‘Yes. I’m Ester Langton.’
‘I’ll need a statement from you, and I’ll also need your passport.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have it here. Why do you want it? I’m not involved.’
‘This is a murder investigation, Miss Langton, and as you were Mr Steinburg’s personal assistant, you most certainly are involved. I just need to find out how.’ As Collingwood reached out to take the bag from her, she stepped back.
‘These are personal items and if you want them, I will need to see a warrant.’
‘Miss Langton, I can arrest you.’
‘For?’
He was becoming impatient with her now and reached behind him to remove the handcuffs from his back pocket.
‘Ester Langton, I’m arresting you on suspicion of art fraud and...’
She took him by surprise by darting past him. He didn’t bother to chase after her, he simply got on his radio with instructions to detain the woman legging it from the fourth floor.
Collingwood checked through the shredded papers, which appeared to be letters and there was a further stack ready to be shredded. He left everything in place to be collected by uniformed officers.
By the time he reached the ground floor, Ester was handcuffed and being led out. Her hair had fallen loose from the coil at the nape of her neck and now hung limply to her shoulders. Her eye makeup had run, making dark black circles around her eyes, and even her lipstick was smudged. The usually immaculate, controlling woman running the most prestigious gallery alongside the handsome Detmar Steinburg was a mess.
Jack stood in the shadows, watching as Ester was led to a police car in handcuffs and smiling to himself. He would have liked to see her try and cry her way out of being arrested.
He suddenly felt drained and couldn’t wait to get home. He reckoned the shit would hit the fan at Fulham police station tonight and he hoped Collingwood would hold firm and keep his name out of it. The one moment he would have liked to witness was DCI Morrison’s reaction when told by Collingwood that not only had their victim been identified but the killer was in custody.
By the time Jack returned home, he had to sit in his parked car for half an hour to calm himself down. It was after eleven and the house was in darkness, so he quietly let himself in, closing the front door without making a sound. He didn’t even turn the kitchen lights on but remained in darkness as he poured himself a brandy. He sat at the table going over the entire night, as if watching a film; from the moment he had arrived at the gallery, to when he had finally left. He sighed, closing his eyes, questioning if he had done the right thing by walking away. If his involvement got out now, he’d be in serious trouble. Once again, he wondered if Adam Border had drawn him in, like a moth to a flame, and he was about to get badly burnt.
Chapter 27
Ester Langton sobbed hysterically during most of her interview with Collingwood. She admitted that she had been shredding private correspondence when he found her, desperate to avoid any further scandal, but claimed to know nothing about Steinburg’s death.
‘He had no family. We had worked together for ten years... I was the person closest to him,’ she said, visibly upset.
Collingwood hesitated before asking his next question, knowing the horrific state of Steinburg’s injuries. ‘Would you be willing to identify him?’
‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation, then added. ‘I want to do it now.’
‘Interview suspended,’ Collingwood said, turning the recorder off.
‘Kurt killed him, didn’t he?’ Ester said, tight-lipped.
‘We have reason to believe so,’ Collingwood admitted. ‘But he hasn’t been interviewed yet. Thank you for agreeing to make the identification. There are some things I need to do first. Please bear with me.’
Collingwood left the interview room and rang the mortuary at St Thomas’s Hospital. The night staff were not very cooperative, but at his insistence, they agreed to move the body to their viewing area despite the lateness of the hour. Ester’s lawyer followed them in her car and Collingwood sat beside Ester in the patrol car, explaining it was likely to be a very disturbing experience. He hoped Ester would be able to make the identification without having to see his ruined face.
Ester held her lawyer’s hand as they arrived at the mortuary and remained silent as they signed the necessary paperwork before being allowed through to the viewing room. There was one mortuary attendant, a young man with round glasses, who took a long time to find the switch for the lights. The body was lying on a gurney entirely covered by a white linen sheet. They stood to one side as the attendant removed the covering from Detmar’s head before Collingwood could stop him.
They had done their best to disguise the injuries. His eyelids were sewn closed, as was his mouth, so his smashed and broken teeth could not be seen. His broken, flattened nose had been filled with wadding, but nothing could disguise the bruising and disfigurement.
‘Is this Detmar Steinburg?’ Collingwood asked quietly.
Ester cocked her head from side to side, leaning forwards and showing no emotion, taking a long time staring from one side to the other of the dead man.
‘Can I see his left hand?’
The cloth was lifted. This time the assistant was careful not to show the wound where the iron nail had impaled his wrist, and Ester, for the first time, showed a reaction.
‘He wore a large gold signet ring on his little finger.’
‘That was not with his body,’ Collingwood confirmed before asking her again if it was Detmar Steinburg. Ester looked at the battered face again. Her ‘yes’ was hardly audible as she turned and hurried out with her lawyer.
Collingwood had to walk briskly after them to the car park and only just managed to thank Ester for her cooperation before they drove out. Although he had done a few identification viewings, he had never experienced one where there was such a lack of visible emotion.
Jack had stopped drinking, but remained sitting in the darkness replaying the moment Kurt had drawn the gun. He guessed that Kurt had not intended to shoot him or any of the guests, and the entire scenario he had set up, with the damning evidence of the crucifixion depicting his guilt, was to climax with him committing suicide. The more he thought about it, the more anxious he felt. He knew there were CCTV cameras both outside and inside the gallery, and when the footage was checked, he would be on it. He also recalled seeing some of the guests using their mobile phones to take pictures and videos. He got up and started pacing round the kitchen. He realised he’d been foolish to think Collingwood would be able to keep him out of it even if he wanted to. It was just a matter of time before Morrison learnt of Jack’s presence at the gallery and he needed to get ready for the inevitable questioning.
But what halfway plausible story could he come up with?
At that moment Morrison was giving Collingwood a fierce grilling, demanding to know why he hadn’t been informed of the situation at the gallery. Collingwood explained that he’d tried to locate his DCI, but the urgency of the situation left him with no choice but to take charge himself.
‘You did all this on the basis of an anonymous tip-off?’
‘I did, Sir. I’ve tried to trace the caller, but they used a burner phone. The Fulham control room forwarded the caller to me. I felt I had no option but to take it seriously and thank God I did. I could only drum up six uniform officers with it being Saturday night, and I really felt the need to get to the gallery asap, Sir.’
Morrison looked sceptical. ‘So how did you get the connection to O’Reilly?’
‘He was seen leaving the gallery, Sir. I sent a team to arrest him, but he was not at his residence and we’ve still not tracked him down. We have a warrant to search his flat.’