Crucified

Chapter 26

After making his phone call to Collingwood, Jack found Ester on the stairs crying. He pulled her to her feet. Time was against them and he needed her to listen. She still seemed badly shaken.

‘He was saying I’m involved but I’m not, I’m not. I don’t understand.’

Jack put his hands on her shoulders, making her listen to him. ‘Don’t play any more games with me. Your boss is dead. You need to salvage what you can from this, because you will need protection.’

‘Why would I need protection? He’s not dead. He’s not.’

‘Listen to me, Detmar’s dead. Take that in, Ester, he’s dead. Now go and do what I asked you because time is running out.’

‘Stop shouting at me! I can’t take any of this in.’

‘You better had, because any minute now Kurt will be getting people into the floor three gallery, and Christ only knows his intentions. Do you know if any of the security team are armed?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’

‘Go now. Do what I told you. I will be right behind you.’

Ester took several deep breaths, wiped away her tears and then nodded, before heading down to the ground floor to speak to the security men.

Jack found the doorman and took him to one side, explaining that he was with the Met police, and that when a team of officers arrived he was to direct them to the third floor.

‘Has some bugger stolen one of the artworks?’ he asked.

‘More serious than that, I’m afraid. Just keep the entrance clear.’

Returning to the reception, Jack passed a few of the guests on their way out, some loudly complaining about their evening having been curtailed. They were not impressed with having half-full champagne flutes taken from their hands and being ushered out without explanation. Jack headed up to the second floor to find Ester standing by the entrance.

‘I’ve got the two security men from here up on the third floor, but there’s a lot of guests and I can’t talk to them all discreetly. What about sounding the fire alarm?’

They both stopped in their tracks as they heard the taped announcement. ‘Ladies, Gentlemen, honoured guests, please make your way to the third-floor gallery as the exhibition is about to begin. Detmar’s protégé and partner Kurt Neilson will present his groundbreaking works using oils, acrylic and collages that have never been displayed before this evening.’

‘I don’t believe this!’ Ester barked, her face contorted with fury as her hands clenched into fists. ‘Kurt is a pathetic amateur with no talent whatsoever, and his sexual obsession with Detmar is sickening, I can’t believe that he would have the guts to harm him. This is his only way of hurting him because Detmar has genuine talent for discovering great young artists, promoting and exhibiting their work...’

Jack gripped her by her shoulders. ‘We don’t have time to list all Detmar’s bloody virtues. If you can’t control yourself, you’ll create panic...’

She hunched up, bowing her head, her voice muffled as she pressed herself against him. ‘I don’t know what to do. Please help me.’

Jack took her face in his hands, his voice calm. ‘There was a gun in the bedroom upstairs, Ester. Look at me, do you know if Kurt has taken it?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know. He was in there; he was in there earlier.’

Jack gestured to the young woman who had been passing out cloakroom tickets. She looked very confused at so many guests leaving. ‘Take care of her, get her a brandy or something.’ Before she could ask why, he barked, ‘Just do it!’

Jack moved to the stairs, looking upwards to the remaining guests casually making their way to the third-floor gallery. He saw the glass-walled lift door opening and recognised the long blond braided hair, tonight worn with silk ribbons and a long backless dress, stepping into it. Jack darted forward to grab the door before it closed. Helga looked shocked for a moment before pressing her back against the glass wall as he jabbed at the button to stop the lift.

‘You need to get out, and fast,’ Jack told her. ‘Detmar is dead, and any connection you have with him or this gallery will get you arrested and charged with forgery.’

Helga showed little reaction, so he moved closer to her. ‘I know more about you now, Helga, and if you want to save Adam Border from being brought into this, don’t lie to me anymore.’

‘I don’t believe you. Detmar owes me a lot of money.’

Jack pressed the button to open the gate, grabbed her by her shoulder and shoved her out; she even tried to hang onto his jacket before he gave another hard shove and she stumbled backwards as he pressed for the lift door to close. As the lift moved upwards, Helga was approached by one of the security guards encouraging her to leave. This time she didn’t hesitate, hurrying out and hailing a passing taxi without even collecting her wrap from the cloakroom.

By the time Jack got out on the third floor, the double doors to the gallery were wide open and the guests were filing up the stairs. Two security guards were in position as Jack approached. He told them to stop anyone from going inside; there was a fire and they needed to leave the building. There were some very disgruntled and argumentative guests as Jack walked past them to go into the gallery and shut the double doors behind him. The platform was empty but at least twenty people were standing around the draped easels in some confusion. Then through a door at the back of the room, Kurt Neilson swept in, stepping onto the platform and opening his arms wide.

‘Welcome. I am Kurt Neilson.’ He squinted critically at the meagre crowd in front of him but continued regardless. ‘You have been invited to see my first and only exhibition. I am very proud to show you the results of my creative endeavours, many works in oils and acrylic, as well as collages.’ The crowd might have been sparse, but there was a palpable sense of anticipation in the room, the excitement of art collectors about to get in on the ground floor.

Kurt stepped down from the platform to remove the drape from his first painting. Everyone moved closer. It was a portrait of a woman; her hair had been styled with hundreds of tiny seashells, and in her arms was a small piglet, which she was suckling. He withdrew a drape from a second painting, and this one created more of a murmur. It was a mermaid, her webbed tail and fin covered in pieces of tin foil. Her blond hair was brilliant yellow seaweed, and out of her wide-lipped mouth emerged a fish with a phallic tail.

The astonished guests began whispering, even sniggering, as Jack eased his way around the room. He kept his eyes on Kurt, but he could see no obvious weapon. Jack noted that the two security men were now inside.

Kurt started laughing, then pivoted to the third canvas. Someone said loudly that they had seen enough and this made everyone laugh. Kurt stopped in his tracks, his face twisted with disbelief.

‘You have not seen my best work. I was keeping it for the end. But I will quickly show you some of my most recent pieces first.’ The third painting was of a red brick building with dolls’ faces smeared with makeup at the windows. People began to walk out. Now Kurt was really becoming agitated, swirling around in his robe, his face glistening with sweat as he screamed,

‘Wait! I have saved the best for last.’ There was laughter around the room. ‘You two-faced condescending... Look! This is my masterwork: my beloved mentor Detmar Steinburg, Ladies and Gentlemen.’

Kurt had to jump up to unhook the drape from the top of the six-foot canvas. As soon as it was revealed, the laughter instantly stopped, to be replaced with gasps of horror. The figure was crudely painted, his crossed ankles and outstretched hands nailed to the cross with silver bolts. Naked and with deep knife wounds gushing blood, the most appalling part was the head. The figure’s long hair hung loosely to the shoulders but couldn’t disguise the destroyed face, with blood spurting from empty eye sockets, the nose flattened to a pulp and the mouth a mass of broken teeth.

Jack gestured as unobtrusively as possible for the two security guards to move closer. They were now standing on either side of the painting, and Jack was easing into position behind it. After the initial shock, people began to find their voices and they were all angry. There were shouts of ‘Rubbish!’, ‘Disgusting!’ and ‘Sickening!’ Some of the guests were using their mobiles to take photographs, as others made for the doors to get away from the terrible sight as quickly as they could.

Jack saw Kurt reaching into one of the kaftan’s deep pockets and shouted out for the security guards to grab him. But, in that instant, Jack knew Kurt would get to the gun first. As he hurled his body at Kurt, he could see the silver Glock pistol butt. Jack knocked him sideways as the two security guards grabbed an arm each. Kurt was kicking and writhing, but the three of them managed to hold him down while Jack wrenched the Glock from his hands and pushed it out of reach.

They flipped Kurt onto his front so that the security guards could cuff him, allowing Jack to retrieve the weapon and flick the safety catch on.

‘Shoot me! Go on!’ Kurt screamed, as Jack grabbed one of the cords that had been holding the painting’s drapes to tie Kurt’s feet.

Jack turned to the stunned guests. ‘You all need to exit the gallery — now!’ Only then did he hear the police sirens wailing, but it was still a few minutes before DI Collingwood and three uniformed officers burst into the room.

Collingwood had done his best in the time he had but had only brought six officers. Three were downstairs in the reception area as the guests were all pushing to leave. It was pandemonium, with screams and shouts from those who had witnessed the horrific unveiling. Eventually Collingwood gave instructions for everyone to remain in the main gallery until he had taken their statements.

Jack remained with the two security guards standing over the hysterical Kurt, his hands and feet now restrained, but still twisting his body back and forth like a captured animal, until Collingwood instructed his officers to take him into custody. They replaced the cord with leg straps before dragging Kurt to his feet, ready to bundle him into the waiting patrol car, while he continued swearing, spitting and trying to bite them. As they pulled a spit hood down over his face, Kurt turned his venom onto Jack, alternately snarling and sobbing while repeating over and over, ‘Kill Me! Kill me!’

Jack remained with Collingwood as he explained in more detail what had happened, handing him the hairs from the brush and comb for DNA analysis to verify that their victim was Detmar Steinburg. Even if the painting made it obvious that Kurt Neilson had committed the murder, everything would still have to be proven beyond doubt. Collingwood was finding it difficult to take in everything Jack was saying. He made copious notes, while constantly taking deep breaths and wiping sweat from his palms.

‘You have to arrest O’Reilly and search his address asap.’

‘I’m still waiting for the warrant.’ Collingwood saw Jack roll his eyes in disbelief. ‘It’s a Saturday evening, Jack. Trying to find a bloody magistrate is murder.’

Jack nodded. ‘When you do get it, you’ll find even more evidence in O’Reilly’s house. And he was here tonight demanding money.’

‘O’Reilly was here?’

‘Yes, I won’t waste your time with all the details now. But I am pretty certain he’s the one who cleaned up the framer’s shop and is also involved in Detmar’s other business... the illegal sale of forged paintings.’

Collingwood took another deep breath. This case was getting stranger by the minute. ‘Listen Jack, I have to ask you this, because it seems like you’re right at the heart of it—’

Jack interjected. ‘I was suspicious after seeing you all at the ICU. Don’t forget bloody Morrison has been questioning me about being caught on CCTV at the murder site! I wasn’t going to do nothing. I just started to put a few things together, but you take the kudos. Say it was an anonymous tip-off, because I’m out of here.’

‘Jack, wait, you can’t just walk away.’

‘Yes I can. There’s a woman here, Ester. She was Steinburg’s personal assistant for a long time. She should be taken in for questioning. For Christ’s sake Collingwood, don’t waste any more time. She’s loyal, so right now she’ll be clearing out anything incriminating. She cries easily, but she’s a good liar so don’t be fooled. Detmar Steinburg was a very rich man. There’s a hidden room off the office. You’ll find it.’

Collingwood watched Jack walk away, wondering whether he should have allowed him to do so. But he had so much to deal with already, he really had no choice. First off, he needed to find O’Reilly. He would use the ‘anonymous tip’ angle and made a note to talk to whoever had received the call at the station, hoping it would not be traceable back to him. Collingwood had not felt such an adrenalin buzz before in his entire career. Now that his team had secured the gallery and the surrounding scene and were starting to take statements, he decided to go up to the fourth floor and find Steinburg’s assistant. One of his officers was coming down as he headed up the stairs.

‘Anyone up here?’

‘Yes, Sir, woman in the office. She refused to come out; I was just coming down to get a female officer.’

Collingwood continued up to the fourth floor, recalling what Jack said about a hidden room. He did a quick check of the bathroom, toilets and secretaries’ office before entering into the main office.

‘Ester?’

She was taken aback, staring at him, standing by the shredding machine. He moved quickly towards her. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Collingwood. Stop what you’re doing.’ Ester hit the stop button. ‘Are you Ester?’

‘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.