Vanished

Chapter 44

The observation room was full of those allowed to witness their suspect being charged. Michael Mahoney was still in the interview room with a half-eaten ham sandwich and a plastic cup of cold tea in front of him, looking furious. The two male officers remained at the ready.

Ridley was waiting outside the interview room with Barker who was demanding to know why they’d been kept waiting for so long. ‘Apologies for the delay,’ Ridley said calmly, ‘but further evidence has come to our attention, namely video footage recovered from inside the victim’s property. It implicates him directly in her murder.’ Barker demanded to see the footage before anything else was allowed to happen, but Ridley refused. ‘The first thing that’s going to happen, Mr Barker, is that your client is going to be charged with murder.’

In the observation room, as they waited for Ridley and Barker to enter, Jack leant against the glass. He’d been so impressed by Ridley today and couldn’t wait for his defining moment. His interrogation had been perfect, he was in remission from his cancer and he was about to charge their suspect. Ridley hadn’t lost his touch at all, he’d just been knocked off kilter for a while by one of the worst enemies anyone can face. But now he was back.

Ridley stood in front of Mahoney. He gave a nod to the officers to stand either side of the prisoner, and then tapped his right wrist to indicate he wanted the cuffs ready. ‘Michael Mahoney, I’m charging you with the murder of Avril Jenkins...’

In a flash, Mahoney’s rage exploded. He kicked his chair across the room and reached over the table in an attempt to lash out at Ridley. The two guards acted fast, grabbing Mahoney’s head and ramming his face down onto the table, while his arms were pulled behind him and the cuffs put on. Ridley calmly finished charging Mahoney, as he was hauled to his feet. Mahoney screamed and struggled, swearing at his terrified lawyer.

Jack took a long, deep breath. What must have been going through Avril’s mind as she faced this monster? They could all hear him screaming awful threats as he was taken to the cells — that he would kill their children and families, then he’d kill every one of them.

Jack did not wait to congratulate Ridley — he just wanted to get home. He was exhausted. It had been a very long, hard day to deal with, and he needed to be with his family.

Jack sat on the sofa watching Hannah charge round and round him. Each time she came into view and saw her daddy, she screamed with excitement and each time she disappeared round the back she panted with the sheer anticipation of seeing him again. It was a far more interesting game for Hannah than it was for Jack so, on one lap of the sofa, as soon as she’d run out of view, he jumped up and hid behind an armchair. When Hannah emerged, the sight of an empty seat threw her into an instant panic, and she burst into tears.

Jack quickly crawled out of his hiding place and scooped her into his arms. ‘It’s OK, lovely girl, Daddy’s here.’ She settled quickly but didn’t want to play the game again. Jack realised how fragile Hannah’s little world was and how important his place in it.

Much later that evening, when all of the Warr ladies were in bed, Jack sat in his office, too wired to go to sleep. Instead, to take his mind off what had gone down at the station, he googled Giacometti. He was a Swiss artist who was born in 1901 and died in 1966. It seemed that for much of his life he lived in squalor, whilst working at fever pitch to create. In 1932, a bronze sculpture entitled Woman with her Throat Cut received notoriety for its explicitly horrific connotations. It reminded Jack of the hideous crime scene photographs showing Avril Jenkins with her head almost severed.

So much of what he was reading about brought back the emotion of everything that had surrounded Jack in recent weeks. Hands Holding the Void... Invisible Object. In one interview, Giacometti had been asked by someone called Genet why he treated men and women so differently. He’d said, ‘Women seemed naturally more distant.’ Even this quote made Jack recall how Adam had described his own mother as being unloving towards him and choosing fleeting partners above a son who could have truly loved her if she’d let him. Instead, she chose to deny his very existence.

An hour into his quiet research, Jack came across an article relating to a major fraud connected to Giacometti. A court case had been brought against a German gang accused of knowingly attempting to put a forged sculpture onto the market. In 2009, a Swiss auction house tried to sell it for $5.5 million, but this was brought to an abrupt end when an expert exposed it as a forgery. The subsequent court case was compared to an earlier one surrounding a master art forger, Wolfgang Beltracchi. Jack recalled that Adam had casually mentioned that name when he sarcastically scrolled through a list of men who could possibly have been his father. So, Adam must have known Beltracchi after his release from prison. Making him the first of two accomplished art forgers to play a role in Adam’s life.

With three-quarters of a bottle of Jameson’s to keep him company, Jack searched for the painting Adam had given him. He scrolled through page after page of Giacometti’s work, until he found the painting that was currently unrolled on the desk next to him. This particular painting was of Giacometti’s brother. They were known for their similarities — not necessarily in appearance, but in character. On the canvas, with their souls on display beneath dark, hooded eyes, they were clearly connected.

The painting was dark and ugly and moody... and Jack loved it. He wondered why Adam had chosen this particular painting as his gift.

Jack heard his bedroom door open and assumed that Maggie was on her way to the bathroom. Instead, she opened his office door and was about to ask when he planned on coming to bed, when she saw the painting. ‘Good God, Jack, that’s awful. Did you buy it in Ireland?’ Maggie rubbed her tired eyes. ‘Looks like you, if you’d spent twenty years living rough.’

‘What if I told you it could be worth a lot of money?’

‘I wouldn’t believe you.’ Maggie leant over Jack’s shoulder and kept looking at the painting to see if it might get a little easier on the eye. ‘You chose a lovely hotel, though.’

Jack explained that he would have liked to take her back to St Lucia but, seeing as that was beyond their budget right now, he wanted to find something nice closer to home.

‘I don’t care about fancy holidays, really,’ Maggie said. ‘Hannah’s going to need a playroom and a big girl’s bed soon, so I think we should just be careful for a while. Unless that monstrosity really is worth a lot of money. Then St Lucia would be lovely.’ Maggie gently kissed Jack on the neck. Her lips made him tingle. ‘Don’t be long.’ Maggie paused just inside the door to Jack’s office. ‘By the way, did you ever track down that man you were looking for? Adam something.’

Jack shrugged as if he had all the time in the world. ‘Not yet.’

Maggie kissed him again, yawned and headed back to bed.

He gazed down at the painting. What Jack felt now was that Adam wasn’t his nemesis, as he’d assumed for the past several weeks — he was a warning. He was the man Jack could have been if his birth mother had lived longer. And Jack was the man Adam could have been if his birth mother had died sooner.

Jack felt in his soul that the Giacometti in front of him was not a copy, but the original. Because that’s exactly the sort of thing that Adam would do. He would give a painting by a brother, for a brother — both dark and troubled men, bound by an inexplicable loyalty.

He knew that in the morning when Ridley expected a full and detailed explanation of exactly what had taken place in Ireland, the painting would remain a secret.

He also knew — though he could never admit it — that he was looking forward to the day that he and Adam would meet again.