Ester sighed. ‘She is a very wealthy client. I believe Detmar arranged a rental property for her’.
‘Was that in Haslemere?’
She reacted again, just a slight flicker of her eyes. ‘I am not sure. It was a private transaction. Ah, I suppose Helga must be the one who hired you then?’
Jack didn’t deny it. ‘If you know Helga, you must know Adam Border.’
‘I have never heard of him. The reason I am aware of Helga Meirling is not because Detmar leased some property for her, it’s because she recently contacted me about a cheque that she had been expecting from Detmar.’
‘So, they are close friends?’
‘I don’t think so. She is a client who makes a lot of introductions.’
‘How much was the cheque for?’
Ester hesitated, returned to the desk, opened a drawer and took out an expensive-looking black leather diary. She searched through it, then closed the diary before unlocking another small drawer to take out a large chequebook with the name of a private bank emblazoned on it.
‘Three days ago. It was for a hundred thousand pounds. I told her that there must be some mistake and that I would tell Detmar to send a banker’s draft instead. If you are working for her, you know she is a very astute businesswoman. He pays her on a regular basis.’
Jack sighed. The more he learnt, the less he felt he really understood. They left the office together as the sounds of the guests from below drifted up. Ester went to the lift, but Jack raised a hand.
‘I’m not going in that thing again. I’ll walk down.’
‘It is an unusual lift, I suppose, to the layman. You see the gate has to open outwards for when we move the artwork in crates between floors. There is more room inside the lift and the crates cannot be damaged by the doors closing on them. But walk if you insist.’
She stepped back as the door opened, then entered the lift, while he went towards the stairs, watching it pass him. After a moment, he went back up the stairs and into the office again. He sat at the desk, picked up a silver letter opener in the shape of a dagger and broke open a small, locked drawer. The drawer was filled with chequebooks from different banks. Flipping through them, he found cheque stubs for hundreds of thousands of pounds in various currencies. The writing was neat and elegant. Next, he took out a diary and read through the most recent entries made in the same elegant handwriting.
The diary was filled with appointments ranging from hair stylists and manicurists to dental and fitness trainers, as well as bookings for lunch and dinners at top restaurants. Some names were underlined in red, and there were also notes about purchase dates and deliveries. Yet again he switched on his phone, filming as much of the contents as he could.
The diary’s most recent pages were almost empty. Across each day, there was a note stating that Detmar was unavailable, along with contact numbers for him in France and Germany. There was also a sheet that appeared to be a list of large financial transactions and deposits in the Cayman Islands.
Jack put the diary back where he found it. He searched the other two drawers but found nothing of interest. Unable to open the locked filing cabinets, he decided to return to the gallery. As he turned towards the door, he noticed a faint scrape mark on the wooden floor next to the panelled wall. This immediately suggested that one of the panels was actually a door which dragged on the floor as it opened. After some exploration, he discovered a concealed lever on the wall. He pushed it and the hidden door clicked open.
As it closed behind him, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He felt a thick carpet beneath his feet. Jack edged further into the room, arms outstretched for safety, and stopped when a small night light on the skirting board illuminated, obviously triggered by his movement. Its light revealed the room’s contents. There was a carved single bed, with satin duvet covers and matching pillows, and two antique cabinets on either side. On the bed was a pinstriped navy suit, a crumpled shirt and suede shoes. He walked round the bed opened a wardrobe filled with high-end shirts, suits and shoes. Many items of clothing had Detmar’s initials.
Beside the built-in wardrobe was another door, leading into a luxuriously appointed marble bathroom. He found a light switch as the night lights went out in the bedroom. Opening the cabinets, he found rows of vitamins alongside prescription drugs, sleeping tablets, Viagra and, in a small plastic bag with a silver spoon, a white powder he assumed to be cocaine. Hypodermic needles were still in their packages, and he thought one small dark brown glass jar could contain heroin. The second cabinet contained bottles of cologne and body creams, plus a silver-backed hairbrush and matching silver-edged comb.
Inspecting the hairbrush, he found a few long strands of hair caught between the bristles, also a number still attached to the comb. He took some sheets of toilet paper and folded some of the hairs inside, then put them in his pocket. Looking down at the wastebin, he saw that beneath crumpled tissues and used hypodermic needles was an empty leather case. Jack recognised it immediately and knew it had contained a G18 Glock 9 mm automatic. He straightened up fast as he heard Ester’s voice, quickly turning off the light and stepping back into the dark bedroom area. He stood motionless against the wall so as not to activate the sensor lights and felt for the silver paper knife he’d taken from the desk.
Ester was shouting. ‘You are insane! I don’t know how the hell you got in here! I don’t believe you! Get out or I will get the police to remove you.’ Although Jack recognised Ester’s voice, and he assumed the other person was Kurt, until he too started shouting.
‘I want the money he promised me, or never mind you calling them, I will go to the fucking police myself. They’ve questioned me already, and I’ve kept my mouth shut, but they are now looking into the shipment at Southampton... you want to know what crazy is? I’ve got his bloody clothes. He slaughtered him like the mad dog he is and, yes, I never got rid of his clothes. So, if that bastard doesn’t pay up tonight, I’ll take them to the cops.’
Jack recognised the voice as O’Reilly’s.
Ester sounded utterly confused. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know nothing about any shipment at Southampton, and what clothes are you talking about? Who is dead?’
‘Don’t play the fucking innocent with me, you two-faced bitch. You’re in it up to your fucking eyeballs. I go down, I’ll make sure you go down with me.’
‘I don’t want any trouble, please let me talk to him for you. Detmar will pay you whatever he owes you. Let go of me!’
‘He’s fucking dead, you stupid bitch! He nailed him up!’
As Ester started screaming, Jack ran across to the hidden door, kicking it open to reveal Ester, curled up and terrified, with O’Reilly punching her. O’Reilly spun, leaving Ester and lunging at Jack. Jack parried a haymaker and went to stab him with the paper knife, but O’Reilly quickly headbutted him and the knife clattered to the floor as Jack fell to his knees then onto his back. O’Reilly made to kick him in the head, but Jack brought his foot up and kicked as hard he could between the legs. Screaming in agony, O’Reilly hunched over clutching his balls, but he still didn’t crumple. Instead, O’Reilly ran out before Jack could stagger to his feet.
He had to hold onto the edge of the desk for a second to get his breath. Ester was hysterical. ‘I don’t know who that creature is... he somehow got into the second floor, threatening me and dragging me up here. He says Kurt owes him money...’
Jack was on his mobile, holding up his hand for her to stop talking. ‘Just stay calm, go down and get your security guys lined up, but do it quietly, don’t sound any alarms, say you want them on floor three and wait for instructions. And get as many of the guests out as you can.’