‘As you wish,’ she said curtly. ‘I’ll call one of the security guards to take you down there.’ She led the way out into the reception area.
Ester gestured to a security guard carrying a ring of keys. ‘This is Eric. He’ll take you into the basement. If you’ll excuse me, I have a great deal to sort out.’ She turned and walked away.
Morrison reached out for the keys. ‘I think we can handle it from here, thanks, Eric.’ He noticed large sweat stains on the security guard’s shirt. Morrison took the keys and the black rubber torch from Eric’s belt. ‘A couple of questions before we go,’ Morrison said, pausing. ‘I understand you were not on the third floor and didn’t witness the incident.’
‘That’s right,’ Eric nodded.
‘Did you see anything unusual before that?’
‘Yeah, this guy, one of the guests, he was shouting orders, taking control of things. Then he legged it when the police arrived.’
Morrison sucked his teeth. ‘Interesting. That’s all. Thanks.’
‘No problem.’ Eric gestured to a door. ‘Basement’s through there.’
The basement smelt strongly of damp. The ceiling light, once they found the switch, gave only a faint glimmer. Morrison clicked his fingers for the torch, and Collingwood handed it over. Slowly moving the beam around the vast space, they could see tangled cables leading to what was left of a box with rows of switches. The box had been smashed to pieces.
‘That’ll be the CCTV,’ Morrison sighed. ‘Kurt was certainly busy down here. Get one of our tech specialists down asap to see if they can retrieve anything.’
Frames of every shape and size were stacked along the walls, along with dozens of narrow wooden crates. Most were damaged. Morrison shone the torch around the walls and then the stone floor; it was evident that, at some point, something heavy had been pushed along it. There were distinct scrapes about six feet apart, leading to a double warehouse-style door which had an unlocked padlock hanging by a chain. He wrenched it open a few inches and peered out into the backyard.
Collingwood started looking through the bins. ‘You won’t find anything in there,’ Morrison told him. ‘Anything that was there will be gone by now. But that backyard could have been a way to get in if it was arson. With just two officers covering the place I’d put money on them not checking out the backyard.’
Back in the car, he asked Collingwood for his thoughts. ‘I’m not sure, Sir. But I think you are right about whatever they had in that cellar being shipped out fast. I noticed Ester’s hands were in a rough state, and the security guard was sweating like a pig.’
Morrison nodded. ‘Yeah, she only really started to lose it when I mentioned the forgeries. I mean, we have fuck all on that, I was just trying it on, but it looks like we hit a nerve. I reckon our Mr Steinburg was definitely running some sort of scam; with all of his properties, skipping around the world buying and selling. I don’t know and, to be honest, I can’t at this stage bring myself to give a fuck. More important we got the receipt for the cross, indicating premeditation; that was a good result.’
Collingwood nodded. His mobile gave multiple pings as Morrison continued. ‘And we need the fingerprint blokes down in that cellar to check the damaged CCTV unit. When you get back to the station, double-check if any dumpsters were hired either Sunday or today at the gallery. Something heavy-duty was parked in that backyard, must have shifted a lot of gear out of there.’
‘Yes, Sir. I just got a text. They’re bringing in Norman O’Reilly’s girlfriend first thing in the morning. Maybe she’ll give us something.’
Morrison nodded, then frowned as another loose end popped into his head. ‘I’d like to know who that anonymous caller was that tipped you off about what was about to go down.’
‘Yeah... right,’ Collingwood murmured his agreement. His anxiety levels were going up again. As well as the text about O’Reilly’s girlfriend being brought in, he’d also been told that the station was receiving streams of mobile phone film footage from people present at the gallery. What were the chances at least one had caught Jack?
Chapter 30
Jack had stopped off for a quick pint in his local pub, and to read the Evening Standard for any update on the fire at the gallery. It didn’t take long to discover there was no real news, and he tossed the paper into a bin as he started the fifteen-minute walk home. It was getting dark when he turned into his street and saw the car. About twenty yards ahead, a black Mercedes flashed its headlights. He paused, and the car flashed its lights again. He quickened his pace, coming abreast of the car. There was a driver wearing a chauffeur’s hat looking straight ahead, and Jack was about to rap on the window when the rear passenger door opened, and the interior lights came on.
Helga was sitting on the far side of the back seat, swathed in some kind of white fur. She gestured for Jack to get into the car. When he hesitated, she leaned across. ‘I do not have very much time.’ He got in beside her and closed the door. The interior light went out, and Helga leaned forward to the driver. ‘Do you mind leaving us for five minutes? I need a private conversation.’ Her driver half turned towards her, clearly not liking the instruction, then got out and closed the door.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack asked angrily.
‘Don’t get tetchy with me,’ she said calmly. ‘I spoke to a very nice lady this morning and she told me you were due back early this evening, so here I am. I have been waiting for quite some time.’
She rummaged briefly in her handbag. ‘I also promise you that this time, I do have a plane to catch. I am on my way to Dubai. Here, this is my ticket,’ she waved it in front of him.
‘What do you want?’
‘Two things, first to tell you some good news and the reason there was some urgency in being paid what was owed to me. Adam has found a young man, a scientist, who has discovered a way around the problem he was so concerned about. Do you remember we discussed that art experts have discovered radiocarbon as a method of dating paintings?’
Jack nodded, hating the fact he was sitting next to her right outside his family home.
‘Well, there has been some satisfactory development, but it is very expensive and obviously illegal. Without having that as surety, the thought of taking two or more years before his work is completed was something he was concerned about.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He was in Arizona, I think he was perhaps in Berlin also, but I have no idea if Adam is still there or not.’
Jack reached out to open the door.
‘Wait,’ she said sharply. ‘Please, I doubt if I will be returning to London for a long time, and I wanted to explain something about what I do. It has taken me years to build up my list of wealthy clients. They are billionaires that want a Renoir or whatever and can pay for it. I connect them with someone who can find what they want.’
‘Is that what you have been doing for Detmar?’
‘Yes, for many years, but recently he was becoming too greedy. You have to understand that Detmar had to spend a vast amount of money to show that he was wealthy and successful.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘In reality he owned nothing. His properties were all short-term leases, and that included his galleries. It was all a house of cards.’
‘So how do you make your money?’
‘I get a cut of the sales, that is if my introductions pay dividends.’
‘Even if you are selling fakes?’
‘I am not selling any such thing. I am simply introducing people with great wealth to exclusive dealers. Whether or not they proceed to pass on a fake work of art has nothing to do with me.’