The judge’s summing-up was fair and unbiased. He presented the facts without trying to influence the jury in either direction. He placed considerable emphasis on the unexplained sheets of Churchill signatures, but he also stressed that the Crown had produced no evidence to prove that A Christmas Carol was not a family heirloom. After he had completed his summation, he instructed the jury to retire and consider their verdict.
Just over two hours later the seven men and five women filed back into the jury box. Once they were settled, the clerk of the court asked the foreman to rise. A stout, steely-looking woman in a smart, tightly fitting check suit rose from her place at the end of the front row.
‘Foreman of the jury, have you been able to reach a verdict on which you are all agreed?’
‘Yes we have, Your Honor.’
‘On the first charge, of forgery, namely of the signature of Sir Winston Churchill on eighteen books, with the intention of deceiving the public and making a profit. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?’
‘Not guilty,’ she replied firmly.
‘And on the second charge, of being in possession of a book bearing the forged signature of Charles Dickens with the intention of deceiving the public and making a profit. Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
‘Not guilty.’
‘And on the third charge, of possessing three volumes from Winston Churchill’s The Second World War bearing the forged signature of Sir Winston Churchill, do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty.’
While some in the courtroom gasped, William breathed a sigh of relief. He would be able to return to work the next day, if not in triumph, then at least not having to admit to being a complete failure.
‘Will the prisoner please rise,’ said the clerk of the court.
Amhurst rose, his head slightly bowed.
‘Cyril Amhurst, you have been found guilty of a serious crime, for which I sentence you to one year in prison.’
William tried not to smile.
‘However, as you have up until now had an unblemished record, and this is your first offense, the sentence will be suspended for two years, during which time I would recommend you do not visit too many bookshops. You are free to leave the court.’
‘Thank you, Your Honor,’ said Amhurst, before stepping down from the dock and giving his counsel a long hug.
William shook Hayes’s hand, and thanked him for his gallant effort.
‘Your sister was quite brilliant,’ admitted Hayes. ‘With almost nothing to play with, she beat us two — one, and in the end she even had the referee coming down in her favor. I won’t make the same mistake if I come across her again.’
‘Nor will I,’ said William, before slipping quietly out of the courtroom. He found Grace standing in the corridor, waiting for him.
She gave him that grin he knew so well. ‘Got time for a drink, bruv?’
Over dinner that evening, William told Beth exactly what had happened in court. She burst out laughing and said, ‘You’re a complete idiot.’
‘I agree. I’m dreading going into work tomorrow. If I’m not back on the beat, I’ll certainly be put in the stocks.’
‘The laughing stocks would be my bet,’ said Beth. ‘I only wish I’d been there to see the look on your face when the judge decided to suspend the sentence.’
‘Thank God you weren’t. But if I ever come up against my sister again, I’ll make sure I’m better prepared.’
‘So will she.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘I haven’t decided yet, because you still haven’t told me how you got on when you visited Eddie Leigh in Pentonville.’
William put down his knife and fork and described the meeting in great detail. When he came to the end, all Beth said was, ‘Egg yolk. That more than makes up for your feeble effort in the witness box this morning. But do you think Leigh knows where the Rembrandt is?’
‘I’m fairly sure he does, because it turns out that he and Faulkner were at the Slade at the same time. But we’re the last people he’s going to tell. In fact I expect he regrets going as far as he did.’
‘Maybe you’ll learn more when you take the copy back to Faulkner’s home tomorrow.’
‘Maybe I won’t get past the front gate.’
19
William sat at his desk nervously awaiting his fate. He was reading about the latest development in the Blue Period Picasso case when Lamont came barging into the room.
‘What was the outcome yesterday?’ were the DCI’s first words.
William took a deep breath. ‘Amhurst was sentenced to a year, but the judge suspended it for two.’
‘Couldn’t have worked out better,’ said Lamont, rubbing his hands gleefully.
‘What do you mean?’ asked William.
‘I won the squad sweepstake. One year suspended,’ he said as Jackie walked in.
‘Who won the jackpot?’ Jackie asked, even before she’d taken off her coat.
‘I did,’ said Lamont.
‘Damn.’
‘And what did you predict?’ William asked her.
‘Six months suspended. So not only did I lose, but you also beat me, jammy bastard.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The judge threw my first case out of court, and me with it. I left a crucial piece of evidence in my car, so the defendant was released before he even made it to the witness box.’
William burst out laughing.
‘Right,’ said Lamont. ‘Let’s all get back to work. Jackie, I need you to take me through the details for tomorrow night’s operation before I can finally give it the green light.’
Jackie went quickly across to her desk and grabbed the relevant file.
‘And, William, the copy of the Rembrandt has been placed in a locked van that you’ll find in the car park. Collect the keys from reception and be on your way. Not that anyone’s betting on you getting past the front gate.’
‘Did Faulkner fly to Monte Carlo yesterday?’ William asked.
‘Yes, he landed in Nice around midday, and isn’t expected back for at least another month.’
Commander Hawksby poked his head round the door. ‘So, what was the verdict?’
‘One year suspended,’ said Lamont.
‘Damn.’
‘Dare I ask, sir?’ said William.
‘Fifty hours community service.’
‘Can DS Roycroft and I come and see you, sir, once I’ve finalized the details for Operation Blue Period?’ said Lamont.
‘Yes, of course, Bruce. And good luck with Mrs. Faulkner, William.’
William reported to reception and collected the keys for the van, before heading down to the underground car park. He checked that the crate containing the painting was safely stored in the back of the van before driving out of the Yard and onto Broadway. During the journey to Limpton, he went over parts A, B, and C of his plan, aware that he could be on his way back to the Yard within an hour if he didn’t get past the front door.
When he left Beth that morning, he’d promised to be back in time for supper.
‘With all six Syndics safely in the back of the van,’ she teased.
Conscious of the painting in the back, William never exceeded the speed limit. He’d been warned by Lamont that if it wasn’t returned in perfect condition, Mr. Booth Watson QC would be demanding compensation for his client before the end of the week.
When he reached the picturesque village of Limpton in Hampshire, it wasn’t difficult to work out where the Faulkners lived. Limpton Hall stood proudly on a hill that dominated the landscape. William followed a sign that took him along a winding country lane for another couple of miles, before he came to a halt outside a pair of iron gates, stone pillars surmounted by crouching lions on either side.