Apparently the whole city celebrated when the copy was put in its place, but the worldwide search for the missing master-piece went on. Some people believed the Mafia had stolen it to use as a bargaining tool in exchange for the release of jailed Mafiosi, then it had been burnt when it became too dangerous to hide. Witnesses had come forward to say they had seen it rolled up in a carpet, while others maintained it was hanging in a Mafia don’s villa.
Jack’s phone rang. It was Laura calling to ask if he would like to join her for dinner when Josh returned to London, as she had offered to let him stay before he returned to New York.
‘That would be great, Laura, thanks. If his staying with you is... awkward... last time he was here, he slept on a blow-up mattress, but now we have a loft extension. Up to you.’
‘Wow, you’ve been busy!’ Laura laughed.
‘You wouldn’t believe the work that’s been going on here. As well as the loft, we now have a kitchen twice the size with a sort of conservatory attached.’
‘No wonder you’ve not come back to work.’
‘Truth is, I’ve just been a bystander. Maggie did all the planning, and my mother’s boyfriend and his mates did all the work.’
‘How’s the new baby?’
‘Charlie is fabulous. Maggie is organising a christening celebration. You’ll be invited, of course.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing the baby and you on Monday. We’ve all missed you.’ Laura hesitated. ‘Is everything all right now?’
‘Yeah, terrific.’
‘It’s not been very exciting around here without you. Heard anything from Ridley?’
‘Nope, not a whisper. I’m sure one day he’ll just turn up.’
‘See you Monday. Love to Maggie.’ Laura hung up.
Jack sat staring at the laptop. It did feel strange at times not to have heard from Ridley, but it had now been so long that, in truth, he rarely thought about him. He hoped that wherever he was, he was enjoying his retirement. He returned to reading up about the Caravaggio. If the Mafia were involved in the disappearance of the original, Adam would have to be very careful.
Chapter 13
Jack spent Saturday morning painting the bookcases in the loft extension and finishing off some areas that needed another coat of emulsion.
Gladys, with the extraordinary hair extensions, came by for coffee, to get to know Jack and Hannah. Penny showed her round the house and gave her a run-down of what was expected when she started work on Monday, then showed her how to use all of the appliances.
In the afternoon, Marius and Jack went back to the market to check whether the right-sized mattress had come in and were soon hefting it back to the van. Marius said he would like to check on a stall selling some second-hand electrical tools, particularly a paint stripper, and Jack agreed to meet him back at the van in twenty minutes. Once alone, Jack hurriedly returned to the framer’s. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear an angry exchange from inside. Jack eased himself behind the woman selling vintage dolls, to be less conspicuous as he listened.
‘You’re supposed to be taking the crates to Southampton. You got paid upfront, so don’t give me your bullshit excuses. If we miss the delivery, that’ll be another week lost... All right, let me close up and I’ll get on the road. There’s no need for you to come here threatening me. Lugging that fucking cross here nearly broke me back, so you tell him that whatever he’s going to be using it for, it’s not going to be me that moves it again.’
Jack pressed himself against the wall as the door banged open. A handsome black man wearing an elegant fur-collared leather coat, his hair swept back from his face, walked out. Jack could smell his cologne from where he was standing. Jack waited until he was out of sight before stepping into the shop, just as the thuggish man was about to close the door.
‘I’ve got the measurements for the frame I was looking for,’ Jack said.
‘Sorry mate, we’re closing.’
‘It’ll only take a minute,’ Jack said with his best winning smile.
‘Come on then, I’ll give you sixty seconds. Then I’m closing up.’
Jack stepped around the cross to a stack of frames heaped on a cabinet. The man went into the back room, and Jack picked up a small gilt frame — then noticed a stack of envelopes on the side of the cabinet. Without thinking, he slipped one into his jacket just as the man returned. He snatched up the envelopes and stuffed them into a leather shoulder bag.
‘Stupid bastard forgot them,’ he muttered.
Jack held up the frame.
‘Ten quid, lowest I can do.’
Jack shrugged, shaking his head. ‘Not worth more than a fiver.’
The man had no time for bartering. ‘Time’s up, mate.’ He grabbed the frame, tossing it back onto the pile, then walked towards Jack, forcing him backwards and out of the door. Jack heard the bolts being drawn across from inside. Then the sign flipped from ‘open’ to ‘closed’.
Back in his office, Jack took out the blank envelope he’d picked up in the framer’s shop. Inside was a gilt-edged invitation from Detmar Steinburg to a private viewing at a gallery on Bond Street in two weeks’ time. Jack was hopeful that Detmar Steinburg was the collector Adam had been railing against. He tapped the invitation against the desk, trying to recall another name Adam had said. Was it Jim or Joe... Orton? Maybe that was the elegant black guy he had overheard arguing at the shop.
Jack Googled Detmar Steinburg and found he definitely matched Border’s description, with galleries in Berlin, Los Angeles, Florida and Dubai. There were numerous photos of him taken at high society functions in Tatler and Vogue, at film and theatre premieres. Jack peered closely at the elegant, neatly coiffured man, always dressed in fashionable designer suits. He had shoulder-length, glossy dark hair receding slightly from his high forehead. No age was mentioned in any of the articles, but he looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, reminding Jack of a younger Karl Lagerfeld.
Maggie called out to tell him that an Amazon delivery had arrived, so he slipped the invitation into a drawer and went downstairs. The box was on the kitchen table, and when he opened it, he couldn’t help grinning.
‘What is it?’ Maggie asked, looking into the box. ‘More books about art forgery?’ She picked them up and read out the titles. ‘Confessions of a Master Forger... The Art Forger’s Handbook... Art Crime and Its Prevention. My, you are getting very serious about this, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘I know it interests you, too,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘We’ve never had a sort of hobby together, have we? I suppose if we do, then I ought to meet Adam Border myself, don’t you think?’
Jack laughed. ‘Fair enough, Mags. The next time I see him, I’ll invite him round for dinner.’
Jack arrived at the station early on Monday morning and was welcomed back by DCI Clarke, who took him into his office for a private chat about whether or not he needed any help or counselling. He was impressed with how Jack explained his semi-breakdown, assuring Clarke that after the trial of Rodney Middleton, he had felt emotionally broken but was now eager to get back to work.
Returning to the incident room as everyone arrived, Laura welcomed him back, updating him about any staff changes and associated gossip. He was pleased to be told that Anik had moved on to another station, and she primed him about his replacement. DI Brianna Armani had only been at the station a few weeks, but Laura hinted that she had already ruffled a few feathers.