48 Hours

“Sorry about the accommodation. I’m taking a villa on a new development just along the coast. It’s amazing what you can get in Northern Cyprus for around fifty thousand pounds.”

As I had been told by Inspector Boniface, Hickstead still believed that he had over half a million pounds safely secreted away in the Euro Union Financial Enterprises account. That account had been closed some time ago, but the security services had asked the bank to keep that information to themselves until he gave the bank his permanent address.

“So, Josh, what brings you all the way to Cyprus?” the peer asked conversationally. “Surely you haven’t flown all the way here just to gloat?”

“Not at all, Arthur. I was in the area on my honeymoon and thought I’d call in and keep you up to date with the news from the UK.”

“Well, well, I would have thought you would have taken the lucky lady somewhere a little more exclusive. After all, I imagine you now have your money back.”

“To be honest, Arthur, Cyprus is just one port of call. An old friend of yours has generously allowed us the use of his family yacht and crew to cruise the Mediterranean for two weeks.”

The former peer frowned in puzzlement, and so I expanded on my brief explanation.

“Jayne Craythorne and her husband Jonas have become good friends of mine, thanks to a common interest in what happens to Lord Hickstead. In fact, you’ve done me more than one favour.”

“Really?” His confusion was as enjoyable for me as his despair would be later.

“Oh, yes. When you threatened to kill me I was given a bodyguard, Dee Conrad, who as of last weekend is now my wife. You probably remember her as the woman you had kidnapped and shot twice.”

The peer blanched and it looked as though he was going to distance himself from the actions of the Dutch thugs in Tottenham, but he obviously decided against it.

“I notice that your Navitimer has gone. It was once a fixture.”

“Well, there really is little need for a watch these days, especially here. I rise with the sun and sleep when I’m tired. Anyway, what a poor host I am. Would you like a glass of wine?”

Pain showed in his eyes, a regret at having to sell his watch simply to survive. A regret, I fear, he had not experienced when he killed Sir Max Rochester or Andrew Cuthbertson.

“Actually I have something better than the local wine,” I told him. “It’s a small gift.”

I lifted a bottle of Clés des Ducs Armagnac from my bag and handed it to him.

“How perceptive of you!” he beamed, surprised. “It’s my favourite. Would you like a glass? It is an excellent brandy.”

“Actually, the brandy is a gift from DCI Coombes and the newly promoted DCI Boniface. They noted your preference when they cleared your belongings from the Chief Whip’s apartment.”

The forlorn figure facing me took the bottle. He opened it, and poured a generous portion into a tumbler. As he took his first taste he closed his eyes. The pleasure he took in savouring the taste was obvious. This was just one more thing he missed from his old life.

“Well, Josh,” he said after a few moments. “I imagine you would like to get back to screwing your wife in the master suite of the Craythornes’ yacht, so what’s the news you are bringing to me?”

I ignored his jibe and his vulgarity.

“Well, first of all you’ve been listed as missing, not dead, and so all of your assets are taking some sorting out. Brenda’s sister has sold the house and the furnishings, as Brenda is unable to do so herself. If you’re interested, Brenda is in a really pleasant care home on the edge of the Yorkshire Moors, and she is now well enough for her sister to take her shopping and on outings. I went to visit her a little while ago and she thought I was someone called Da

I paused when I saw him flinch. His sister in law had explained that he and Brenda had one child, Daniel, who had died in his cot, and with no apparent cause of death his passing was ascribed to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. They had never been able to have more children, but Brenda was adamant that he had survived and had grown to adulthood.

“The care home is expensive, but the funds from the sale of the property will keep the payments going for around three years.”

“How did she manage to sell the house? It was in joint names. I should be entitled to half of that money.” His lack of concern for his wife was sickening.

“Well, I was able to help there. I found an underwriter who would issue a single premium insurance policy that would pay out your share should you ever return and make a claim. I think you have five years.

By the way, they sold most of your belongings, too, but there was one thing they thought you might want to keep.”

I lifted the second package out of the bag. It was a varnished oak box with a hinged lid and brass clasp.

“How did you get that through customs?” he asked, taking hold of the box and opening it.

“What customs? When you land at the Marina there is a notice above a telephone which states that if you have anything to declare, pick up this phone.”

I looked at Hickstead as he carefully lifted his old service pistol out of the velvet lined box. I could see memories flooding back as he felt the weight of the gun in his hand. The Browning Hi Power 9mm semi automatic handgun had replaced the old Webley Service Revolvers in 1963 and the army were still using them in many units. I had taken the precaution of ensuring that there was no ammunition in the box.

“Arthur, you will be pleased to hear that when your pension is due next year the Union are paying it to Brenda to pay for her care. They said it was the least they could do, as you had gone missing. Unless, of course, you pass away before then, in which case the whole pension pot is paid to her as a lump sum.”

Hickstead clamped his teeth together; he had obviously made other plans for that pension.

I continued. “On the employment front, things have moved along quite quickly and quietly. The coalition government, at the request of the Lords, passed a bill allowing you to be expelled from the House of Lords and for you to have all your attendant privileges withdrawn. But I guess you were expecting that. There is some good news, though. Alan Parsons, your solicitor, won’t be charging you for his services now that he knows you are impoverished.”

The former peer bristled at this.

“Tell him to submit his bill, for all the use he was. I am expecting a large sum of money soon, and he will get his money.”

I went into the nearly empty bag one more time.

“As I was coming to see you anyway, I was asked to bring you this letter.”

The franking on the accurately addressed envelope denoted that it came from his Swiss Bank. He opened it and looked at the statement. I already knew that there were only five transactions shown on it. The last was the most important. It was dated the day he fled London. It read:

‘Transfer to UK Security Holdings Ltd. €645,000.00, balance remaining €1,326.00.’

Hickstead stared at the letter. I watched his eyes dart to and fro across the words as he read and reread the contents. When he finally spoke, he was almost shouting.

“This isn’t right! This is a disgrace! It’s a clear infringement of my human rights. In fact, it’s downright criminal. I’ll sue the bank and whoever took the money!”

Hickstead was seething, but he knew that his prospects of recovering any of his money were now zero. He was almost pe

“Yes, I need to get back, but you might want a copy of this.” I withdrew a sheet of paper from my inside pocket and handed it to him.

“It’s a European Arrest Warrant for Arthur Hickstead, also known as Martin Wells. It seems that whilst the Turkish authorities will not deport you, they will notify Interpol if you leave Cyprus, and if you fly through European airspace or land anywhere in Europe you will be arrested on landing and returned to the UK. By the way, I’m sure you know already, but the arrest warrant also applies to the southern half of Cyprus, which is administered by Greece.”