One of the police officers pulled out a chair and told her to sit down. She did, noticing how beautiful the grain was on the scrubbed oak table. It was as though her mind couldn’t grasp the situation she was in and so her thoughts were bouncing around irrelevancies. But one thing kept breaking through. ‘I need to phone my mum and dad, I need to tell them to get out of the house. They’ll hurt them. Maybe worse. Binnie said he would.’
Bob had dealt with the kettle and was now retrieving Annie’s paperwork from the kitchen drawer. He laid it out on the table. ‘I promised that you’d have somebody going out to see this girl’s parents,’ Bob said. ‘Could one of you just check that’s happening? Better safe than sorry, don’t you think?’
Sian could see that the police officers thought she was just making things up but one of them shrugged and asked for Sian’s address again. She heard him calling control a few minutes later.
‘Your mum and dad will be meeting you at the police station; they’re on their way now.’
‘I want to talk to them; I need to talk to them. I need to know they’re all right.’
‘Where’s the harm?’ Bob Taylor said. He unhooked a phone from the wall and brought it over to the table. Neither police officer gave permission, but that didn’t stop her.
Hands shaking, Sian managed to dial her mother’s mobile number. Her mother answered on the second ring, asking who this was.
‘Mum, it’s me. Are you all right?’ She listened as her mother demanded to know what on earth she’d been doing, what was going on. Somehow her mother’s anger was reassuring. It felt normal and balanced and told her that she was still cared for and Sian realized with massive shock that she’d come to doubt that. She had almost ceased to care for herself and had unconsciously assumed that others had stopped caring for her too. ‘Are you going to the police station?’
Yes, her mother told her, they were on their way now, just turning in to the end of the road. They would be there, waiting for her to arrive.
‘Stay there, Mum, please stay there. Don’t go anywhere else, it’s not safe.’ Sian was crying again now though her mother was asking her things she couldn’t manage to answer.
Gently Bob took the phone from her and Sian could hear him having a conversation with her mother. It seemed strange that the man whose house she had just broken into was now the one who was facilitating things for her, the one who was helping her.
Annie came into the kitchen accompanied by the other two officers. She glanced around, assessing the scene, and then went to pour tea and put the kettle on to boil again. ‘If you look behind you, Craig, there are some biscuits in the cupboard.’ The police officer she had addressed turned and opened the cupboard door. Sian was amazed again at how at ease this woman seemed. What was it with her? She was as weird as Binnie.
‘So what happens now?’ Annie said.
‘Two of us will take the young woman back to the station, two of us will wait here for the CSI,’ the one called Craig told her. ‘You think only the one thing was taken?’
‘As far as I can tell,’ Annie said. ‘You’d better take Bob back into the studio. If anything else is missing he’ll know.’
Craig grabbed a mug of tea and a couple of the biscuits and then he and Bob left the kitchen. Sian watched them go, nervously. She found that she was glad that the other officers were still in the kitchen and she wasn’t alone with Annie. Sian had had a lot of experience, lately, with predators. Enough to know when she was in the presence of another one.
Bob stood on the threshold of the studio and looked around carefully. Nothing else missing, nothing damaged apart from the window that Annie had shot out. ‘I hope she bloody hit him,’ he said.
Craig laughed. ‘Maybe you’d better hope she missed,’ he observed. ‘Make life less complicated, eh? Your wife says he probably took that picture by mistake, so what would they actually be after?’
‘I think she’s right about that. It’s an excellent copy. It was painted by a young man who works as my part-time studio assistant; unfortunately he’s in hospital at the moment. And in fact it seems that the bloke who broke in here today is responsible for that too – according to the girl, anyway.’
‘So Mrs Taylor told me.’
‘Raven; she didn’t take my name. Her name is Annie Raven.’ Bob found that he was smiling as he said this. He knew a few people took it the wrong way, that Annie had kept her own name, but Bob himself would have been astonished if she’d done anything else. It would have been as though he had tried to put a stamp of ownership on her – and nobody owned Annie.
‘A lot of people seem to be doing that nowadays,’ Craig commented. ‘Friends of mine got married a couple years back, and they did a double barrel kind of thing, putting the names together. My cousin got married, she kept her own name too. You never heard about it a few years ago, did you? But our Sally, she’s got her own business and everything, run it for years, so it made sense for her to keep her own name. So what you think they were after, then? Annie said there was another painting.’
Bob turned to the panelling and felt along the edge. It clicked open, revealing a space behind and a substantial wall safe. He input the combination and opened the door.
‘That’s quite a security system,’ Craig commented. ‘Just for paintings, is it?’
‘I do appraisals and restorations,’ Bob told him. ‘Sometimes the artworks I keep here are very expensive so I have to have a security system to match. I upgraded the house alarm a few months back. Now we get a call if anything is amiss and so do you. There are cameras out front and back. I’ll download what you need from the hard drive. Usually all we get is foxes and badgers.’
Bob withdrew a wooden box and set it down on the table, opened it up. Inside was a small painting in a beautiful gilt frame. A Madonna and child and St Anne, painted in colour that gleamed like gemstone. It was delicate and beautiful and caused even Craig to draw a quick breath.
‘Wow, that’s a bit of all right, that is. Valuable, is it?’
‘That, my friend, is a moot question. Up to now I thought there was every likelihood that this was a forgery; but given that someone is prepared to try and steal it, I’m beginning to wonder about that one. I’m supposed to be making a decision about it, whether it’s a genuine sixteenth-century painting or one that was made about a decade ago by Mr Freddie Jones. I was inclined towards the Freddie Jones theory but now I’m beginning to wonder.’
‘Our thief isn’t going to make himself very popular, is he? Not when he turns up with the wrong painting.’
‘I suspect he’s going to make himself very unpopular. I suspect it may not go well for him, let’s say that.’
Bob repackaged the painting and put it back in the safe, closing the door and then the panelling.
They heard a car pull up on the gravel drive. ‘That will probably be the CSI,’ Craig said. ‘We better get out of here so they can do their job. Sooner they do, the sooner you can have your studio back. I bet you’re glad you had that alarm installed.’
Bob agreed that he was. He returned to the kitchen while Craig opened the front door and let the tech support inside.
Craig came back into the kitchen with his colleague, who had news for them. ‘The girl reckons she and Beatrix Jones have been locked up together, the past couple of days. She’s in the middle of nowhere, locked up in what sounds like servants’ quarters in some big house.’
Bob exchanged a look with Annie. Who did they know who owned a big house? The name Graham Harcourt sprang to mind, but surely that was just too far-fetched? He decided to save it and talk to Vin later on rather than try to explain everything to these two police constables. DS Dattani at least had the background information already, or so Naomi had told him after the meeting at her flat the previous afternoon.
A few minutes later all four officers left, there being no reason now for anyone to remain behind now that the CSI were here. Annie set about a new round of tea and coffee making, leaving mugs and biscuits o
n the hall table and then retreating to the kitchen.
‘So,’ Bob said, ‘did you hit him?’
Annie grinned. ‘I winged him, but it didn’t slow the bastard down. He was over the fence before I had the chance to fire.’ She shrugged. ‘Pity.’
‘Maybe not. I’m not up to speed on body disposal and a dead burglar might have complicated life just when we don’t want it.’
‘Do we ever want it to be complicated?’
Bob smiled at his wife. ‘Probably not, but I’ve learnt to live with a certain level.’ He grew more serious again. ‘So, what do you reckon’s going on here, Annie? I mean, first Patrick attacked and Bee getting snatched, and now this.’
‘Someone wants that painting. Either because it’s genuine or because it’s not. Or because … Bob, you’ve not taken it out of the frame yet, have you?’
‘It’s not in a frame, as such. There’s a raised border that’s actually built up with gesso on to the picture surface and then gilded at the same time as the detail on the painting itself. The only difference being that the frame is gold leaf and the detail on the Madonna and child is shell gold; that’s why the detail is so fine.’
She nodded. She’d become familiar with the different technique, having watched Bob work. Shell gold was applied with a brush or a pen, on to a base of either fine clay or bole. It was a skilled technique that resulted in incredibly fine, brilliant details.
‘And behind the backing board?’
‘I’ve not removed it yet. I suggest you give me a hand as soon as our CSI friends have gone.’
Annie nodded. She glanced at the kitchen clock. It was just after three p.m. ‘I’m going to check in with Harry,’ she said, picking up her phone. ‘Let him know we might not make it over today and bring him up to speed. He needs to be careful, now. We all do. I’ll speak to Naomi as well, while I’m about it.’
The dogs, sensing that their humans were still upset, ambled over and Dexter lay his head against Annie’s knee. She stroked him absently, and Bob got up to wash the latest round of mugs. He’d been shaken by the day’s events. He loved this house and his studio but it wasn’t the first time that violence had damaged the peace. He thought about moving, to somewhere less isolated, perhaps, but the thought was fleeting. Annie hadn’t run from a damned thing her entire life and Bob wasn’t about to press her to start now. This was home; they’d just have to ride out this latest storm.
He dried his hands and turned to look at his wife. She was listening to Harry and nodding occasionally, punctuating Harry’s conversation with little hmms and sounds of agreement. When she put the phone down she had an expression of relief in her eyes.
‘Some good news from that end, at least. They’re talking about taking Patrick off the ventilator, tomorrow or the day after. It’s not major progress, but it’s something. And Harry sounds more positive, bless him.’
Bob sat down beside her and took Annie’s hand. ‘It’s a start,’ he agreed. ‘Annie, he’s going to be all right. I know he is.’
‘He’d bloody better be,’ she said softly. ‘At least we know where Patrick is. Poor little Bee …’
Bob nodded. ‘She’ll be found. It will be OK, love.’ Then he smiled. ‘And I don’t think she’d take kindly to being called “little”. Bee is under the impression that she’s all grown up.’
‘None of us are all grown up, Bob. Not really.’ She gripped his hand and then took hers back so she could use the phone again. ‘Naomi next,’ she said. ‘You go and see if the workers want more coffee and when they’re likely to be gone. I want to take a look at that picture.’
TWENTY-SIX
Sian’s parents were in the reception area when she arrived and while her mother hugged her tight her father declared to anyone who would listen that he had phoned a solicitor and that his daughter had done nothing wrong.
The police officer Sian had heard Annie call Craig gently extricated her from her mother’s embrace and said she must go and be booked in. She heard someone else offer them tea and the desk sergeant reassure her father that the solicitor would be able to see Sian as soon as she’d been through the usual processes.
Escorted through two more glass doors, she wondered what the usual processes were and where her father had found a solicitor. As far as she knew, the only solicitor he’d had any dealings with was the man who’d helped them when they’d bought a piece of land next to their house. He’d probably just googled solicitors or, more likely as this was her dad, looked through the Yellow Pages.
Her mind was rambling again, Sian realized. Grasping on to random thoughts because it couldn’t cope with the important ones like what the hell was Binnie involved in and why the hell had she gone with him?
That last question was easy to answer. Fear. Not so much for herself but for her mum and dad and what Binnie said would happen to them if she didn’t do what he said.
She twisted round to speak to the police officer following her. ‘You’ve got to tell them not to go home,’ she insisted. ‘Please.’
‘I doubt they’ll be going anywhere,’ he reassured her. ‘Your mum looks set for the night. You’re a lucky young woman.’
‘Yeah,’ she breathed softly. She was. They hadn’t given up on her; they were here. Not like Binnie’s mum had given up on him. Or was that even true? Maybe Binnie had just scared her so much she’d taken to her heels and run away.
The CSI had finally left. Their van had barely pulled away before Annie and Bob were back in the studio.
‘We’d best do something to block up that broken window,’ Bob said. ‘There’s some backing board in the cupboard over there, that should do it. Fortunately it’s only a small window, not like last time.’
Annie went to get the board and some tape while Bob opened the safe. They had reset the alarm and the cameras and increased the sensitivity of the security lights around the house. The foxes were in for a shock tonight. Neither of them really expected Kevin Binns to return, or any of his associates, but you never knew. Someone would realize he’d gone away with the wrong picture. That might mean that they’d want to return for the right one.
Bob’s thoughts were obviously travelling the same path because he said, ‘Maybe we should book into a hotel for a few days, and maybe we should take the picture with us? Just until all of this blows over.’
He set the picture down on the layout table and came over to help Annie tape up the window. The glazier had promised to come over in a couple of hours which, Bob thought, was going to cost him an arm and a leg this time of night.
‘If it will make you feel better, then yes, we’ll do that,’ Annie said.
Bob knew she wasn’t patronizing him but it still felt like it, just a bit. ‘I’m not scared.’
‘Yes you are, and quite right too. These are dangerous people, Bob. First rule of defence is not to be there. We take a look at the picture, and we wait for the glazier. And while we’re waiting, we store anything away in the safe that we can manage. There are some valuable materials here and I don’t want to come back and find them squished all over the floor, just because someone couldn’t find what he wanted. We pack a couple of bags, enough to keep us going for a few nights. We’ll go and stay in town, close to the hospital. That way we’re around if anyone needs us.’
‘It feels like running away.’
‘No,’ Annie said, ‘it’s an organized retreat. Like I said, first rule of defence is not to be there when the attack comes. There’s a good chance nothing will happen, but I suggest we also set the alarm to maximum volume rather than leave it silent. We might as well at least give them a scare if they do come back.’
Bob nodded. It was a reasonable plan, though he hated leaving the studio and this house to the mercy of whoever might come and want to wreck things. ‘What do we do with the dogs? Shall I give Jeff a ring? He‘s going to be pissed off about his gate, isn’t he? What did he say when you phoned him earlier?’
‘He jumped to the conclusion that it was someone green-laning
,’ Annie said. ‘It’s not the first time he’s had problems with four by fours driving across his fields. He was a bit shocked when I told him we’d had a break-in, and that I had chased the bastard with a shotgun.’
‘Which bit was he shocked about?’ Bob asked. ‘The break-in or the shotgun?’
Annie laughed. ‘Only that I had missed; he reckoned I was a better shot than that. I’ll give him a ring, see if he’ll look after the dogs for a few days. They think of it as their alternative home anyway.’
For the second time that day Bob opened the box and withdrew the painting, laying it face down on a soft blanket. He looked closely at the backing board. It was old, strips of poplar that had shrunk with age but not warped. The board on which the picture was painted was laminated poplar. Boards laid first one way and then across the other, glued together with an adhesive that was made of casein. Patrick always referred to it as ‘cheesy glue’ because essentially that was what it was. It made for an incredibly stable surface which did not warp and did not come unstuck even across centuries.
On the backing board were several labels. There were also two small brands burned into the wood. Labels and brands indicated previous owners, collections that this little painting had once been a part of – or at least that was the claim. This development of a cohesive provenance, Bob knew, had been a speciality of Freddie’s. The most ornate label was the one which had given this picture its name, the Bevi Madonna. Giovanni Bevi was a known seventeenth-century buyer and collector. He had both created his own collection and curated for others. It was an important name.
Because of the weight of information on the backing boards Bob had been extremely reluctant to remove them from the painting, and that reluctance returned now. Annie could see him hesitating.
‘Bob, if you don’t want to disturb it, then don’t. Look at it this way, if anything’s been hidden behind the board, then it must have been slid in through that little gap there. I’ll get one of the LED torches; we might be able to see something.’
Fakes and Lies Page 17