Next in Line

CHAPTER 1

AN OUTRIDER FROM THE SPECIAL Escort Group swept into Scotland Yard, closely followed by a green Jaguar and an unmarked Land Rover, while two police motorcycles brought up the rear, completing the royal convoy. They all came to a halt as Big Ben chimed eleven thirty.

A close protection officer leapt out of the front seat of the Jaguar and opened the back door. The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Sir Peter Imbert, stepped forward and bowed. ‘Welcome to Scotland Yard, Your Royal Highness,’ he said, and was greeted with that warm, shy smile with which the public had become so familiar.

‘Thank you, Sir Peter,’ she replied as they shook hands. ‘It was kind of you to agree to my unusual request.’

‘My pleasure, ma’am,’ said Sir Peter, before turning to the welcoming party of senior officers who were waiting in line. ‘May I present the Deputy Commissioner …’

The Princess shook hands with each of the officers in turn until she reached the end of the line, when she was introduced to the head of the Met’s murder investigation teams.

‘Commander Hawksby is known as Murder One,’ the Commissioner told her. ‘And Chief Inspector William Warwick will act as your guide this morning,’ he added as a little girl stepped forward, curtsied and offered the Princess a small bouquet of pink roses. She received the broadest smile of all.

The Princess bent down and said, ‘Thank you, and what is your name?’

‘Artemisia,’ the bowed head whispered to the ground.

‘What a pretty name,’ said the Princess.

She was about to move on when Artemisia looked up and said, ‘Why aren’t you wearing a crown?’

William turned bright red, while his number two, Inspector Ross Hogan, stifled a laugh, causing Artemisia to burst into tears. The Princess leant down again, took the little girl in her arms and said, ‘Because I’m not a Queen, Artemisia, just a Princess.’

‘But you will be the Queen one day.’

‘Then I’ll wear a crown.’

This seemed to satisfy Artemisia, who smiled as her father led the Met’s royal guest into the building.

The door was held open by a young cadet, who the Princess stopped to have a word with, before William guided her towards a waiting lift. A long discussion had taken place prior to the Princess’s visit, as to whether she should walk up the stairs to the first floor or take the lift. The lift had won by five votes to four. An equally fraught decision was who should accompany her in the lift. The Commissioner, Commander Hawksby and William made the shortlist, while the Princess’s lady-in-waiting would take the second lift, along with Inspector Ross Hogan and Detective Sergeant Roycroft.

William had his script well prepared, but was immediately thrown off course by HRH’s first question.

‘Is Artemisia your daughter, by any chance?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said William, remembering that the Hawk had told him that ‘ma’am’ had to rhyme with ‘spam’, not ‘harm’. ‘But what evidence do you have?’ he asked, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t addressing one of his junior officers.

‘If she hadn’t been your daughter, you wouldn’t have blushed,’ came back the reply as they stepped into the lift.

‘I did tell her not to speak to you,’ said William, ‘and certainly not to ask you any questions.’

‘The fact she disobeyed you probably means she’ll be the most interesting person I’ll meet today,’ whispered Diana as the lift doors closed. ‘Why did you call her Artemisia?’

‘She’s named after Artemisia Gentileschi, the great Italian Baroque painter.’

‘So, you must have a love of art?’

‘A passion, ma’am. But it was my wife Beth, who’s keeper of pictures at the Fitzmolean, who chose the name.’

‘Then I’ll have another chance to meet your daughter,’ said the Princess, ‘because if I remember correctly, I’m opening the Fitzmolean’s Frans Hals exhibition next year. I’d better make sure I’m wearing at least a coronet if I’m not to be told off again,’ she added as the lift doors opened on the first floor.

‘The Crime Museum, ma’am,’ began William, returning to his script, ‘more commonly known as the Black Museum, was the brainchild of an Inspector Neame, who in 1869 felt it would assist his colleagues to solve and even prevent crimes if they could study well-known cases. He was assisted by a Constable Randall, who gathered together material from various notorious criminals and crime scenes, which made up the first exhibits in this rogues’ gallery. The museum opened five years later, in April 1874, but it still remains closed to the public.’

William glanced back to see Ross Hogan, chatting to the Princess’s lady-in-waiting. He led his guest down a long corridor towards room 101, where another door was being held open for the royal visitor. William found himself wondering if the Princess ever opened a door for herself, but quickly dismissed the thought and returned to his script.

‘I hope you won’t find the museum too disturbing, ma’am. The occasional visitor has been known to faint,’ he said. They entered a room whose dim lighting only added to the macabre atmosphere.

‘It can’t be worse than four days at Ascot,’ replied the Princess, ‘when I regularly want to faint.’

William wanted to laugh, but managed to prevent himself. ‘The first exhibit,’ he said as they approached a large glass cabinet, ‘includes the early pieces of memorabilia collected by Neame and Randall.’

The Princess looked closely at a collection of weapons used by seventeenth-century criminals to murder their victims, including a walking stick that, with a twist of its knob, became a sword, along with various flick knives, heavy wooden cudgels and knuckle-dusters. William quickly moved on to the next cabinet, which was dedicated to Jack the Ripper, and included a handwritten letter he’d sent to the London Central News Agency in 1888 at the height of his serial killings, taunting the police by predicting they would never catch him. But then, as William reminded his guest, that was before the Met had begun to use fingerprinting to identify criminals, and more than a century before the discovery of DNA.

‘I haven’t fainted yet,’ said the Princess as they moved on to the next cabinet, which contained a pair of antique binoculars. ‘What’s so special about them?’ she asked.

‘They weren’t designed for Ascot, ma’am,’ said William. ‘They were a gift from a particularly unpleasant individual to his fiancée a few days after she had jilted him. When she held them up to her eyes and adjusted the focus, two nails shot out and blinded her. At his trial the accused was asked by prosecuting counsel why he’d done such an evil thing, and he simply replied, I didn’t want her to look at another man ever again.’

Diana covered her eyes and William quickly moved on.

‘This next exhibit, ma’am, is particularly fascinating,’ said William, pointing to a small, plain metal box. ‘It provided the vital clue in the first case solved by the Met using fingerprints as evidence. In 1905 the brothers Alfred and Albert Stratton were arrested for the murder of a shop owner, Thomas Farrow, and his wife, Ann. They would have got away with it if Alfred hadn’t left a single thumb print on the empty cash box. They were both found guilty and hanged.’

They moved on to the next cabinet, where the Princess glanced briefly at a photograph before turning to William and saying, ‘Tell me about him.’

‘On the eighteenth of February, 1949, John Haigh killed Olive Durand-Deacon, a wealthy widow, while she was visiting his engineering workshop in Crawley. After Haigh had removed everything of value she had with her, he dissolved her body in a drum of sulphuric acid, believing that if the police were unable to produce a body, he couldn’t be charged with murder. However, he didn’t take into account the expertise of a certain Dr Keith Simpson, a pathologist who discovered three gallstones and a couple of the victim’s false teeth in a pile of rubble at the back of the workshop. Haigh was arrested, convicted and hanged.’

‘You do like to take a girl somewhere romantic on a first date, don’t you, Chief Inspector?’ said the Princess, which caused William to relax and laugh for the first time.

‘Another first,’ he continued as they stopped in front of the next cabinet, ‘was the arrest of Dr Hawley Harvey Crippen, an American homeopath who murdered his wife Cora in London before fleeing to Brussels accompanied by his lover Ethel Le Neve. From Brussels they went on to Antwerp, where Crippen purchased two tickets on the SS Montrose, a steamship bound for Canada. Ethel disguised herself as a young boy, so they could pose as father and son. The captain of the vessel had been shown a wanted poster before the ship set sail, and became suspicious when he saw Crippen and Le Neve holding hands and kissing. He telegraphed Scotland Yard, and Chief Inspector Walter Dew, who was in charge of the case, immediately travelled up to Liverpool and boarded the SS Laurentic, a much faster vessel, which reached Montreal some time before the Montrose. Dew, disguised as a pilot, boarded the ship as it sailed into the St Lawrence river, arrested Crippen and Ethel, and brought them back to England to face trial. The jury only took thirty minutes to find Crippen guilty of murder.’

‘So he also went to the gallows,’ said the Princess cheerfully. ‘But what about Ethel?’

‘She was acquitted of being an accessory after the fact. However, the jury did take considerably longer reaching their decision.’

‘Interesting how it’s so often the women who end up getting away with it,’ said the Princess as they moved into the next room, which didn’t look any more inviting than the previous one.

‘You will now get to meet some well-known East End gangsters,’ declared William. ‘I’ll start with the most notorious of them all, the Kray brothers, Reggie and Ronnie.’

‘Even I’ve heard of them,’ said the Princess, standing in front of black and white mugshots of the notorious twins.

‘Despite committing countless vicious crimes over many years, including murder, on more than one occasion, they proved almost impossible to charge, let alone convict, because no one was willing to come forward and testify against them, being too frightened of the consequences.’

‘So how were they eventually caught?’

‘The police finally arrested them after Reggie murdered a criminal associate called Jack the Hat McVitie in 1967. The Krays were both sentenced to life imprisonment.’

‘And the person who gave evidence?’ asked the Princess.

‘Didn’t celebrate his next birthday, ma’am.’

‘I’m still standing, Chief Inspector,’ teased the Princess as they moved into the next room, where she was greeted with a display of jute ropes of different lengths and thicknesses.

‘Up until the nineteenth century, large crowds would gather at Tyburn to witness public hangings,’ said the Commissioner, who was following close behind. ‘This barbaric form of entertainment ceased in 1868, after which executions were carried out behind prison walls with no members of the public present.’

‘As a young officer, Sir Peter, did you ever witness a hanging?’ asked the Princess.

‘Just one, ma’am, and thank God, never again.’

‘Remind me,’ said the Princess, turning back to William, ‘who was the last woman to be hanged?’

‘You’re one step ahead of me, ma’am,’ said William, moving on to the next cabinet. ‘Ruth Ellis, a nightclub hostess, was hanged on the thirteenth of July, 1955, after she shot her lover with a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver, which you can see here.’

‘And the last man?’ asked the Princess, staring at the gun.

William racked his brain, as that hadn’t been part of his prepared script. He turned to the Commissioner, but he didn’t respond.

They were rescued by the museum’s curator, who stepped forward and said, ‘Gwynne Evans and Peter Allen, ma’am, were hanged for the murder of John Alan West on the thirteenth of August, 1964. The following year, a private member’s bill to abolish hanging became law. However, it may interest you to know, ma’am, you can still be hanged for treason, or piracy with violence.’

‘I think treason is more likely in my case,’ said the Princess, which caused them all to laugh.

William guided his guest through to the last room on the tour, where she was introduced to a row of bottles containing various poisons. William explained that was a woman’s preferred means of committing murder, particularly of their husbands. William regretted the words the moment he’d uttered them.

‘And that, ma’am, brings us to the end of the tour. I hope you found it—’ He hesitated, before replacing the word ‘enjoyable’ with ‘interesting’.

‘Fascinating, Chief Inspector, would be a better description of the past hour,’ replied the Princess as William accompanied her out of the museum.

They walked back down the long corridor towards the lift, passing a lavatory that had been specially set aside for the royal visitor. Two young policewomen were in attendance, but they hadn’t been required. They were disappointed. She sensed it, and stopped to chat to them, before moving on.

‘I look forward to seeing you again, Chief Inspector, and to meeting your wife when I open the Frans Hals exhibition,’ said the Princess as she stepped into the lift. ‘That should at least prove a jollier occasion.’

William managed a smile.

When the lift doors opened on the ground floor, the Commissioner took over once again, accompanying his royal guest to the waiting car, where her close protection officer was holding the back door open. The Princess stopped to wave at the crowd that had gathered on the far side of the road.

‘I noticed you didn’t waste much time before chatting up her lady-in-waiting,’ said William, when Inspector Hogan joined him.

‘I think,’ said Ross without missing a beat, ‘I’m in with a chance.’

‘Punching above your weight, I would have thought,’ came back William.

‘It never worried you,’ said Ross with a grin.

‘Touché,’ said William, giving his friend a slight bow.

‘The Lady Victoria told me that the Princess’s close protection officer is retiring at the end of the year, and they haven’t found a replacement yet. So, I was hoping you might put in a good word for me.’

‘Which word did you have in mind?’ asked William. ‘Unreliable? Louche? Promiscuous?’

‘I think that’s pretty much what she’s looking for,’ said Ross, as the lady-in-waiting climbed into the back of the car ahead of the Princess.

‘I’ll think about it,’ said William.

‘Is that all you can say after all I’ve done for you over the years?’

William tried not to laugh when he recalled how their most recent escapade had ended. He and Ross had only just got back from Spain, where they had been on the trail of Miles Faulkner. They had finally caught up with their old nemesis in Barcelona and dragged him back to Belmarsh prison – the same prison Faulkner had escaped from the year before. Triumphant as William and Ross felt, they were aware of the inevitable consequences they were certain to face, after having broken every rule in the book, to quote the commander. William reminded his boss that there were no rules in Miles Faulkner’s book, and if they hadn’t broken the odd rule, he would surely have escaped their clutches yet again.

Two wrongs don’t make a right, the commander had reminded them.

But how long could they hope to keep Faulkner locked up, wondered William, when his corrupt lawyer was only too happy to bend those same rules to breaking point if it would guarantee his ‘distinguished client’ would get off all the charges and be released from prison without a stain on his character? They also accepted that Mr Booth Watson QC wouldn’t be satisfied until William and Ross were made to face a disciplinary hearing, before being ignominiously dismissed from the force for unacceptable behaviour while serving as police officers. William had already warned his wife that the next few months weren’t going to be plain sailing.

‘What’s new?’ Beth had reminded him, before adding that she wouldn’t be satisfied until Booth Watson was behind bars with his ‘distinguished client’, where they both belonged.

William snapped back into the present when HRH climbed into the back of the car and the police outriders revved up and led the royal cortège out of Scotland Yard and on to Victoria Street.

The Princess waved to the crowd from her car, and they all responded except for Ross, who was still smiling at her lady-in-waiting.

‘Your trouble, Ross, is that your balls are bigger than your brain,’ said William as the convoy made its way slowly out of New Scotland Yard.

‘Makes for a far more interesting life,’ responded Ross.

Once the Princess’s convoy had disappeared from sight, the Commissioner and the Hawk walked across to join them.

‘Good idea of yours,’ said Sir Peter, ‘to have two young officers showing our guests around the museum, rather than us old fogeys. Especially as one of them had so obviously done his homework.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Ross, which elicited a wry smile from the commander.

‘In fact, I think Warwick’s earned the rest of the day off,’ suggested Sir Peter, before leaving them to return to his office.

‘Not a hope,’ murmured the Hawk, once the Commissioner was out of earshot. ‘In fact, I want to see you both in my office along with the rest of the team, soonest – and soonest means now.’

CHAPTER 2

THE COMMANDER TOOK HIS PLACE at the top of the table, joining his inner team – a unit that had taken him five years to build, and was now acknowledged to be among the finest in the Yard. But their coup de grâce was surely catching up with Miles Faulkner in Spain after he’d escaped from custody and finally bringing him back to England to face trial.

However, the Hawk could only wonder how many of his team would be called on to give evidence in that particular case. William and Ross would have to face cross-examination from Faulkner’s no-holds-barred counsel. Booth Watson wouldn’t hesitate to let the jury know that two of the Met’s most experienced officers had seized his client illegally during a trip to Barcelona. The Hawk still had one ace up his sleeve though – he knew something about Booth Watson that a leading QC wouldn’t want the Bar Council to find out about – but it would still be a close-run thing.

The Hawk thought of the officers seated around that table more as family than colleagues, but then he had no children of his own. However, like all families, they had their problems and differences, and he wondered how they would react to what he was about to tell them.

Detective Chief Inspector Warwick may have been the youngest DCI in the Met, but no one referred to him as ‘Choirboy’ any longer, with the possible exception of DI Ross Hogan, who was sitting opposite him. Ross was undoubtedly the black sheep of the family, a maverick who was more interested in locking up criminals than filling in endless forms, and who had survived his frequent run-ins with superior officers only because the Hawk considered him the finest undercover operative he’d ever worked with.

On Hogan’s right sat DS Roycroft, one of Ross’s many former lovers, who was probably the bravest officer sitting around that table. As a junior PC just out of Hendon, Jackie had tackled a six-foot-six Algerian arms dealer and had him flat on the ground and handcuffed before the next officer arrived on the scene. But she was possibly better known among her colleagues for having knocked out an Inspector who had placed a hand on her leg while on duty. No one came to her defence when she reported the incident, as the Inspector in question was the only witness. And after that her career prospects had come to an abrupt halt, until the commander had spotted her potential and asked her to join his team.

Opposite her sat DS Adaja. Bright, resourceful and ambitious, he had handled any racial prejudice inside and outside the force with dignity and grace. The Hawk didn’t doubt that Paul would be the first black man to make commander. And what amused him was that Paul didn’t doubt it either.

Finally, DC Pankhurst, the youngest member of the team, who never mentioned her public-school upbringing, or first-class honours degree, and certainly not that one of her most famous ancestors had been to jail – more than once. Rebecca was possibly the cleverest officer sitting around that table, and the commander had already decided it wouldn’t be too long before she was promoted, though he hadn’t told her yet.

The trouble with commanding such a bright and energetic group was that you had to get up early – very early – in the morning if you hoped to stay a yard ahead of them. But on this occasion, the commander felt confident he was up and running before their alarms had gone off.

‘Let me begin,’ he said, ‘by congratulating you all on the roles you played in solving the cold murder cases that the Assistant Commissioner asked us to deal with. However, that is now in the past, and we must look to the future.’ He glanced up to find he had everyone’s attention.

‘The Commissioner, in his wisdom, has decided to take the unit off murder, and to present us with an even greater challenge.’ He made them wait, but only for a moment. ‘Royalty Protection Command,’ he allowed the words to hang in the air, ‘have become, in the Commissioner’s opinion, a law unto themselves. Their commanding officer, one Superintendent Brian Milner, is under the illusion that his unit is untouchable, answerable to no one other than the Royal Family, and therefore no longer a part of the Metropolitan Police Service. We’re about to disabuse them of that notion. For some time, Milner hasn’t bothered to interview outside candidates whenever one of his officers moves on or retires. That way, he never loses control of the unit, which is a problem in itself, because following the recent terrorist attacks around the world, MI6 have been in touch to warn us that the next target could well be a member of the Royal Family, who they feel are all too often an easy target. And that includes the Queen.’

This silenced everyone for a few moments, before Paul asked, ‘And where do MI6 think such an attack would come from?’

‘Probably the Middle East,’ said the Hawk. ‘Counter Terrorism are keeping a close eye on anyone coming into the country from Iran, Iraq or Libya, to name the three most obvious candidates. Assistant Commissioner Harry Holbrooke didn’t leave me in any doubt what we’re up against. He named the three terrorist organizations who are on his watchlist and pose an immediate threat.’

Everyone around the table continued to make notes.

‘Holbrooke doesn’t think they’ll leave the safety of their own countries, but has no doubt all three of them will have placed several sleeper cells around the UK who can be ready to move at a moment’s notice. He’s already set up surveillance teams to keep a close eye on a dozen or more of the most obvious candidates, but admits he doesn’t have enough foot soldiers to watch them all as his resources are stretched to the limit. With that in mind, he’s asked us to share whatever intel we come across, however insignificant we might consider it at the time.’

‘Cops and robbers are certainly a thing of the past,’ said Ross with some feeling.

‘The dim and distant past,’ said the Hawk. ‘And it doesn’t help that Holbrooke, among others, has lost confidence in Superintendent Milner as head of Royalty Protection, and wants him replaced as quickly as possible.’

‘For any particular reason?’ asked Ross.

‘Yes – when he phoned him at Buckingham Gate and left a message asking him to get in touch urgently, Milner didn’t bother to respond until a week later. And after Holbrooke had fully briefed him on the latest terrorist threat, all Milner had to say on the subject was, and I quote, Don’t worry yourself, old chap, we’ve got it all under control.’

‘Which prompts me to ask, sir,’ said Jackie, looking up from her notebook, ‘is the fact the Commissioner doesn’t think Milner is up to the job the only reason we’re all being assigned to Royalty Protection?’

Commander Hawksby remained silent for some time, before saying, ‘No, it isn’t. In fact, even Holbrooke doesn’t know the full story, because I still consider it an internal matter.’ He closed the file in front of him and added, ‘Stop writing,’ which they all obeyed without question. ‘The Commissioner also has reason to believe that Milner and some of his inner circle are bent, not least because he appears to be living the life of a minor royal on the salary of a Superintendent. And if that turns out to be the case, we are going to need incontrovertible proof of what he’s been up to for the past decade before we can even think about arresting him. Not least because, stating the obvious, he has friends in high places, some of whom he’s worked with for several years. With that in mind, Milner will be getting four new recruits joining him in the near future, but they won’t include Ross Hogan, who will be reporting directly back to me.’

‘Am I going undercover again?’ asked Ross.

‘No,’ said the Hawk. ‘In fact you couldn’t be more out in the open,’ he added without explanation.

No one else asked the obvious question, or interrupted while the boss was in full flow.

‘DCI Warwick will be joining Royalty Protection as Superintendent Milner’s second-in-command, but not until the rest of you are all fully up to speed with the problems you’ll be up against, which could take at least a couple of months. And remember, we don’t want Milner to find out what we’re up to. So make sure you don’t express any opinions to other colleagues outside of this room. We can’t afford to give that man the slightest opportunity to cover his tracks before we even turn up. DCI Warwick will be given considerable latitude to root out any other officers who consider themselves above the law, while at the same time trying to find out if they take the terrorist threat at all seriously.’

The commander turned to William. ‘The first problem you may encounter will be Milner himself. If the biggest apple in the barrel is rotten, what hope is there for the seedlings? Don’t forget that Milner has been in command of the unit for over a decade, and considers the only person he has to answer to is Her Majesty the Queen. You’ll have to tread carefully if you’re going to stick around long enough to find out how he’s getting away with it,’ the Hawk added, handing over the baton to the one person at the table who had already been fully briefed.

‘During the next few weeks,’ said William, ‘I want you all to carry out some in-depth research on how the Royal Family go about their public duties, while at the same time assuming you’ve never heard of them. Start with a clean sheet and treat them as if they are all criminals who need to be investigated.’

‘That should be fun,’ said Jackie.

‘You can start by booking a tour of Windsor Castle on an open day when no members of the Royal Family are in residence. Your single purpose is to get the lie of the land while at the same time checking security. I want you all to be a yard ahead, not a yard behind, by the time you report for your first day as Royalty Protection officers.’

‘Any bets against me getting into the castle unnoticed?’ said Ross.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ said the Hawk. ‘You’re in enough trouble as it is. But if you should bump into any recently retired protection officers, you’re free to go on a fishing expedition. Just make sure you don’t end up as the bait, because if you do, you can be certain their next call will be to Milner, and you’ll have to be taken off the case.’

‘However,’ said William, ‘when we do eventually report for duty, you can expect to be ignored, insulted, even ridiculed, by officers who don’t realize they may not be there in a few months’ time. But try to remember they won’t all be corrupt; some may well feel the same way about Milner as the Commissioner does, while I fear others will be beyond redemption. Team meetings will continue to take place here at the Yard every morning between eight and ten, when we can share our latest findings, and hopefully find out exactly what we’re up against, even before we turn up. Any questions?’

‘You didn’t mention what role I’d be playing,’ said DI Hogan, trying to look offended.

‘That will depend on whether she offers you the job.’

‘She?’ said Ross.

‘Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales,’ said William, turning to face his old friend, ‘has requested we join her for tea at Kensington Palace at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’

Ross was silenced for a moment, unsure if this was William’s idea of a joke.

‘Sadly, I can’t make it,’ he ventured casually. ‘I have a more pressing engagement tomorrow afternoon. I need to get my hair cut.’

The rest of the team waited for the Hawk’s response.

‘The only pressing engagement you’ll have tomorrow afternoon, Inspector, should you fail to turn up at Kensington Palace on time, will be at the Tower of London, where you’ll find I’ve put DCI Warwick in charge of torture. DS Roycroft will operate the rack, and DS Adaja the thumb screws, while DC Pankhurst will have the difficult task of finding a large enough block to put your head on. And you needn’t ask who the executioner will be. Any more frivolous questions, DI Hogan?’

This time the laughter was supplanted by even louder banging on the table. After it had died down, William was the first to speak.

‘You can all have the rest of the day off before we begin working on our new assignments. However, I’ll expect you to be in my office by eight tomorrow morning for a full briefing on your individual roles. Just make sure you’ve read these carefully before then.’ He passed each of them