‘I don’t know what to say to them, what do I do?’
Jack gripped her by her elbow, shoving her towards the door. ‘Get down there and do as I tell you. All the security guards to floor three. Do it!’
Jack’s call was connected to the Fulham police station control room. ‘This is an urgent call. I need to talk to DI Collingwood. I have information about the crucifixion case. Yes, you heard correctly. DI Collingwood. Transfer me to his mobile.’
DI Collingwood had just got home and was parking his car after another long, frustrating day. Recognising the station number, he answered immediately. ‘DI Collingwood.’
‘I don’t have long, it’s Jack Warr.’
Collingwood listened as Jack told him that he was about to make his career go up several notches. ‘You need to get a team together, pronto.’
Collingwood perched on the hood of his car with his phone to his ear, hardly able to believe what he was hearing as Jack told him he had the identities of their victim and the perpetrator and if Collingwood moved fast, he could make an arrest. He gave him the address of the gallery and said that he would detain the suspect until backup arrived. He also instructed the now shaken Collingwood to get a search warrant for Norman O’Reilly’s home where they would find their victim’s clothes.
‘Hang on, Jack, let me contact Morrison first as he’s the SIO...’
‘Fuck him. Just move as fast as you can. It won’t be long before things kick off here.’
Collingwood leapt back into his car and was straight on the speaker phone as he reversed out of his drive, barking instructions to the Fulham station incident room as the adrenalin started surging through him. He slapped on the siren and tore his way through the Saturday night traffic.
Chapter 26
After making his phone call to Collingwood, Jack found Ester on the stairs crying. He pulled her to her feet. Time was against them and he needed her to listen. She still seemed badly shaken.
‘He was saying I’m involved but I’m not, I’m not. I don’t understand.’
Jack put his hands on her shoulders, making her listen to him. ‘Don’t play any more games with me. Your boss is dead. You need to salvage what you can from this, because you will need protection.’
‘Why would I need protection? He’s not dead. He’s not.’
‘Listen to me, Detmar’s dead. Take that in, Ester, he’s dead. Now go and do what I asked you because time is running out.’
‘Stop shouting at me! I can’t take any of this in.’
‘You better had, because any minute now Kurt will be getting people into the floor three gallery, and Christ only knows his intentions. Do you know if any of the security team are armed?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’
‘Go now. Do what I told you. I will be right behind you.’
Ester took several deep breaths, wiped away her tears and then nodded, before heading down to the ground floor to speak to the security men.
Jack found the doorman and took him to one side, explaining that he was with the Met police, and that when a team of officers arrived he was to direct them to the third floor.
‘Has some bugger stolen one of the artworks?’ he asked.
‘More serious than that, I’m afraid. Just keep the entrance clear.’
Returning to the reception, Jack passed a few of the guests on their way out, some loudly complaining about their evening having been curtailed. They were not impressed with having half-full champagne flutes taken from their hands and being ushered out without explanation. Jack headed up to the second floor to find Ester standing by the entrance.
‘I’ve got the two security men from here up on the third floor, but there’s a lot of guests and I can’t talk to them all discreetly. What about sounding the fire alarm?’
They both stopped in their tracks as they heard the taped announcement. ‘Ladies, Gentlemen, honoured guests, please make your way to the third-floor gallery as the exhibition is about to begin. Detmar’s protégé and partner Kurt Neilson will present his groundbreaking works using oils, acrylic and collages that have never been displayed before this evening.’
‘I don’t believe this!’ Ester barked, her face contorted with fury as her hands clenched into fists. ‘Kurt is a pathetic amateur with no talent whatsoever, and his sexual obsession with Detmar is sickening, I can’t believe that he would have the guts to harm him. This is his only way of hurting him because Detmar has genuine talent for discovering great young artists, promoting and exhibiting their work...’
Jack gripped her by her shoulders. ‘We don’t have time to list all Detmar’s bloody virtues. If you can’t control yourself, you’ll create panic...’
She hunched up, bowing her head, her voice muffled as she pressed herself against him. ‘I don’t know what to do. Please help me.’
Jack took her face in his hands, his voice calm. ‘There was a gun in the bedroom upstairs, Ester. Look at me, do you know if Kurt has taken it?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know. He was in there; he was in there earlier.’
Jack gestured to the young woman who had been passing out cloakroom tickets. She looked very confused at so many guests leaving. ‘Take care of her, get her a brandy or something.’ Before she could ask why, he barked, ‘Just do it!’
Jack moved to the stairs, looking upwards to the remaining guests casually making their way to the third-floor gallery. He saw the glass-walled lift door opening and recognised the long blond braided hair, tonight worn with silk ribbons and a long backless dress, stepping into it. Jack darted forward to grab the door before it closed. Helga looked shocked for a moment before pressing her back against the glass wall as he jabbed at the button to stop the lift.
‘You need to get out, and fast,’ Jack told her. ‘Detmar is dead, and any connection you have with him or this gallery will get you arrested and charged with forgery.’
Helga showed little reaction, so he moved closer to her. ‘I know more about you now, Helga, and if you want to save Adam Border from being brought into this, don’t lie to me anymore.’
‘I don’t believe you. Detmar owes me a lot of money.’
Jack pressed the button to open the gate, grabbed her by her shoulder and shoved her out; she even tried to hang onto his jacket before he gave another hard shove and she stumbled backwards as he pressed for the lift door to close. As the lift moved upwards, Helga was approached by one of the security guards encouraging her to leave. This time she didn’t hesitate, hurrying out and hailing a passing taxi without even collecting her wrap from the cloakroom.
By the time Jack got out on the third floor, the double doors to the gallery were wide open and the guests were filing up the stairs. Two security guards were in position as Jack approached. He told them to stop anyone from going inside; there was a fire and they needed to leave the building. There were some very disgruntled and argumentative guests as Jack walked past them to go into the gallery and shut the double doors behind him. The platform was empty but at least twenty people were standing around the draped easels in some confusion. Then through a door at the back of the room, Kurt Neilson swept in, stepping onto the platform and opening his arms wide.
‘Welcome. I am Kurt Neilson.’ He squinted critically at the meagre crowd in front of him but continued regardless. ‘You have been invited to see my first and only exhibition. I am very proud to show you the results of my creative endeavours, many works in oils and acrylic, as well as collages.’ The crowd might have been sparse, but there was a palpable sense of anticipation in the room, the excitement of art collectors about to get in on the ground floor.