The Theft of Magna Carta (21 page)

Authors: John Creasey

Tags: #Crime

BOOK: The Theft of Magna Carta

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The man was still in his cell, awaiting a hearing at the magistrates' court later in the day. He looked as lugubrious as ever and there was even a smile in his eyes when he said: “Sorry I can't offer you breakfast, Superintendent.”

“I'm in need of much more than breakfast,” Roger replied. “You know you'll go down for a very long time, don't you?”

“You're not a man to rub anything in without a good reason,” remarked Caldicott. “What are you offering me? Kid-gloves treatment if I tell you everything I know?”

“And almost certainly a much lighter sentence if you turn Queen's evidence,” Roger said.

“To tell you the truth, I've been thinking a lot about that,” replied Caldicott, “and I think I'll do a deal. I used to be a very happy runner who made a comfortable living without a lot of work, but Withers discovered my judgement was exceptional, and he needed someone much better than he had. So I went in with him. He's one of a syndicate of fences who will buy really big for customers who don't mind if their treasures have been stolen. He and his American associates must know more millionaires than I know people! He planned Magna Carta without my knowing, though â at first, that is. Then we heard of the preview and the sale at Leech's. That seemed the golden opportunity. Explain our â that is Stephenson's and my â presence by the pictures while the major job was being pulled. It would have worked, too, if it hadn't been for that policewoman.”

“It might have worked,” Roger conceded. “Do you know why Withers killed Stephenson?”

“Two reasons,” Caldicott replied. “The first was that Stephenson was asking for too big a share, but the strongest reason was that Stephenson told his Sarah, and Sarah told me! From that moment on Stephenson stopped being reliable. If she'd been his wife it might not have mattered, but he changes his sleeping partners every few months, and this meant he was getting to the stage when he had to boast. He let Sarah think it was his idea, but . . .”

There were a great many more details, but none of them was of vital significance, until Roger asked: “Do you know Withers' associates in New York?”

“No. But I shouldn't think they would be too hard to find once you start tracing his movements over there. He visits New York at least once a year.” Caldicott gave a wry smile, and went on: “Do what you can for me, Handsome, won't you? I'm going to miss cricket like hell!”

“I'll do what I can,” promised Roger, and he went out.

A few minutes later he was talking to Goodison in New York, and he had never heard a more excited man.

“That's the greatest news I ever had as a policeman,” he cried. “Oh, boy, I can't wait to get busy. What's he like? How much stuff was he hoarding? . . . All right, all right, I'll wait for an official report later, and let you know the moment I've any news. If you can let me know the approximate dates he's been in New York . . . Thanks for calling.”

Every newspaper carried the story, most used nothing else on the front page. Janet West telephoned to say how wonderful it was. Richard, their younger son, cabled from Malawi, where he was making a film: “Didn't expect my father to become a national hero.” Martin, their elder son, was waiting when Roger reached home.

“I couldn't bear to think of you cooking your own dinner tonight, Dad,” he said. “It's mixed grill. Two sausages, or three?”

“I knew that he was interested in paintings, and I knew he planned a big deal in Salisbury,” Sarah “Stephenson” said. “But I knew no details and had no part in it. I hope you will believe that. And I hope you won't need me to give evidence, Mr. West. I am practically penniless in England.”

“I doubt if we shall need more than your signed statement,” Roger said.

“I hope very much that you won't.” Her voice sounded and her expression was aloof, but both warmed suddenly, and she stammered unexpectedly, and then asked in a voice that was scarcely audible: “May I see Frank Caldicott? I can't claim to be an old friend, we only met last week, butâ” She broke off.

“I see no reason why not,” Roger said. “They will all be remanded in custody for a week, but there's no reason why they shouldn't have visitors.”

“They,” she echoed, and closed her eyes. “Yes. Yes, of course. But please not all at one time.”

“No objection at all,” Isherwood said, and then added with a rush: “No chance of her slipping him a dram of poison, I suppose?”

“You could always have her searched if you're worried,” Roger said dryly.

Coppell sat at his desk and listened, broke in with an occasional question, placed his big fingers on his desk, and began to smile. There was always a semi-sneer about his smile, but it was a physical thing, not born of mood.

“Well, some would say you had the luck of the devil, even if Old Nick didn't! Anyhow, Handsome, bloody good job. It won't do you any harm in the other business, either. You should get some official news about that before too long. They wanted to give you precise terms of reference, and I suggested you might be able to help with that!” He was highly amused at his own temerity but the amusement soon faded. “How did you find Kempton? He's in line for promotion.”

“You won't find a better man on his day,” Roger answered, “or a steadier one any time.”

“Good,” Coppell said. “Thanks. Well, you'll tidy things up with Salisbury, won't you?”

“The truth is I don't know how things will work out for Linda Prell and Batten,” Jack Isherwood said. “I don't think he could bring himself to divorce his wife. She must know how things are and will go along with the situation â if he doesn't break up the home, she won't break up his
affaire.
Don't ask me how long it will last like that, though.”

“I'll always be interested to hear,” Roger told him.

“And I'll always pass on anything I learn,” Isherwood replied. “Handsome, there's one thing I don't think I've ever told you.”

“What's that?” asked Roger.

“What a treat it has been working with you,” answered Isherwood.

Roger put down the receiver a few minutes afterward, and turned to the letters on his desk. There was one, unopened, with the words
Diocese of Salisbury
on the envelope, which was addressed in a beautiful hand. He opened it, and read:

Dear Mr. West,

There is no way of thanking you. But we shall all try. We hope â we hope fervently â that you can come to Salisbury two weeks from today, when there will be a special service of thanksgiving for this new salvation.

Yours most sincerely . . .

It was signed by the tall Dean Howe.

Series Information

Published or to be published by

House of Stratus

Dates given are those of first publication

Alternative titles in brackets

'The Baron' (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)

'Department 'Z'' (28 titles)

'Dr. Palfrey Novels' (34 titles)

'Gideon of Scotland Yard' (22 titles)

'Inspector West' (43 titles)

'Sexton Blake' (5 titles)

'The Toff' (59 titles)

along with:

The Masters of Bow Street

This epic novel embraces the story of the Bow Street Runners and the Marine Police, forerunners of the modern police force, who were founded by novelist Henry Fielding in 1748. They were the earliest detective force operating from the courts to enforce the decisions of magistrates. John Creasey's account also gives a fascinating insight into family life of the time and the struggle between crime and justice, and ends with the establishment of the Metropolitan Police after the passing of Peel's Act in 1829.

'The Baron' Series