the others gathering dust on your desks. I’m finding it difficult enough to justify any further expense to the commissioner, and a few convictions, however minor, would assist our cause. This government seems to be more interested in the numbers game than in catching real criminals. So let’s get back to work.”
Everyone around the table gathered up their files and headed for the door. But before William could leave the room, Hawksby said, “I’d like a word, Warwick.”
The commander waited until the door had been closed before he spoke again.
“William, I know you’re bright, your colleagues also know you’re bright, so you don’t have to continually remind them you turned what they had thought was a triumph into a disaster. If you want to end up in this chair one day, don’t spend any more time pissing off the people you’ll be working with. I suggest you occasionally seek advice, and don’t just dispense it. Perhaps you should spend a little more time in the snooker room, as it didn’t seem to do you any harm in Lambeth.”
William recalled his father’s words. Not a man to be underestimated.
Quietly he left the room, his head bowed. He thought about the commander’s words as he walked slowly down the corridor. He hadn’t yet visited the snooker room at Scotland Yard. When he returned to the office he shared with his colleagues, he found two case files had been dumped on his desk. He was halfway through one labeled CHURCHILL, when DS Roycroft appeared by his side.
“Which one do you think I should start on, sarge?” he asked her.
“Remind me,” said Jackie.
“Winston Churchill, or moon dust?”
“Moon dust should be pretty easy to deal with. The professor is clearly not a criminal, and frankly, Mr. Underwood, the undersecretary at the American Embassy, is overreacting. But we don’t want a diplomatic incident, so make sure you tread carefully.”
“And Churchill?”
“Churchill will be more of a challenge, but as the Hawk reminded us, nowadays it’s all about numbers, so make sure you apprehend the culprit and charge him, even though I suspect he’ll only get a six-month suspended sentence. At least it will be one more for the record. More importantly, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that you’re single-handedly going to find the Rembrandt forger in the hope he’ll lead us to Faulkner. One piece of advice, Bill,” she said pointedly. “Don’t even think about going home before the light under the Hawk’s door has been switched off.”
“Thanks for the advice,” said William, as he reopened the moon dust file. After reading all the details of the case, he had to agree with Jackie that the professor may have been naive, even culpable, but he certainly wasn’t a criminal.
When Big Ben struck six times, William decided it was too late to phone the undersecretary at the American Embassy, as Mr. Underwood wouldn’t have to wait until the light in the Hawk’s office had been switched off before he could go home.
7
“Can you put me through to Mr. Chuck Underwood?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Detective Constable William Warwick, from Scotland Yard.”
“I’ll see if the undersecretary is available.”
William had to wait so long, he wondered if the line had gone dead. Finally a voice came on the line.
“Warwick?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s happened to DS Roycroft?”
“I’ve taken over the case, sir.”
“Is there anything lower than a detective constable?”
“Only a probationer, sir, and I was one of those not so long ago.”
“And you will be again if I don’t get my moon dust back.”
“I’m working on it, sir, but I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Not again!”
“Did the American government originally give the phial of moon dust to Professor Francis Denning of Manchester University as a gift?”
“Yes, we did. But there were conditions attached. We made it clear it was never to be passed on to anyone else, and that under no circumstances was it to be sold to a third party.”
“And was that put in writing at the time?”
“It most certainly was, and we have the documentation to prove it. And now, as I’m sure you are aware, a Dr. Keith Talbot has put the phial up for sale at Sotheby’s.”
“Yes, I did know, sir. I have the catalog in front of me.”
“Then you will see on page thirty-one, lot nineteen, a phial of moon dust, rare, brought back from the Apollo 11 mission by Mr. Neil Armstrong.”
“However,” said William, “the late Professor Denning left the phial to Dr. Talbot in his will.”