Crucified

Chapter 25

‘Welcome to the gallery. May I have your name please, Sir?’ The smartly dressed young woman on the desk in the reception area smiled warmly at Jack.

Jack waved his invitation as if insulted. ‘Sotheby’s, you should recognise me by now,’ he said curtly.

She gave an embarrassed, apologetic nod as Jack picked up one of the leaflets from the desk and walked towards the first open doorway, picking up a glass of champagne from a tall young man holding a tray along the way.

The walls were adorned with large oil paintings from what Jack guessed was the eighteenth century, depicting women in full satin gowns and men in white powdered wigs.

More guests were arriving as Jack made his way to a corner to read the leaflet. The gallery had three open floors: the third floor would feature the exhibition of a new artist’s work, and Detmar Steinburg would introduce the artist at eight o’clock. The fourth floor contained the private offices.

Jack walked out and noticed two men, who were not in evening suits, standing in opposite corners of the room. He assumed they were security guards. As he approached the wide staircase, he saw a glass-sided lift with a sign that read: ‘Gate opens outward’. Jack stepped into the lift and got out on the second floor. The walls here were adorned with more modern paintings, and two men were examining them closely while referring to a catalogue. Another security guard in a suit was standing to one side.

After wandering around for a while, Jack managed to slip past the security guard while a group of people arrived at the same time. He took the lift again, this time exiting on the third floor. There was no one stationed at the entrance to this part of the gallery, but a chain was attached to the long door handles. He was able to inch them open a little giving him a reasonably good view of the room. He was surprised to see that all the canvases were draped with muslin sheets and were on easels rather than hanging on the walls. At one end of the room, there was a small, raised platform with a microphone and a jug of water with a glass next to it. He guessed that this had to be the exhibition area, and Detmar would be introducing the artist from the platform.

He took the stairs to the next floor. There was a sign that read, ‘Private: No Admittance’, and all four doors were closed. Each door bore a small plaque indicating that it was a private office, a staff bathroom and toilet or a sales department. At this point, Jack was beginning to think he had been mistaken about Detmar, as it seemed that Detmar was definitely expected to open the exhibition.

He moved across the landing to the door at the end. Although it appeared to have some kind of digital lock requiring a code to enter, when he turned the handle, it opened. He quickly slipped inside, leaving it partly open, so he wasn’t locking himself in. One window overlooking the rear of the gallery had the blinds partly open, giving the room a yellowish glow.

Although the light was dim, as he moved further into the room he could see an array of crates. These were stacked against one wall beside two large sacks. One crate, narrower and longer than the rest, was open and Jack saw it was filled with straw. Jack got down on his knees and pulled away the straw until he could feel the frame of a painting. Pushing aside the protective muslin covering, he could now see the edge of an oil painting, just making out a bejewelled woman’s wig and part of her brow. He recognised it immediately as Lady with a Fan which he’d first seen at the abandoned school with Adam. He took out his phone and began to film.

He straightened up, dusting down his trousers, and turned his attention to the wall. It was covered in laminated sheets detailing storage units, shipments, dock numbers, drop-off points, customs and the different paperwork required for European ports: France, Amsterdam, Italy. One laminated sheet detailed shipments from Berlin, expected times and collection points, another had a list of Japanese customs regulations. Jack felt his heart rate increasing. This floor, this room, was clearly the heart of the operation.

Jack had started to take pictures of more canvases ready to be packed, making certain to get close-ups of the descriptions and destinations, when he heard raised voices. He listened at the door, unsure where the voices were coming from, then edged out onto the empty landing. As the voices got louder, he realised they were coming from the office. Jack barely made it into the staff bathroom before the door to the office opened.

‘I am very concerned, Kurt. We were expecting him yesterday. I still have not received a text or return phone call — we should have cancelled.’

‘This is my show, you understand me. He isn’t here, so I am taking over and you can do nothing about it.’

‘Oh, I can, Kurt, because you’re drugged out of your head, as usual. You have not allowed any of the staff to organise the showing, let alone even see what we are exhibiting. I have worked here for ten years, and he has never allowed anyone else to take control of a gallery showing before. Have you any idea how many years of hard work it has taken to have these buyers and dealers here? It’s his reputation that I am worried about.’

‘This is my life, Ester, mine, not yours... you can go fuck yourself because he would never put his cock up your frozen cunt.’

‘I am not taking that from you! I’ve been organising these events alongside Detmar. Me. Not to be allowed onto floor three is ridiculous. You’ve had it locked and barred — why?’

‘If you don’t like it, you know what you can do. Get the hell out! This is my night, and I am warning you not to interfere.’

Jack eased open the bathroom door and waited for the man she had called Kurt to come into his eyeline. As soon as he saw him, he recognised him as the black man he had seen coming out of the framer’s shop. He was wearing a long, flamboyant white gown with embroidery and beads around the neck and sleeves.

The woman called Ester was shaking in fear and frustration. ‘I am going to call him again right now. Believe me, he won’t approve of this because I know exactly how he feels about your endeavours. He would never even contemplate giving you an entire exhibition. I will tell him...’

Jack tensed up as Kurt reached out and grabbed her throat, stopping her in mid-flow. He was a big man, and he shook her like a rag doll. ‘Don’t make me hurt you, Ester. Just stay out of it, or you will regret it.’

He pushed her hard against the open office door and her head cracked against the wood panel. She looked terrified as he calmly backed away, heading towards the stairs. Jack shut the door so Kurt wouldn’t see him, then had to quickly go into one of the toilet cubicles as the door opened.

Ester came into the bathroom, bleeding from a cut on the side of her head. She was sobbing as she splashed cold water over her face and then soaked a wad of paper tissues to stem the blood. Jack slowly pushed open the toilet door. She could see him in the mirror and looked as if she was about to scream.

‘Ester, don’t, please don’t. I’m here to help you. Take a deep breath, come on, breathe, that’s it. Now sit down for a minute.’ She had the tissues clamped to her head, staring at him fearfully. Jack helped her sit on a small gilt-backed chair with a velvet cushion. Dressed in a white silk blouse and tight black skirt, she had high cheekbones, dark brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes and her jet-black hair was pulled back from her face and coiled in an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck.

‘I am looking for Detmar, it’s urgent. I really need you to tell me what is going on and if you know where he is.’

‘But why do you want to know this?’

‘I’m a private investigator,’ Jack lied.

She looked at him dubiously, then started to cry. ‘No one knows where Detmar is,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to contact him for days. He was in Germany on business, due back over a week ago. He has galleries all over the world. None of them know where he is.’

‘Tell me about Kurt?’

‘He’s Detmar’s partner, although they have a very volatile relationship and lately he has been very difficult to handle. Detmar always leads these events, but without him here, Kurt has been running the gallery.’

Jack helped Ester to her feet and she led him into the office, an elegantly panelled room with an antique desk and numerous filing cabinets, along with a computer with a wide screen and a shredding machine beside the desk. She sat at the desk, powered up the computer and showed him all the texts, messages and calls she had made trying to trace Detmar.

‘Can you tell me about Detmar’s other business?’ Jack asked carefully.

She looked confused. ‘I don’t understand what other business you are referring to.’

‘Tell me about Kurt, then. Are they business partners? How is he involved with the galleries?’

‘He’s an artist. They have been together for years, but you know Detmar can be very promiscuous, and it infuriates Kurt. I think he is envious of his success, too, and he is often here arguing with him because he won’t promote his artworks.’

‘So, they live together?’

‘Yes. Detmar keeps him in luxuries. They have houses all over the world, and Kurt wants for nothing.’

‘Do you know an artist called Adam Border?’

There was not so much as a flicker of recognition. ‘No, but I never deal directly with artists really. I handle the running of the galleries. My contact on the US and European side is always through someone equivalent to me.’

‘What about shipping paintings around the world?’

‘That is handled by Detmar, and he has numerous assistants to handle collections.’

Ester had gradually regained her composure, opening her handbag to remove her compact and check her face. Now that the blood had stopped and her face was clean, she could see that the cut on her temple was only small. She began using a powder compact to conceal the injury. Jack watched, pacing, as she put on fresh lipstick. If she knew about the forgeries, she was good at hiding it, Jack thought. She seemed to instinctively trust him, perhaps because she was in shock after Kurt had attacked her. But he was unsure whether he could trust her.

‘I should go down to check on the guests,’ she said, snapping the lipstick cover back on and putting it back in her handbag. ‘Do I look OK?’

‘I think you should be very careful after what just happened to you,’ Jack said.

She pursed her freshly painted lips. ‘I will be all right. Thank you.’

Almost as an afterthought, as Jack was about to follow her out, he asked, ‘Do you know a Helga Meirling?’ The question seemed to take her by surprise, and this time she reacted to the name. Jack quickly blocked her exit. ‘How do you know her?’ he persisted.

Ester sighed. ‘She is a very wealthy client. I believe Detmar arranged a rental property for her’.

‘Was that in Haslemere?’

She reacted again, just a slight flicker of her eyes. ‘I am not sure. It was a private transaction. Ah, I suppose Helga must be the one who hired you then?’

Jack didn’t deny it. ‘If you know Helga, you must know Adam Border.’

‘I have never heard of him. The reason I am aware of Helga Meirling is not because Detmar leased some property for her, it’s because she recently contacted me about a cheque that she had been expecting from Detmar.’

‘So, they are close friends?’

‘I don’t think so. She is a client who makes a lot of introductions.’

‘How much was the cheque for?’

Ester hesitated, returned to the desk, opened a drawer and took out an expensive-looking black leather diary. She searched through it, then closed the diary before unlocking another small drawer to take out a large chequebook with the name of a private bank emblazoned on it.

‘Three days ago. It was for a hundred thousand pounds. I told her that there must be some mistake and that I would tell Detmar to send a banker’s draft instead. If you are working for her, you know she is a very astute businesswoman. He pays her on a regular basis.’

Jack sighed. The more he learnt, the less he felt he really understood. They left the office together as the sounds of the guests from below drifted up. Ester went to the lift, but Jack raised a hand.

‘I’m not going in that thing again. I’ll walk down.’

‘It is an unusual lift, I suppose, to the layman. You see the gate has to open outwards for when we move the artwork in crates between floors. There is more room inside the lift and the crates cannot be damaged by the doors closing on them. But walk if you insist.’

She stepped back as the door opened, then entered the lift, while he went towards the stairs, watching it pass him. After a moment, he went back up the stairs and into the office again. He sat at the desk, picked up a silver letter opener in the shape of a dagger and broke open a small, locked drawer. The drawer was filled with chequebooks from different banks. Flipping through them, he found cheque stubs for hundreds of thousands of pounds in various currencies. The writing was neat and elegant. Next, he took out a diary and read through the most recent entries made in the same elegant handwriting.

The diary was filled with appointments ranging from hair stylists and manicurists to dental and fitness trainers, as well as bookings for lunch and dinners at top restaurants. Some names were underlined in red, and there were also notes about purchase dates and deliveries. Yet again he switched on his phone, filming as much of the contents as he could.

The diary’s most recent pages were almost empty. Across each day, there was a note stating that Detmar was unavailable, along with contact numbers for him in France and Germany. There was also a sheet that appeared to be a list of large financial transactions and deposits in the Cayman Islands.

Jack put the diary back where he found it. He searched the other two drawers but found nothing of interest. Unable to open the locked filing cabinets, he decided to return to the gallery. As he turned towards the door, he noticed a faint scrape mark on the wooden floor next to the panelled wall. This immediately suggested that one of the panels was actually a door which dragged on the floor as it opened. After some exploration, he discovered a concealed lever on the wall. He pushed it and the hidden door clicked open.

As it closed behind him, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He felt a thick carpet beneath his feet. Jack edged further into the room, arms outstretched for safety, and stopped when a small night light on the skirting board illuminated, obviously triggered by his movement. Its light revealed the room’s contents. There was a carved single bed, with satin duvet covers and matching pillows, and two antique cabinets on either side. On the bed was a pinstriped navy suit, a crumpled shirt and suede shoes. He walked round the bed opened a wardrobe filled with high-end shirts, suits and shoes. Many items of clothing had Detmar’s initials.

Beside the built-in wardrobe was another door, leading into a luxuriously appointed marble bathroom. He found a light switch as the night lights went out in the bedroom. Opening the cabinets, he found rows of vitamins alongside prescription drugs, sleeping tablets, Viagra and, in a small plastic bag with a silver spoon, a white powder he assumed to be cocaine. Hypodermic needles were still in their packages, and he thought one small dark brown glass jar could contain heroin. The second cabinet contained bottles of cologne and body creams, plus a silver-backed hairbrush and matching silver-edged comb.

Inspecting the hairbrush, he found a few long strands of hair caught between the bristles, also a number still attached to the comb. He took some sheets of toilet paper and folded some of the hairs inside, then put them in his pocket. Looking down at the wastebin, he saw that beneath crumpled tissues and used hypodermic needles was an empty leather case. Jack recognised it immediately and knew it had contained a G18 Glock 9 mm automatic. He straightened up fast as he heard Ester’s voice, quickly turning off the light and stepping back into the dark bedroom area. He stood motionless against the wall so as not to activate the sensor lights and felt for the silver paper knife he’d taken from the desk.

Ester was shouting. ‘You are insane! I don’t know how the hell you got in here! I don’t believe you! Get out or I will get the police to remove you.’ Although Jack recognised Ester’s voice, and he assumed the other person was Kurt, until he too started shouting.

‘I want the money he promised me, or never mind you calling them, I will go to the fucking police myself. They’ve questioned me already, and I’ve kept my mouth shut, but they are now looking into the shipment at Southampton... you want to know what crazy is? I’ve got his bloody clothes. He slaughtered him like the mad dog he is and, yes, I never got rid of his clothes. So, if that bastard doesn’t pay up tonight, I’ll take them to the cops.’

Jack recognised the voice as O’Reilly’s.

Ester sounded utterly confused. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know nothing about any shipment at Southampton, and what clothes are you talking about? Who is dead?’

‘Don’t play the fucking innocent with me, you two-faced bitch. You’re in it up to your fucking eyeballs. I go down, I’ll make sure you go down with me.’

‘I don’t want any trouble, please let me talk to him for you. Detmar will pay you whatever he owes you. Let go of me!’

‘He’s fucking dead, you stupid bitch! He nailed him up!’

As Ester started screaming, Jack ran across to the hidden door, kicking it open to reveal Ester, curled up and terrified, with O’Reilly punching her. O’Reilly spun, leaving Ester and lunging at Jack. Jack parried a haymaker and went to stab him with the paper knife, but O’Reilly quickly headbutted him and the knife clattered to the floor as Jack fell to his knees then onto his back. O’Reilly made to kick him in the head, but Jack brought his foot up and kicked as hard he could between the legs. Screaming in agony, O’Reilly hunched over clutching his balls, but he still didn’t crumple. Instead, O’Reilly ran out before Jack could stagger to his feet.

He had to hold onto the edge of the desk for a second to get his breath. Ester was hysterical. ‘I don’t know who that creature is... he somehow got into the second floor, threatening me and dragging me up here. He says Kurt owes him money...’

Jack was on his mobile, holding up his hand for her to stop talking. ‘Just stay calm, go down and get your security guys lined up, but do it quietly, don’t sound any alarms, say you want them on floor three and wait for instructions. And get as many of the guests out as you can.’

‘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.