Crucified

Chapter 37

Jack lay on the small single bed they’d bought from Portobello market feeling utterly wretched. He went over the entire discussion he’d had with Maggie. He’d always known she was far more intelligent than he was, and tonight, she had once again given proof of her many talents. Her quick thinking and determination to protect him made him feel like weeping. He immediately considered giving in his notice and leaving the Met, but then what other options would he have?

He was trying to avoid facing the truth of her accusation. He had risked so much, and it wasn’t the first time. He closed his eyes, hoping to sleep, but his brain kept spinning, trying to figure out his next move. He knew if he went back to the station, the boredom would only get worse and he’d never get the respect he felt he deserved. Reflecting on his emotional breakdown and how Maggie had protected him, he said to himself, ‘I have to make some changes in my life.’

One thing was for sure, he didn’t want to change his family. Maggie and the children were the best part of his life. Losing them would destroy him and he’d only have himself to blame. He began to go over everything that had happened over the last few weeks, eventually falling into a deep sleep as exhaustion overtook him.

Maggie had an early start at the hospital. Penny was preparing for the walk to school with the children when she saw Maggie was getting ready to leave. ‘Is everything all right, dear?’ she asked tentatively.

‘No, Mum, it isn’t, but I don’t want to talk about it now.’

Penny quickly changed the subject. ‘Marius was asking about knocking down the walls.’

‘Fine, let him come in and smash them down. It might wake the hero.’

‘Oh, I wanted to tell you that his computer, his mobile phone and your laptop were delivered late last night. They’re in Jack’s office. It was so late I didn’t want to disturb you,’ Penny said.

Maggie shrugged, collecting her medical bag and briefcase before walking out of the kitchen, fighting back the tears. Penny sighed deeply, then got on with getting Hannah ready and Charlie settled in his pram.

Jack heard the movements downstairs and waited for Penny and the kids to leave the house. He had a shower and put on his best suit. In his office, he found the invitation hidden inside the plastic duck. He charged his mobile and then made a to-do list before making some calls. He got through to DCI Clarke, briefly explained that he wanted a transfer, and ended the call before Clarke could ask any questions. He then called DCI Broadbent at Scotland Yard.

‘Good morning, Sir. I wanted to let you know that although my mobile phone and laptop have been returned, along with my wife’s laptop, she is taking legal advice for misappropriating her confidential medical reports.’

Broadbent was taken aback by Jack’s aggressive tone. ‘I do hope we can avoid getting into any kind of legal situation, DS Warr.’

Jack continued. ‘As you know, the press is still very eager to interview me. I have declined to speak with them up to this point, but before I make a final decision, I would like to know the Yard’s intentions regarding my presence at the art gallery.’

‘I believe it is under discussion this morning.’

‘That’s good. I hope it will be satisfactory. I really don’t want to broadcast the fact that I was in a cell for over sixteen hours and subsequently released with no charges.’

‘As I said, we are discussing the entire situation at eleven o’clock this morning.’ Broadbent was trying his best to sound reassuring.

‘Good. I have also resigned this morning and would like to suggest an alternative position. Perhaps this would be a good time to discuss—’

‘I’m sorry, are you saying you have resigned?’

‘As a homicide detective, not from the police service. I was hoping there might be another more suitable position within the Met.’

Broadbent was struggling to assimilate everything Jack was saying. All he could do was to try and pacify him. ‘I believe DCI Morrison will not be present at the meeting this morning.’

‘He shouldn’t be. He’s an incompetent officer with a personal grudge against me. If you examine my records and the many murder cases I have headed up, you’ll realise it was a deplorable act to accuse me of misconduct. His outrageous treatment of me as a highly respected officer should be part of your discussion this morning. And perhaps his extra-marital affairs should also be mentioned while you’re at it. My home was invaded and you found no incriminating evidence against me. To be treated like a common criminal, arrested and put in a cell for what have been described as heroic actions is beyond belief. And let’s not forget that my actions led to the arrest of a very dangerous killer.’

‘Thank you for calling, Jack, I will endeavour to convey what you’ve said to the commissioner this morning.’

‘Thank you, Sir, but I would appreciate it if I could be present.’

‘I doubt that will be possible...’

‘I’ll be at Scotland Yard this morning for you to update me,’ Jack said, ending the call before Broadbent could argue further.

Jack pushed back his chair and stood up. He was beginning to feel better about things. For the first time in his career, he had spoken up for himself, and it felt good. He hoped he could keep it up in front of the commissioner and the rest of the brass later. In the kitchen he saw that Penny had left the ironing board up beside a basket of laundry. He took the rolled-up invitation out of his pocket and switched on the iron. He waited only until the iron was warm enough, then ironed out the creases and slipped it back into his pocket.

After checking Morrison’s office, Collingwood tracked him down to the canteen. He was sitting at a corner table, his unfinished breakfast pushed to one side.

‘Morning, Sir, do you want the good news or the bad news?’

Morrison’s red-rimmed eyes glared at him. ‘Don’t try and be funny with me.’

‘Sorry, Sir, but I’ve just had the fire department’s forensic results from the gallery.’

‘Christ, was it fucking arson?’

‘They don’t think so. No accelerants were discovered.’

Morrison nodded. ‘That’s one less problem then.’

‘Seems so, Sir.’ Collingwood handed Morrison the file and went to the counter to get some breakfast.

Jack got an Uber and grabbed breakfast at a coffee bar near Scotland Yard. It was only 9.45 a.m. so he took his time finishing his macchiato and bagel before taking the short walk to the Yard.

Approaching the main desk, he showed his ID and explained that he was scheduled to meet with Detective Superintendent Broadbent and the commissioner. The young female uniformed officer checked the scheduled meetings on her computer. As Jack had hoped, he was now slated to attend.

‘You’re a bit late, I’m afraid,’ she said, frowning. ‘They’ve been in the main boardroom since nine.’ She gave him a lanyard and instructed him to go to the third-floor reception desk. Jack went through security, which included a thorough check of his briefcase, and took the lift. On the third floor he walked past the reception desk and straight to the double doors of the boardroom. He took a deep breath, then opened the doors and strode in.

Seated at one end of the oval-shaped table were Broadbent, the uniformed commander and the commissioner. They turned in surprise as Jack closed the door behind him and approached the table. Judging by the array of coffee mugs and empty plates, it was obvious to him that they had been closeted together for some time.

Broadbent stood up. ‘I was not expecting you until later this morning, Detective Warr.’

‘I wanted to be here as soon as possible after our conversation.’

Broadbent turned to introduce the two senior officers, who gave cold, hard stares but said nothing as Jack drew out a chair at the other end of the table.

The commissioner nodded for Broadbent to remain seated. He had a large file open in front of him. He laid his right hand on top of the thick stack of documents. ‘We have been looking at your career, which I find very impressive. You have proven yourself to be a skilled investigator with a strong understanding of forensic science and an excellent team spirit. The recent situation has been a shocking and damaging development for the Met’s policing. I have thoroughly reviewed the facts of the case and your subsequent wrongful arrest. I want to express my sincere regret for the distress it has caused you and your family. I have also taken into account your involvement in the arrest of Kurt Neilson and your determination to protect the many innocent lives that were at risk.’

Jack leaned back in his chair. The three men exchanged glances as if they had already discussed exactly what the commissioner would say. When he got no response from Jack, he coughed and after a pause, continued.

‘Detective Warr, we have prepared a statement for the press that we want you to review. We need to put a lid on all the speculation instigated by your disappearing act, for want of a better description.’

Broadbent was handed a typed single page with a Scotland Yard logo. He walked down the table to pass it to Jack and then returned to his seat.

Jack leaned on his elbows as he read over the statement. It was bullshit, explaining that to avoid identifying a senior undercover detective, they had withheld his identity for his safety. Jack finished reading and slid the page back down the table.

The commissioner then looked at Broadbent before he coughed. ‘Regarding your future within the Met, you informed DCI Broadbent in a call early this morning that you had every intention of resigning; understandable, as you were still under pressure from the media and had no wish to return to your present station.’

Jack nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself, while frequent glances were exchanged between the three senior officers. He could feel the tension in the room.

The commissioner continued. ‘We have thoroughly evaluated your actions and concluded that although you took some risks, they were justified by the outcome. After careful consideration, we have decided on the best course of action. Although it hasn’t been officially announced, we will soon be forming an elite team of highly experienced officers on a new homicide squad. This squad will focus solely on handling category A murder cases and will operate directly from Scotland Yard.’

He waited for Jack’s response and not getting one, continued. ‘We think it will be a very beneficial career move for you to be allocated a position on this squad. We all agree that you would be a valued addition, and so we are offering you this opportunity.’

Jack leaned back in his chair and gave them a polite nod. ‘I’d like to thank you for offering me this opportunity, but I’m afraid I cannot accept. I have thought a great deal about my future. Right now, at my last station, they are processing a manslaughter charge for an elderly widow whose pain-wracked husband begged her to take his life. I have found the emotional impact of dealing with these types of cases very disturbing, especially after the horrors of the Rodney Middleton case. That investigation, and the subsequent trial, took a heavy toll on me and my family, and so regretfully I am turning down the opportunity of working with a squad that only deals with murder investigations.’

The tension went up a notch as they looked at each other. Broad-bent pushed his chair back before speaking. ‘In that case, Detective Warr, are you intent on resigning?’

‘Not at all, Sir. I hope to be able to work in an area I’ve become very interested in. When I was arrested, I made it clear that my reason for being present at Detmar Steinburg’s gallery was my interest in art. More specifically, the business of art fraud.

The commissioner held up his pen. ‘I’m sorry, what has this got to do with wanting a transfer?’

‘Just as you are organising an elite murder squad, I want to head up an elite fraud squad specialising in uncovering fake artworks.’

Broadbent blinked rapidly and turned to the commissioner, who seemed equally taken aback. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, Detective Warr, we already have a squad that deals with all types of fraud, and I believe this includes the sale of forged paintings.’

‘Not to the degree I want to focus on it, Sir. Right now, Sotheby’s employ, on a permanent basis, an art specialist who uses scientific methods to determine whether they are selling legitimate master-pieces or fakes. The market is huge and getting bigger. We need to keep pace with it.’

Jack was asked to leave the boardroom for fifteen minutes so that they could discuss his request. He correctly guessed that they would be reluctant, believing that the current fraud squad was up to the task. But they would also prefer to keep Jack in-house where they could keep an eye on him. And Jack’s new team could always be disbanded if it proved to be a waste of time.

Two hours later, Jack left Scotland Yard with a spring in his step. He flagged down a taxi to take him to Bond Street. The gallery was covered in scaffolding, with a notice saying it was closed for refurbishment. Looking up at the empty, fire-blackened windows, he realised how fierce the fire must have been. Peering through the entrance, he noticed a light on in the reception area. After pressing several different buttons, the door finally buzzed open and he stepped inside.

The gallery looked nothing like it had when Jack had first blagged his way in among the throng of well-heeled art lovers. The walls had been stripped bare, the carpets removed and the huge chandelier was missing. And at first, he didn’t recognise Ester when she walked out of the first gallery wearing fawn trousers and high-heeled boots with a matching draped cashmere sweater. It was not just the different clothes, she had also cut her hair short and was wearing very little makeup.

‘I saw you getting out of the taxi,’ she said. ‘I am waiting for the new leaseholder’s assessor to check the building, which, as you see, is now back to the way it was before we made it into an art gallery. They are very unpleasant. And it is frankly going to bankrupt me to get the fourth floor rebuilt. At least the paintings lost in the fire were covered by the insurance.’

She cocked her head to one side as if expecting him to leave; when he didn’t, she went over to a small table and opened a file. A briefcase was propped beside the table. He slowly walked towards her, and she pursed her lips.

‘What do you want?’

‘To talk. Is there anywhere else we can go, or is this all that’s left?’ He gestured to the table, and she shrugged.

‘As I said, I am waiting for the assessor.’

‘It won’t take long. We can talk here,’ Jack said.

She sighed, sitting down on the only chair behind the table while he perched on the edge.

‘I know who you are, Detective. You’ve had quite a lot of press recently. If this is an official police visit, I refuse to have any further conversation with you without my lawyer present.’

‘I wouldn’t call it official,’ Jack said. ‘It’s more like move three places and pick up a get-out-of-jail-free card.’

She tightened her smile. ‘I’ve never played Monopoly. So why don’t you just tell me what you want from me.’

‘How is Kurt Neilson?’

‘Mad.’

She laughed softly. ‘You know the value of his sick paintings have gone through the roof. Eventually, as Detmar’s main beneficiary, I will get them, with a proviso that I take care of the madman until his death.’

‘So you are a very wealthy woman.’

She laughed again, shaking her head. ‘Not really, maybe just a little more financially secure. I am still waiting for the money taken from his penthouse to be handed over to me.’

Jack smiled. He noticed that she had perfect, very white teeth. She looked prettier than when he had last seen her. ‘Your new haircut suits you,’ Jack said with a smile, trying to put her at her ease.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘With Detmar gone, I no longer need to look like the dominatrix. He was very particular about how I dressed. He said his clients liked the steely, sophisticated approach.’ Reaching down, she opened the briefcase and took out a silver vape. She breathed in and exhaled, releasing a fine white trail.

‘I’ll get to the reason I am here, Ester. And don’t even think about lying because I know very well that Detmar’s real source of income was dealing in forgeries.’

‘That is ridiculous,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Detmar was an astute collector. He bought well and sold even better. His knowledge of art was—’

‘Don’t bullshit me,’ Jack interrupted. ‘I don’t have the time and neither do you. You need to listen to me carefully, Ester. I know you were involved in every aspect of his illegal business. But I’m here to offer you a deal.’

She sucked hard on her vape but didn’t protest. He leaned closer. ‘The deal will be that you agree to work with me and pass on your knowledge, because I’m certain you intend to carry on Detmar’s business when the publicity around his murder has died down’.

‘You are wrong. I was never involved... I was just instructed to organise the shipping.’

‘Stop it, don’t lie to me because I have enough evidence already to have you arrested. It’s not an empty threat, Ester... it’s a reality.’

She blew out another puff of the vape. ‘Aren’t you overplaying the hard man act a little? I think you should just fuck off.’

Jack swiped her briefcase off the table and put his own down. He clicked it open and took out his laptop, while she pressed back in her chair. Jack turned the laptop around so she could see the images on the screen — photos of all the information detailed on the walls: sales, shipments, names, along with the crates with their delivery labels, in particular the open crate clearly showing a section of the oil painting he had seen previously at Adam Border’s studio, Lady with a Fan. It amused him to watch her face, her tight lips, her eyes glued to the images on the screen. He switched it off.

‘Seen enough, Ester? If you agree to my proposition, it will also give you some leverage over me. Do you understand?’

‘I am trying.’

‘You tell me everything about how Detmar ran his business, including his artists and contacts in Europe and the USA. Just one of the paintings I’ve filmed gets sold, any one you claim was destroyed in the fire, and I will release this footage, unless you agree. And I want a percentage of every sale. Do you understand now?’

She nodded, taking another heavy pull on her vape.

‘I also want you to contact Helga Meirling and schedule a meeting with her as soon as possible.’

‘That will be difficult. She is abroad. I don’t know where. And you should know she is a very astute businesswoman. She has immensely rich friends, who are very careful about protecting her, just as you should be very careful about threatening me.’

‘All right, let me tell you how well I know Adam Border.’ Jack saw the glimmer in her eyes as he said Adam’s name.

‘I don’t know any Adam Border,’ she said. He reached over and took hold of her chin.

‘Don’t lie, Ester. I know about Adam and Helga, so just do as I ask, or be prepared to take the consequences...’ He released his hold on her chin and clicked his fingers.

‘I don’t know where Adam is,’ she said finally. ‘He’s as dangerous and as untrustworthy as she is.’

It took Jack another half an hour to explain everything he wanted her to do, starting with how they would arrange their meetings. ‘I will always contact you, not the other way round,’ he said.

She nodded.

‘Do you trust me, Ester?’

She laughed softly. ‘Do I have an option?’

‘Not really.’

‘You have a lot to learn.’

‘That’s why I need you, Ester.’ He stood up, putting his laptop back in his briefcase. She walked around the table to show him out, and he was surprised when she hooked her arm through his.

‘Shall I tell you something funny? After it happened, I had to move everything from the fourth floor, moving the paintings down in the lift, getting them all out and hidden before the sales could go through. Then I had to clear the rest of the basement; the crates of unsold paintings had to be moved. I organised skips to be loaded with all the wooden crates and taken to the main tip. Eric, one of the old security guards, a good man, stayed close to see them destroyed. You know they separate all the wood items to be pulverised by this big heavy machine that smashes them to bits, and he watched as one after the other was crushed.’

She withdrew her arm and laughed. ‘He said he became concerned as one of the crates opened and he saw part of an oil painting. The guy on the machine stopped, looked down, then said it wasn’t anything worth saving, just a gloomy picture of an old man in a broken frame. That was a Rembrandt self-portrait; Adam painted several of them, as did Rembrandt.’

Before Jack could react, two men arrived at the glass reception doors. Both were smartly suited and carrying briefcases, one bald with glasses, the other gaunt and older.

Ester gave Jack a brilliant smile, thanking him loudly for his estimate, before standing back to welcome the two men inside. ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ she said, closing the door behind them.