‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ shouted the cabbie, as he got out from behind the wheel, while the cars behind angrily blasted their horns. ‘I’ve already got a customer.’
‘Police,’ said William, producing his warrant card. He jumped into the cab, only to see Tulip leaping out of the other side. But he immediately collided with a cyclist, giving William enough time to grab his arm and bend it halfway up his back, before dragging him inside the cab.
‘Drop us off at the nearest police station,’ said William firmly. ‘And leave your meter running.’
The cabbie drove off without another word, while William kept Tulip’s nose pressed up against a side window.
A few minutes later they pulled up outside Kensington police station, where the driver even opened the back door to let his passengers out.
‘Don’t move,’ said William to the cabbie, before frogmarching Tulip into the nick, only letting go of his arm so he could produce his warrant card for the desk sergeant.
William began to empty Tulip’s pockets, placing the contents on the counter along with the Tesco carrier bag. He grabbed Tulip’s wallet and extracted two pound notes.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ demanded the desk sergeant.
‘He forgot to pay his taxi fare,’ said William, as he turned to leave.
‘And what’s this?’ said the sergeant, pointing to the bag.
‘The evidence,’ said William. ‘Enter it on the charge sheet. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He left the station and handed the two pounds to the cabbie, who smiled for the first time. ‘One more thing before you leave,’ said William. ‘Where did he ask you to take him?’
‘The Three Feathers pub in Battersea.’
Tulip’s third mistake.
A grin crossed William’s face as he made his way back into the station. But it soon disappeared when he saw the desk sergeant devouring the evidence.
‘What are you up to?’ he asked in disbelief.
‘Removing any damning evidence we found in the shopping bag,’ said the sergeant. ‘Care for a slice?’
‘I wonder if I might seek your advice on a private matter, Sir Julian,’ said Beth, as they sat in the corner of the drawing room after lunch.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t call me Sir Julian, my dear. It makes me feel so old. But how can I help?’
‘Some of my colleagues at the Fitzmolean feel our director Tim Knox should be awarded a knighthood, but we have no idea how to go about it. After all, we’ve been voted Museum of the Year for the past two years, ahead of the Tate and the National Gallery, and both of their directors have been honoured. I thought as you had a knighthood, you might be able to point me in the right direction.’
‘Don’t tell anyone what you’re up to, would be my first piece of advice, because if it were to leak out, his rivals might try to scupper the whole idea.’
‘Tim’s such a decent and kind man, I can’t believe he has any rivals.’
‘Anyone who’s hoping to be knighted has rivals, not least those who think they’re more deserving of an honour than him. But on a more practical level, you’ll need a sponsor, preferably someone whose reputation is like Caesar’s wife, beyond reproach. Who is the gallery’s chairman?’
‘Lord Kilholme.’
‘Fine fellow,’ said Sir Julian. ‘A former cabinet minister whose reputation has grown since leaving office, and that’s a rare thing.’ He paused while his wife handed them both a coffee. ‘However, Kilholme will still need several letters of support from leading figures in the art world, and not all from the same political party. But Kilholme is an old pro, so he’ll know exactly how to go about it.’
‘And surely he’ll also know who sits on the honours committee?’ said Beth.
‘No one knows who sits on the committee. If people did, imagine the pressure they’d come under. It’s a more closely guarded secret than the contents of the next budget. They’re simply referred to as the great and the good.’
‘How interesting,’ said Beth. ‘Is that how you got your knighthood?’
‘Certainly not, I was simply born in the right cot. I succeeded my father, who succeeded his father, who switched parties when Lloyd George became prime minister.’
Beth laughed. ‘Does that mean that one day William will be Sir William?’
‘And you will be Lady Warwick, which—’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ asked William, as he walked across to join them.
‘The arrangements for our wedding,’ said Beth.
‘You’d make a rather good member of the honours committee,’ whispered Sir Julian.
‘Care for a slice of Black Forest gateau, superintendent?’ asked Commander Hawksby.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Lamont.
‘How about you, DC Roycroft?’
‘Always been one of my favourites,’ said Jackie, as the commander cut her a thick wedge.
‘Have to make sure we destroy all the evidence,’ said the Hawk, after handing Paul a second slice, ‘because I hear Tulip is considering suing the Met for wrongful arrest, using unnecessary force while dealing with a law-abiding citizen, and racial prejudice.’
‘Pity it wasn’t me who arrested him,’ said Paul. ‘Then at least he would have had to drop one of the charges.’
‘He’s also demanding that the officer concerned be suspended while an inquiry into police brutality takes place.’
‘All the more reason to destroy the evidence,’ said Lamont, scraping up the last few crumbs.
‘Sorry we couldn’t offer you a slice, DS Warwick,’ said the Hawk, ‘but then we would have to add accepting a bribe to the long list of charges against you.’
Jackie tried not to smirk.
‘But—’ began William.
‘Fortunately for you,’ said the commander, ‘the drugs in question had been shoplifted from a local Tesco store, but as the evidence has now been destroyed, we were left with no choice but to caution him, and release the suspect with a warning.’
‘But—’ repeated William.
‘Hardly the six- to eight-year sentence you’d been hoping for, DS Warwick.’
‘And what’s more,’ said Jackie, ‘the address Tulip gave us, surprise, surprise, doesn’t exist.’
‘But the pub does,’ said William.
‘What pub?’ demanded the Hawk, sounding serious for the first time.
‘The Three Feathers in Battersea. That’s where he told the cabbie to take him.’
All four officers were suddenly alert.
‘Perhaps I should stake it out,’ said William. ‘Try to find out who his fellow dealers are?’
‘That’s the last thing you’re going to do,’ said Hawksby. ‘They’d spot a choirboy like you a mile off. No, this is a job for one of our more experienced undercover officers. You just make sure you don’t go anywhere near the place.’
‘Do I know the officer you have in mind?’ asked William.
‘Even his own mother doesn’t know him,’ said the Hawk.