‘He can capture the essence of a person.’ This was the first thing Matilda had said since arriving at the station. ‘It’s more accurate than a photograph. He only has to see a person once and he can see their truth.’
An idea came to Laura. Now all she had to do was find the right moment to ask...
There had been such a long pause that Jack was unsure whether to say something. He was about to when Ridley turned to face him. ‘You have a go at Steve Lewis for not sharing information with us, Jack...’ Ridley stood, throwing his chair back against the wall. ‘Yet why is none of what you just told me about Jason Marks, on that incident board?’ He headed for the corner of his office and started to make himself a cup of ginger tea in an endeavour to calm down. ‘You’re a law unto yourself. Once again! Well, now I’ve got a DCI from Drugs thinking that I’m either in on your insubordination, or not even aware of it. Which makes me look at the very least incompetent.’ Ridley then returned to his desk and stared at the light brown liquid in his cup. ‘This shit tastes like peppered water.’
For a moment, Jack watched Ridley as he blinked rapidly and took in short, sharp breaths.
‘How are things? With you.’ Jack’s question sounded weak in light of what Ridley was going through. Not that Jack actually knew what Ridley was going through, because he was such a private man. Jack didn’t even know what kind of cancer Ridley had been diagnosed with. And he would never ask. Ridley had spoken as much as he was prepared to, and Jack respected that. ‘I’ll get my reports up to date now. I didn’t want to bother you with it because Jason Marks wasn’t there anyway.’
‘You had a go at me for not being there for you, Jack, so don’t have a go at me now for being all over you like a rash. You can’t have it both ways.’
A small smile crept over Jack’s face. ‘I’ll take being dragged over the coals by you above being ignored any day of the week. Sir.’
Ridley pushed the cup of ginger tea away from him across his desk. ‘Make me a coffee. Decaf.’ As Jack flicked the kettle on again, Ridley asked if he’d seen Foxy at the chapel. ‘I’d like to be able to give Mr and Mrs Chi some news on their daughter’s death before they go back to Amsterdam. The fire brigade are now saying that it could have been a leak from one of the gas tanks used to power the infrared heaters. I need to know if it was an accident or murder.’
Jack’s mobile pinged with an image from Laura. He was shocked to see a photo of a sketch of a young man with three words beneath: Meet our ghost. The sketch was frightening. Not only was it instantly recognisable as Adam Border — based on younger photos they already had and on verbal descriptions they’d received from people who’d met him — it also felt like an insight into the man himself, and that’s what made Jack wince. The version of Adam Border on Jack’s mobile screen looked powerful, strong and enigmatic. He also looked hollow — like there was nothing behind his eyes.
The A4 sketch of Adam Border was even more disturbing than the photo Laura had sent through. She had her head cocked to one side as they both looked at the sketch pinned to the evidence board. ‘He’s magnetic. He’s the boy your mum warned you against. If he was in a crowded room, you’d see him first.’
‘Then how is he invisible?’ Jack moved the two photos they already had of Adam Border closer to the sketch: one of him as a teen, from Hester Mancroft; and one of him as an adult, from Jessica Chi. ‘In both photographs he looks like a boy. Henrick’s drawn the man.’
‘Matilda said that Henrick captures a person’s essence. Their truth.’
‘That’s what this is, Laura. The camera does lie: it tells us that Adam is a handsome, wholesome man who parents see as son-in-law material. But this grown man with those unfathomable eyes...’ Jack tapped the sketch with the tip of his finger. ‘This is who we’re looking for.’
Laura had been working on the insurance lists and inventory from Arnold Hutchinson for much of the afternoon. One insurance company had said that they were involved with Frederick Jenkins in the early days, but he was a difficult client to manage because he always thought he knew best. He could buy, insure and sell an item within the space of a month if the market was ripe. He was an avid collector of an eclectic range of works — silver, porcelain, furniture — and his exceptional, ever-expanding knowledge meant that his judgement usually turned out to be right. He was just very tricky to keep up with because he could be so spontaneous. He used to say that the art world moved quickly, so you always had to be ready to move with it, or it would leave you behind. Conversely, when circumstances dictated patience, he had it in spades: many a time he bought up the work of an up-and-coming artist and held on to it until they’d made their name. Due to his constant buying, selling, and disagreeing with advice given, he eventually changed brokers.
The second insurance company also found Frederick Jenkins to be a difficult client as, by then, he knew his trade as well as, or better than, some of the experts. If he felt that a valuation was inaccurate, he’d demand a second or even a third opinion. But he was also a man that insurers wanted to work with because his private collection was so high-end: at his peak he owned a Modigliani, a Rossetti and a Van Gogh.
But the insurance company unlucky enough to be in the Jenkinses’ employ when Frederick died described Avril as being ten times worse to deal with. For months they could not gain access to the private collection and so had no clue what items were still in her possession, and yet she constantly questioned the level of monthly cover she was being quoted. In the end, the insurance company wrote her a letter stating that they could not work with her unless she allowed them access to her home in order to assess whether the current security levels were adequate. Three letters were sent in total, warning Avril that although many of her smaller valuables fell under her contents insurance, her incredibly valuable paintings would not be covered unless she cooperated.
This was why the insured property inventory from Arnold Hutchinson did not match the inventory held by the last company to insure Avril, and that, in turn, did not match the inventory of stolen items she wrote for the Kingston police, making it impossible to discern what Avril had sold, what had been stolen, and what should, in theory, still be in the house.
Jack looked at the mess of insurance and valuation information sitting on Laura’s desk. Laura shrugged. ‘Terence Jenkins has got one hell of a mess to unravel.’
Jack suddenly remembered that he hadn’t written up his notes from his visit to Arnold Hutchinson, so currently he was the only person in the squad room who knew there was a second will. Laura recognised the look on his face and asked what it was that he’d just remembered he’d forgotten. Jack turned, so his back was to Ridley’s office door, then lowered his voice.
‘Before the Chis arrived, I was with Arnold Hutchinson. He mentioned a second will written by Avril Jenkins. If it’s legitimate, it’ll override the first, meaning Terence Jenkins isn’t the beneficiary of her estate.’
Laura’s mouth dropped open. ‘Don’t tell me. Adam Border? Oh, my actual God, Jack. Terence is gonna be so pissed off when he finds out!’
‘He was. He was in with Hutchinson when I arrived. Avril did it online apparently.’
Laura gave a sly look towards Ridley’s office and sniggered at the thought of Jack having to relay news that was now more than five hours old.
‘I’ve not had time, Laura. The Chis arrived, then he distracted me with a bollocking about going to see Jason Marks, who just happens to be a suspect under constant surveillance by Drugs.’
Laura hid her face behind her hand in case he saw her laughing. She suggested that Jack give Hutchinson a quick call to see if he’d found anything out for sure yet about the new Will. Ridley would go a lot easier on him if he went armed with all the answers.