Jack stood outside Boots on the phone to Maggie explaining that he was hanging around for a bit as the baby formula she wanted had just been delivered, but they had to book it into stock before they could sell it to him. She spoke quickly, explaining they were busy interviewing the third applicant for the cleaning job and the fourth had just arrived, with two more expected soon.
‘I thought we’d cracked it with the first woman, but when I told her that I was a doctor and you were a detective, she legged it. Actually legged it. Anyway, no need to hurry back. I’ll be busy for at least another couple of hours.’
It took half an hour for Jack to drive to the old school. Just as he reached the open barrier, a large white van drove past him. As he parked, he could see Adam pushing a heavy-duty trolley carrying a huge frame wrapped in a tarpaulin.
‘Good timing, Bro. Help me with this and be careful you don’t damage the canvas. I’ve been waiting months for one this size.’ Together they lifted the frame off the trolley and hefted it into the old drill hall. ‘Careful,’ Adam warned as they eased it along the corridor and through the double doors then laid it on the floor. Adam carefully pulled back the tarpaulin to reveal a painting of a battle scene with cannons and dead horses strewn among the soldiers, torn flags and wagons. The paint was cracked and chipped in some places, showing the canvas beneath. The heavy gilt frame was broken and had missing corners, but Adam seemed thrilled, pacing around it, clapping his hands.
‘You have no idea how long I have been trying to find a canvas this size and the right age. It’s perfect. Now help me turn it over to check out the back.’ Together, they gently eased the canvas over to lie face down on the tarpaulin. Adam got down on his hands and knees to inspect the back of the frame, looking closely at the rusted nails hammered in to hold the canvas in place.
‘It’s perfect,’ Adam gushed. ‘Bloody worth the wait.’ He went over to the trestle table and came back with a scalpel which he used to ease off a section of cracked paint.
‘There’s an even older painting underneath. That’s the reason it’s cracking so badly. It’ll take me hours to get it down to the bare canvas.’
‘Did you get this from the same framer’s shop in Portobello Road?’ Jack asked.
‘You must be joking. This has taken Christ knows how long to track down. I’ve found a few that were almost perfect, but they weren’t the right size. No, this is the one I’ve been waiting for. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I’m back in the UK.’
‘This dealer knows his stuff then, does he?’ Jack asked.
‘He certainly does. And this cost me a good few quid, I can tell you.’
‘He looked like a bit of a thug to me.’
Adam frowned, becoming edgy. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘That dealer in the frame shop, the one I first saw you with.’
Adam shook his head, smiling. ‘He’s just a delivery man, not the owner. He wouldn’t be around on Saturdays, more than likely he’d be at his gallery or abroad.’
‘What’s his name, this owner?’
Adam narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s with all the questions, Jack? What are you fucking after? You going to shop me?’
‘No. And I could ask you the same question... what are you fucking after?’
Adam gave a sly smile. ‘You never know.’ The tension between them disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
‘I’ve been watching loads of documentaries. I’ve even got my wife interested. Did you know this about Picasso? Sometimes, when he was presented with a copy of his work and he thought it good enough, he’d sign it.’
Adam laughed. ‘Yes, he’s one of the easiest to copy. His later works are the best. So, who else have you been researching with your wife? Did you mention anything about me?’
Jack slightly flushed as he nodded. ‘She was not that pleased about it at first, but I mean, it’s not like you’re on a wanted list.’
Adam nodded, now focusing on carefully removing the rusted nails from around the frame. ‘Making a painting look like the original — that’s the easy part in a way,’ Adam mused. ‘It’s really all about the materials. You’ve heard of Wolfgang Beltracchi? A real genius as forgers go. But he got sloppy. He’d run out of zinc to make white paint. So he went and bought a cheap over-the-counter tube and got caught.’
‘How?’ Jack asked.
‘Because when it was tested, it contained titanium, which had not been used as a white pigment since 1914. It blew his provenance because the artwork he was forging was supposed to have been painted in the 1920s. It was about to be sold for two and a half million when the inconsistency emerged. Lesson learnt, eh?’
‘So, artists like you, do you get a percentage of the sale price of the fakes?’ Jack asked.
Adam looked up, smiling. ‘I get a big cut, but he must get God only knows how much more. And it’s tough to say no to a job, because he’s got you by the balls.’
‘Surely he can’t threaten you or he could be exposed too,’ Jack said.
Adam shrugged. ‘It doesn’t always work like that. He’s a top dealer with galleries all round the world. His partner’s a good artist actually but a very frustrated one as his work doesn’t sell. They’re a bit like Joe Orton and Kenneth Halliwell as a duo. Anyway, I’m sick of him controlling me. Some days I’d like to fucking strangle him, or better still, stick a paintbrush down his throat.’
Jack decided to be more careful when questioning Adam. He seemed quite at ease explaining about art frauds, but quickly changed the subject or became angry whenever Jack asked about the other people involved in his ‘business’.
Adam carried on minutely inspecting the canvas. ‘Wow, wait a second.’
He carefully lifted a section of cracked oil paint from one side of the painting. ‘Well, look at this Jack. It’s a crucifixion. See, that’s part of the cross.’ His bad mood suddenly gone, Adam came and put an arm around Jack’s shoulder. ‘This is going to be my crowning glory. I’ve been working towards it all my life, and just when I thought I would never find the perfect materials, this came along. You have no idea how it makes me feel... all the years of practice, perfecting my work, will culminate in this one. It’s going to be faultless.’
Adam turned away abruptly and went across the drill hall to a small, hard-backed chair stacked with large art books. He carried one over to the trestle table and started flicking through the pages. He waved Jack over.
‘See this? It was stolen in 1965 from the altar at the cathedral in Palermo. It was never recovered, and the empty space where it had hung was a constant reminder of the loss until, many years later, they commissioned this, a copy, which is still hanging there today.’ He turned the page to show the copy, and Jack stared, unable to see the difference. Adam slammed the book closed and went and put it back on the chair. ‘I am going to find the original, Jack,’ he said with a wink.
Before Jack could say anything, Adam’s mobile rang, and he turned his back on Jack to answer it, waving a casual goodbye to Jack as he did so.
As Jack returned to his car, he could still feel the afterglow of Adam’s intense excitement. He realised he had never felt that way about anything in his own life. But he desperately wanted to feel that joy for himself.
Chapter 12
Janet was discussing Middleton with Doctor Zardari.
‘Do you think he was trying to commit suicide?’ Dr Zardari asked.
She shook her head. ‘Accidental overdose, I reckon. Men like him are too narcissistic to kill themselves.’
Dr Zardari sighed heavily. ‘And where’s this stuff coming from?’
Janet’s face gave nothing away. ‘Good God, smuggling’s rife. Visitors bring all sorts in, hidden in all sorts of places! It’ll be happening right under our noses.’ Janet didn’t need to dissuade Zardari from the idea of someone smuggling drugs in for Middleton, as long as he never imagined it could be her. In truth, Janet knew that the perfect scapegoat was already in the mix.