‘I removed Neilson’s paintings,’ Collingwood told him. ‘They’re wrapped and ready to be taken away. And, of course, the main event painting is already at the station.’
Ester Langton was at the top of the next set of stairs, wearing a tight-fitting black cashmere dress and high-heeled black boots with plastic rain covers. Her black hair was drawn into an elaborate coil at the nape of her slender neck. She wore a string of pearls with matching pearl earrings, and her thick makeup disguised not only the bruise on her forehead but any sign of the trauma she had been through.
She stood patiently waiting as they squelched along the sodden carpet towards her. They could now see the extent of the damage: some of the carpets had been rolled up, exposing the bare boards, and what remained of the burnt doors were stacked to one side. The whole area smelt of acrid smoke, with blackened walls, broken furniture and charred door frames.
‘Be careful,’ she warned. ‘The floors are quite uneven. You can look into what was the office, and you’ll see, the private bedroom is completely trashed.’
Morrison was not prepared to risk entering what was left of the office, although Collingwood edged towards what had been the staff storage area. It now had ‘danger’ tape where the door had been. The only area that had not been affected was the toilets, but the door was burnt and hanging loose.
Morrison had seen enough, unable to stop coughing as the acrid stench burnt his throat. They all went back down the stairs, into the room where the large paintings were still intact with little sign of damage from the fire.
Ester stood back to allow them to enter first. ‘Please do sit down. Can I offer you refreshments?’ She moved around a trestle table indicating a silver tray with a thermos of coffee and a jug of cream, a bowl of sugar cubes and a plate filled with pastries. There was a neat file of documents beside the tray. Collingwood stood to one side as Morrison drew up a velvet-covered hard-backed chair to sit down on. He noticed that although Ester looked perfectly turned out, as she gestured to the tray, her nails were chipped and broken.
‘I have, as my lawyer instructed, compiled a list of all the guests,’ Ester told them. ‘We also had a young girl checking off their names as they arrived, so we know who turned up and who didn’t. The invitations were printed before Detmar left for Europe; he was already planning the exhibition and was hoping to acquire new pieces to show. Kurt must have taken them and sent them out himself because I know Detmar would not have considered exhibiting his work. But as I said in my statement, Kurt had taken over the gallery whether I liked it or not.’
‘Had he ever done that before?’
‘No, he would not have dared. Our clients have been carefully selected over many years; discerning buyers and dealers and art critics. I noticed from the list of attendants that there was not the usual number of guests.’
Morrison reached out to take a pastry, and she passed him a small napkin. ‘Miss Langton, I noticed you have a number of CCTV cameras. I will require the footage from Saturday night.’
She leaned forward, holding both hands out in a helpless gesture. ‘I knew you would want them, and I can’t tell you how horrified I was when I discovered they had all been muted, turned to the wall or damaged, and that the main electrical hub in the basement was smashed. Obviously, Kurt had done all this as he knew what was going to happen. I have called the company, and they are going to send an engineer to check if there is any salvageable footage. I understand its importance.’
Morrison nodded. ‘It’s vital. We haven’t yet had the report from the forensic fire team. Do you have any indication of how the fire started?’
‘Not really. I know the fire started on the top floor, possibly in the storage room. It could have been a stray cigarette I suppose. I don’t know. There was such panic, and it was such a terrible night.’
Morrison nodded his understanding. ‘I’m afraid I would like you to take me through the events of Saturday evening. I’m sorry to make you repeat everything.’
They both listened intently as Ester explained again how she was assaulted by the man she later identified as Norman O’Reilly; he had been demanding money and said he had kept hold of some bloodied clothing that he would hand to the police if Neilson didn’t come good. She then explained how she was rescued from O’Reilly by one of the guests who had witnessed the assault. Collingwood strongly suspected this man was Jack.
‘Tell me more about Kurt Neilson,’ Morrison said.
‘I can only tell you that he was in a long, often violent relationship with Detmar. I think I was told he had once been a boxer, but I never socialised with him. I disliked his hold over Detmar, who took him around the world and gave him whatever he wanted.’
‘But he refused to exhibit his paintings?’
‘Detective Morrison, if you saw them, you would understand why — they were pitiful. He had no talent whatsoever.’
‘What about your relationship with Mr Steinburg?’
She sat upright in her chair. ‘I was his secretary to begin with and then became his personal assistant. He was a wonderful man. I have been with him for ten years.’
‘Did you ever have a sexual relationship with him?’
‘I find that insulting. I was inordinately fond of him, but not in that way.’
Morrison nodded. ‘Going back to Kurt Neilson. As you’ve told us, it sounds as if he was pampered by Mr Steinburg, with a luxurious lifestyle.’
She shook her head emphatically. ‘I would say that was all about to fall apart because Detmar was quite a promiscuous man, and Kurt was a very jealous one. I have something that I think will be of interest to you, detectives.’ She sifted through the neat stack of notes she had prepared for them and withdrew a single receipt. ‘This is from a theatrical prop department, paid for by Kurt Neilson. It was used in an epic film about the Nativity and was delivered to one of the shops Detmar used.’
She held up the receipt between thumb and forefinger. It was for a giant wooden cross, to be delivered to the framer’s where O’Reilly worked. It had cost one thousand four hundred pounds, with an extra two hundred for the delivery, which included chains and hooks. As Morrison and Collingwood looked over the receipt, she filled a large manila envelope with all the papers.
‘You have been very accommodating, Miss Langton, and I appreciate your assistance. I just have one more thing to ask. Would you help confirm something we are still looking into?’
She smiled and gave the same open-handed gesture. ‘Of course.’
‘We have found a considerable amount of cash in various currencies in Detmar’s apartment.’
She shrugged. ‘Detmar always liked to have money on hand, and I can obviously provide you with all his bank statements should that be legally requested. These would have been in my files, but of course due to fire...’
Morrison rubbed his hands together, crumpled the little napkin he had used into a ball and tossed it onto the desk. ‘You see, all that cash makes me wonder if Mr Steinburg was engaged in another kind of business. Dealing in forgeries to be precise.’
She stood up quickly, her eyes blazing. ‘How dare you even suggest that... let me tell you, if ever I discovered that we had acquired a fake artwork, I would not only report it to the authorities but ensure the artist was arrested. We employ renowned art experts to ensure the authenticity of every one of our paintings. Detmar does not ever...’ She stopped, heaving for breath, having spoken about him as if he was still alive. As the tears came, she snatched a paper napkin from the table. ‘I think you should leave. If you want any further information from me, I will insist my lawyer be present.’
Morrison stood, picking up the envelope. ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Langton. We have a search warrant,’ he added, holding it out to her, ‘and I’d like to go down to the basement before we go.’