Although the light was dim, as he moved further into the room he could see an array of crates. These were stacked against one wall beside two large sacks. One crate, narrower and longer than the rest, was open and Jack saw it was filled with straw. Jack got down on his knees and pulled away the straw until he could feel the frame of a painting. Pushing aside the protective muslin covering, he could now see the edge of an oil painting, just making out a bejewelled woman’s wig and part of her brow. He recognised it immediately as Lady with a Fan which he’d first seen at the abandoned school with Adam. He took out his phone and began to film.
He straightened up, dusting down his trousers, and turned his attention to the wall. It was covered in laminated sheets detailing storage units, shipments, dock numbers, drop-off points, customs and the different paperwork required for European ports: France, Amsterdam, Italy. One laminated sheet detailed shipments from Berlin, expected times and collection points, another had a list of Japanese customs regulations. Jack felt his heart rate increasing. This floor, this room, was clearly the heart of the operation.
Jack had started to take pictures of more canvases ready to be packed, making certain to get close-ups of the descriptions and destinations, when he heard raised voices. He listened at the door, unsure where the voices were coming from, then edged out onto the empty landing. As the voices got louder, he realised they were coming from the office. Jack barely made it into the staff bathroom before the door to the office opened.
‘I am very concerned, Kurt. We were expecting him yesterday. I still have not received a text or return phone call — we should have cancelled.’
‘This is my show, you understand me. He isn’t here, so I am taking over and you can do nothing about it.’
‘Oh, I can, Kurt, because you’re drugged out of your head, as usual. You have not allowed any of the staff to organise the showing, let alone even see what we are exhibiting. I have worked here for ten years, and he has never allowed anyone else to take control of a gallery showing before. Have you any idea how many years of hard work it has taken to have these buyers and dealers here? It’s his reputation that I am worried about.’
‘This is my life, Ester, mine, not yours... you can go fuck yourself because he would never put his cock up your frozen cunt.’
‘I am not taking that from you! I’ve been organising these events alongside Detmar. Me. Not to be allowed onto floor three is ridiculous. You’ve had it locked and barred — why?’
‘If you don’t like it, you know what you can do. Get the hell out! This is my night, and I am warning you not to interfere.’
Jack eased open the bathroom door and waited for the man she had called Kurt to come into his eyeline. As soon as he saw him, he recognised him as the black man he had seen coming out of the framer’s shop. He was wearing a long, flamboyant white gown with embroidery and beads around the neck and sleeves.
The woman called Ester was shaking in fear and frustration. ‘I am going to call him again right now. Believe me, he won’t approve of this because I know exactly how he feels about your endeavours. He would never even contemplate giving you an entire exhibition. I will tell him...’
Jack tensed up as Kurt reached out and grabbed her throat, stopping her in mid-flow. He was a big man, and he shook her like a rag doll. ‘Don’t make me hurt you, Ester. Just stay out of it, or you will regret it.’
He pushed her hard against the open office door and her head cracked against the wood panel. She looked terrified as he calmly backed away, heading towards the stairs. Jack shut the door so Kurt wouldn’t see him, then had to quickly go into one of the toilet cubicles as the door opened.
Ester came into the bathroom, bleeding from a cut on the side of her head. She was sobbing as she splashed cold water over her face and then soaked a wad of paper tissues to stem the blood. Jack slowly pushed open the toilet door. She could see him in the mirror and looked as if she was about to scream.
‘Ester, don’t, please don’t. I’m here to help you. Take a deep breath, come on, breathe, that’s it. Now sit down for a minute.’ She had the tissues clamped to her head, staring at him fearfully. Jack helped her sit on a small gilt-backed chair with a velvet cushion. Dressed in a white silk blouse and tight black skirt, she had high cheekbones, dark brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes and her jet-black hair was pulled back from her face and coiled in an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck.
‘I am looking for Detmar, it’s urgent. I really need you to tell me what is going on and if you know where he is.’
‘But why do you want to know this?’
‘I’m a private investigator,’ Jack lied.
She looked at him dubiously, then started to cry. ‘No one knows where Detmar is,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to contact him for days. He was in Germany on business, due back over a week ago. He has galleries all over the world. None of them know where he is.’
‘Tell me about Kurt?’
‘He’s Detmar’s partner, although they have a very volatile relationship and lately he has been very difficult to handle. Detmar always leads these events, but without him here, Kurt has been running the gallery.’
Jack helped Ester to her feet and she led him into the office, an elegantly panelled room with an antique desk and numerous filing cabinets, along with a computer with a wide screen and a shredding machine beside the desk. She sat at the desk, powered up the computer and showed him all the texts, messages and calls she had made trying to trace Detmar.
‘Can you tell me about Detmar’s other business?’ Jack asked carefully.
She looked confused. ‘I don’t understand what other business you are referring to.’
‘Tell me about Kurt, then. Are they business partners? How is he involved with the galleries?’
‘He’s an artist. They have been together for years, but you know Detmar can be very promiscuous, and it infuriates Kurt. I think he is envious of his success, too, and he is often here arguing with him because he won’t promote his artworks.’
‘So, they live together?’
‘Yes. Detmar keeps him in luxuries. They have houses all over the world, and Kurt wants for nothing.’
‘Do you know an artist called Adam Border?’
There was not so much as a flicker of recognition. ‘No, but I never deal directly with artists really. I handle the running of the galleries. My contact on the US and European side is always through someone equivalent to me.’
‘What about shipping paintings around the world?’
‘That is handled by Detmar, and he has numerous assistants to handle collections.’
Ester had gradually regained her composure, opening her handbag to remove her compact and check her face. Now that the blood had stopped and her face was clean, she could see that the cut on her temple was only small. She began using a powder compact to conceal the injury. Jack watched, pacing, as she put on fresh lipstick. If she knew about the forgeries, she was good at hiding it, Jack thought. She seemed to instinctively trust him, perhaps because she was in shock after Kurt had attacked her. But he was unsure whether he could trust her.
‘I should go down to check on the guests,’ she said, snapping the lipstick cover back on and putting it back in her handbag. ‘Do I look OK?’
‘I think you should be very careful after what just happened to you,’ Jack said.
She pursed her freshly painted lips. ‘I will be all right. Thank you.’
Almost as an afterthought, as Jack was about to follow her out, he asked, ‘Do you know a Helga Meirling?’ The question seemed to take her by surprise, and this time she reacted to the name. Jack quickly blocked her exit. ‘How do you know her?’ he persisted.