“Where did he hear about the job? And where did he come from? Have you met his family?” asked Poppy.
Gerald’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know all this? I’ve told you all I know about the paintings and Sherman’s row with Gus. And I agree with you that something peculiar is going on there, but beyond that, I don’t think Gus is involved in any way. Perhaps you should interrogate Sherman instead.”
“We’re not interrogating you, Gerald; we’re just trying to get to the bottom of what happened,” said Poppy, trying to smooth things over with one of her smiles.
It didn’t work. “Well,” sniffed Gerald, “I believe I’ve given you more than enough to go on for now, don’t you think? So if you don’t mind – Poppy, Rollo – I’m going out to try to find Gus. Good day to you.”
Gerald heaved himself out of his chair, picked up a panama hat, and without further ado, shuffled out of the lounge.
“Where does he think he’s going to find him?” asked Rollo.
Poppy shook her head in despair. “I don’t know, Rollo, but if I were him I’d be out there too. Do you think we should tell the police that Gus is missing?”
Rollo downed the last of his tea. “No. As Gerald said, they might think it’s an admission of guilt from Gus. They’ve already arrested one person on flimsy evidence –”
“Well, not that flimsy,” admitted Poppy. “But what the stable boy said about seeing Dante Sherman in the tower looking down onto the street is surely worth telling them about.”
“Yes it is. But let’s run it all past Yasmin first.”
“Agreed,” said Poppy, and she pulled on her gloves.
It was then that she saw Gerald lumber past the hotel window. And if she were not mistaken, there were tears in his eyes.
CHAPTER 18
That evening, after the nanny had taken the children to bed, Poppy, Rollo, Yasmin, and Dot gathered around the dining room table to report back on the day. Yasmin, it seemed, had been able to get in to see Grace and to arrange a short visit for Dot.
“How was she, Aunt Dot?” asked Poppy.
“Oh, you know, as well as can be expected. I managed to take her a few home comforts, so that’s something.”
“How did you get down the stairs?” asked Poppy.
“I didn’t. Yazzie demanded they bring her up.”
“Well done my love!” said Rollo, blowing a kiss at his wife.
“Thank you my munchkin,” said Yasmin, blowing a melodramatic kiss in return.
Poppy chuckled at the ironically sweet endearments from two of the least lovey-dovey people she knew.
“So, is she in good spirits?” asked Poppy.
“Well, good spirits is a high bar for Grace under ordinary circumstances, but yes, she is holding up. She is greatly encouraged that Yasmin has come up north. As are we all, Yazzie, thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, Dot. Now, if you don’t mind, can we compare notes? I’ll start. I went to see Mr Wylie this morning. He passed on everything he has managed to procure so far. I shall be preparing my case for the bail hearing this evening. I don’t see why it shouldn’t be granted. The evidence against Grace is tenuous at best.”
“Is it really?” asked Poppy. “What about the knife?”
“Well, it certainly justified her arrest, but it will not in itself justify a conviction. The prosecution will need more than a decorator’s lost knife and a history of animosity.”
“Really?” asked Dot.
“Well, in an ideal world, yes. But I will still need to work hard to cast doubt on the link between Grace and the knife. I will have to suggest that the decorator, any of his assistants, or even any of his other clients could have found and used the knife.”
“But were any of those people at the Laing Art Gallery?” asked Poppy.
Yasmin sighed. “No. But it certainly gives me scope to argue that it is still circumstantial at best. There were no fingerprints on the knife. And no one saw Grace with the knife. Nonetheless, we need more to bolster Grace’s case. It would certainly help if we could cast the eye of suspicion onto other people, to let the jury see that there were other people with motive and opportunity…”
“Or we could show definitively that someone else did it,” said Poppy, her blue eyes steely with determination.
Yasmin chuckled. “Well, yes, that would be ideal. Do you have any ideas who that might be?”
So Poppy, with help from Rollo, proceeded to tell Yasmin and Dot what they had learned from both the stable boy and Gerald.
The lawyer rolled a pen between her thumb and forefinger. “Interesting, very interesting. So, from what you’ve told me there are two potential suspects in the picture: Dante Sherman and Gus North. Both have been acting in a peculiar manner and appear to be hiding something relating to the procurement of those paintings.”
“But surely you can’t really think that sweet boy Gus did it?” chipped in Dot, as she helped herself to a chocolate truffle.
“I’m afraid he has to be considered a suspect, Dot. Obviously we all hope it’s not him, but if it is, he must be brought to justice. So, what I propose is that Rollo, you ask Ike in London to do a bit of digging into Gus’ life. Have you already asked him to go to the Tate to ask about the letter of authentication?”
“I have, my love. But, darn it, Poppy and I forgot to ask Gerald about that this morning.”
“You’re right; we didn’t,” said Poppy.
“Not to worry,” said Yasmin, making a note on her legal pad. “I shall ask him about it when I formally depose him. I will be lining up my interviewees as soon as Grace’s bail hearing is finished, tomorrow. And Gus, Gerald, and Dante Sherman will be top of my list. Has anyone found out anything more about the missing key?”
“Well we haven’t, have we Poppy? The stable lad only mentioned that Sherman and the caretaker came through the back door at the top of the stairs. Which doesn’t add to anything we know. Both Sherman and the caretaker admitted they used the key. So the question is, who might have seen a need to take the spare one?” replied Rollo.
“Anyone who was at the gallery that day – or that night,” observed Aunt Dot. “And, from all the comings and goings on the night – including you, Poppy – I think it’s clear that the door was unlocked for the duration of the exhibition.” Dot, who was rarely asked her serious opinion on things, looked as proud as Punch to have contributed to the conversation.
“Yes,” agreed Poppy, nodding her affirmation. “I think that’s the case. But that means someone unlocked it and left it unlocked during the exhibition. The caretaker told me that it was always locked after it was used. So why wasn’t it this time? Or did someone deliberately open it and leave it unlocked, knowing they would be slipping out sometime during the evening? And if that’s the case, we will need to narrow down our suspect list to people who: a, knew that the door was there and where it led, and b, knew where to find a key to unlock it.”
“Agreed,” said Yasmin. “I shall be demanding a list of everyone who works at the gallery – they are the most likely people to know about the key.”
“Or volunteers,” added Dot, warming to her new role.
“Volunteers?” asked Yasmin.
“Yes, lots of galleries and museums have an army of volunteers who help with fundraising and so on and sometimes do stewarding work. Grace and I are both ‘Friends of the Victoria and Albert Museum’, for instance.”
“Good idea,” said Yasmin. “I will get a list of Friends of the Laing and cross-reference it against the guest list for the evening. Which, by the way, I will be getting a copy of from DI Hawkes tomorrow, Poppy. So Sherman’s stonewalling won’t get him very far. However, it certainly is telling. Why would he be so objectionable as not to share this sort of information? Surely he would want Agnes’ killer to be found and brought to justice as soon as possible.”
“Yes, that’s what surprised me too when I spoke to him,” said Poppy. “There are two possible reasons, as far as I can tell: e
ither he is the killer himself – and let’s not forget his very strange behaviour looking down at the street from the tower earlier in the afternoon – or he is trying to hide something else that he fears might be dug up in the murder investigation.”
“Or both,” chipped in Rollo.
“Or both,” agreed Poppy.
“So where do we go from here?” asked Dot.
“Well, I will obviously interview Sherman myself and see what I can shake loose,” said Yasmin. “I will also suggest DI Hawkes does the same. Didn’t the boy say he hadn’t mentioned seeing Sherman in the tower to the police?”
“That’s right,” said Rollo. “He said he was scared his boss would find out he’d been out for a ‘tab’ on the roof.” He grinned, obviously pleased with himself for using a new word.
“Good, then I’ll pass it on to Hawkes tomorrow.”
“While you’re at it, can you arrange to get a writing sample from Sherman?” asked Poppy.
The other three looked at her curiously. She smiled. “The letter to my mother, of course. Don’t forget it’s the same handwriting as the note on the back of the photograph I found in Agnes’ things.”
“Of course.” Yasmin jotted it down.
“What will you do, Poppy?” asked Aunt Dot.
Poppy thought about it, paging through her own notes that she’d been making. “I think I will still go to see Professor Reid at the art school. I want to show him the photograph, but also ask him about the two late paintings. He’s bound to have seen them at the exhibition. I want to get his take on them.”
“What are you thinking, Poppy?” asked Yasmin.
“I’m not really sure, but there’s definitely something strange about them. Perhaps Professor Reid has heard some gossip in the art world about it, or can identify something that is technically different about the paintings. I’m also not sure the story about Sherman seeing them ‘months ago’ holds water, particularly because one of them is still tacky. Actually, on that note, is it in your power to demand to see Sherman’s diary, Yasmin? Can we confirm that he actually was in London at the time?”
“At this stage it might be considered overreach. He’s not a formal suspect yet. But I’ll see what I can do. Right, what else do we have to do tomorrow? Are we still on to visit Agnes’ family?”
“Hopefully, yes,” said Poppy, “if my mother can arrange it.”
Yasmin nodded. “All right. But if she can’t, we need to go through on Tuesday morning at the latest, with or without your mother – although I agree having your mother there will be preferable. It’s always good for the interviewee to have a sympathetic presence. Also, we need to hear the story behind that threatening letter. I think there might be something very important in that, but we need to know more before we pass on any information to the police. So, that’s it then. Tonight I’ll prepare for the bail hearing; tomorrow I’ll be in court at nine o’clock –”
“Can I come too?” asked Dot.
“Yes, you can. Delilah has already asked the same thing. However, Poppy, I think it’s best if you go to see the professor during that time. Is that all right?”
“It is.”
“All right, my love, I’ll leave you to it,” said Rollo, standing up and giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll hit the old typewriter upstairs. I want to get a story off to Ike tonight. Poppy, will you help me?”
“Of course.” Poppy closed her notebook and got up to leave with Rollo and Dot.
“Actually, Poppy, would you mind staying on a minute? There’s just one more thing I want to check with you. And Dot,” said Yasmin, “would you mind awfully asking Betty to make me a strong pot of tea?”
Dot agreed and left with Rollo. Poppy remained behind, feeling oddly like a pupil called to the headmistress’s office, even though she was quite a nice headmistress.
Yasmin smiled at her. “Don’t look so nervous, Poppy! Do sit down. There’s just something I wanted to tell you that I think you would prefer was done privately.”
“Oh,” said Poppy, returning to her seat and folding, then unfolding, her hands in front of her.
“Yes,” said Yasmin, checking that no one was about to burst through the door. “DI Hawkes sends his regards. He asked if you minded dropping in to see him at your convenience. He seemed rather concerned that he’d upset you the last time the two of you had spoken. What was that all about?”
Poppy straightened up, recalling the last explosive conversation she’d had with the detective inspector at the Theatre Royal. She explained what had happened, and how Hawkes had accused her of pretending to be a lawyer and interfering in the case, but left out the subplot of the kindling of a possible romance.
But Yasmin was no fool. Her eyes narrowed as she appraised the younger woman. “You’re not telling me everything, Poppy. And that’s your right. But I thought I should also let you know that Delilah has told me all about the handsome detective saving you from the mugger and your tennis match the following day. She seemed to think the two of you might be soft on one another…”
Poppy flinched. Delilah really could be annoying sometimes. She let out a slow, controlled breath. “Well, we’re not. And if we were, we certainly wouldn’t be any more. I think DI Hawkes has well and truly drawn a line in the sand. He was very rude to me, you know. And I believe any attempts to offer an olive branch are simply motivated by him wanting to get more information out of me to use against Grace.” Poppy remembered the way he had questioned her on the roof of the gallery. The very intimate way he had questioned her… She flushed.
Yasmin noticed but didn’t say anything. Instead she just nodded. “Yes, you’re right to be wary of him – professionally. But I wouldn’t be so sure that his motivation is entirely dastardly. I read people well, Poppy; it’s my job. And while I can see that DI Hawkes will always put the investigation first, I think he is genuinely endeared towards you.”
“Well, I am not endeared towards him!”
Yasmin smiled gently. “All right. That’s up to you. But may I ask if it’s just because you felt he tricked you into giving him information and accused you of interfering in the investigation, or is there something else?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know, like Daniel?”
Poppy felt her stomach clench at the mention of her former beau’s name.
“I – well – I haven’t heard from Daniel since Easter, Yasmin. That’s six months. I know it takes a while for letters to travel back and forth from Africa, but that’s just too long. He’s obviously moved on, even if he hasn’t had the courage to tell me. Our relationship – in person and in pen – is clearly over.” Poppy’s eyes began to well up. She bit her lip.
Yasmin reached out her hand and took hold of Poppy’s. “Oh, my sweet girl. I’m so sorry. I really thought the two of you would end up married. I know you and he had different ideas about you working rather than looking after his children, but I thought that he was finally coming around to a more enlightened way of seeing things.”
Poppy sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “He was. I do believe that if we’d got married we could have employed a nanny like you and Rollo have. And of course the children are now at school. But, his sister getting married and taking them to Africa with her was not foreseen. And I can’t blame Daniel for wanting to be with them.”
Yasmin reached into the pocket of her Chanel suit jacket and retrieved a handkerchief, which she passed to Poppy.
“Didn’t he ask you to go with him?”
Poppy dabbed at her wet cheeks. “He did. But it would have meant leaving my family, friends, and job behind here. I was hoping that he’d come back after a couple of years. And for a while – from the content of his letters – that’s what I thought he would do. But,” she shrugged and put on a brave smile, “it was not to be. He obviously loves his children more than he loves me. And I don’t blame him for it.”
“No,” said Yasmin, frowning. “But I do blame his sister. The
children are not pet poodles. She may have helped raise them but they are not hers. And now she’s married, she could start her own family.”
“She has,” said Poppy.
“Oh?”
“Yes, she had a baby in January. That’s the last I heard from Daniel. It’s a little boy. Anyway…”
“Anyway,” said Yasmin, drawing the younger woman into an embrace.
Poppy was surprised. This was not the Yasmin Reece-Lansdale she knew. Marriage and motherhood seemed to have brought out a more demonstrative side to her. And Poppy was grateful.
After a few moments, Poppy pulled away. “Thanks Yasmin. I’m all right. And if you don’t mind being the go-between, would you mind telling DI Hawkes that if he would like to apologize to me in person he is welcome to pay me a call?”
Yasmin chuckled. “Good girl. Keep it on your terms.”
Suddenly the door opened and the strains of Al Jolson’s “Swanee” could be heard emanating from the parlour. Aunt Dot was playing her gramophone records. Rollo stood in the doorway, appraising the two women. “Are you two finished?”
“We are,” said his wife.
“Good, then if you don’t mind, my darling, I would like my star reporter back. I recall the first time you met her you tried to lure her away to work for you, do you remember?”
Poppy and Yasmin shared a knowing look. “I do. But don’t worry, my love, she’s all yours.”
“Very glad to hear it. Hope you’ve got your typing fingers warmed up, Poppy; we’ve gotta lot of work to do!”
CHAPTER 19
MONDAY, 7 OCTOBER 1924, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE
The Newcastle Art School – otherwise known as the King Edward VII School of Art – was part of Armstrong College, a remote campus of Durham University in the heart of Newcastle city centre. The building had been commandeered as a sanatorium during the war, but now, in 1924, was back to its original purpose: housing the Hatton Gallery and the school of fine art. Back in 1897, when the school decided to do an outreach programme to the children of miners in Ashington, it had employed the now-deceased Michael Brownley and, if Poppy understood it correctly, Professor Reid. It was Professor Reid whom she hoped to speak to today.
[Poppy Denby 05] - The Art Fiasco Page 19