“But this baby is dead. Unfortunately,” said Sister Henrietta.
“Yes,” agreed Poppy, “but Agnes didn’t know that. And I think Delilah’s right; that may have something to do with what happened to her. So with your permission, Sister, I think we should try to see if the Northangers are still living at that address. And whether or not anyone else has been asking about the baby after all these years.”
CHAPTER 25
Unfortunately the Northangers of Jesmond were not home. The neighbours to the left confirmed that they still lived there but that Mr Northanger only got back from work after six and they didn’t know where Mrs Northanger was. Possibly shopping. Possibly visiting an elderly relative… Poppy wrote a note and slipped it through the letterbox, asking Mr and Mrs Northanger to contact her as soon as they could. She left both Aunt Dot’s telephone number and address. Then Delilah drove them back to Heaton.
As they pulled up, they noticed DI Sandy Hawkes sitting in his car.
“Ooooh, there’s your tennis partner, Popsicle. Wonder what he wants?”
“I don’t know. But go in; I’ll join you in a minute. Pop the kettle on, will you? I’m dying for a cuppa.”
Delilah agreed, gave a flirtatious wave to the detective inspector, and went into the house. Poppy waited on the pavement while Sandy got out of the car.
“Good afternoon, Poppy. I’m glad I caught you. I have some news for Mrs Rolandson and Mrs Wilson. But I wanted to talk to you first. And – well – to thank you for –” Sandy stopped talking and raised his hat as Maddie Sherman crossed the road from the park with her two poodles. Poppy smiled and waved at the woman, who nodded a greeting in return.
“She’s going to be in for a shock today, I’m afraid,” said Sandy, quietly.
“Oh, why’s that?”
“Because as we speak my men are arresting her son.”
“Good heavens!”
Poppy’s heart wrenched as she watched Maddie open the door and take her dogs in. But then the implications of Sandy’s statement hit home. “Does that mean you no longer consider Grace a suspect? Is that why you’re here?”
“I’m afraid not. We have found no further evidence to tie Mrs Wilson to Agnes’ death, but the Stanley knife that was left in this house and then used to attack Agnes is still unexplained. As is Mrs Wilson being seen wandering around the back entrance of the gallery on the night of the murder.”
“I was wandering around the back entrance of the gallery on the night of the murder, and I was on the roof! But you haven’t arrested me. And as for the knife, lots of people could have taken it. This house is like King’s Cross Station. There have been workmen and decorators in and out of here for weeks. And then all of Aunt Dot’s, Grace’s, and Delilah’s visitors, not to mention me! If the only thing linking Grace to Agnes’ death is that she had access to the Stanley knife – and was seen on the back staircase – then I should be just as much a suspect as she is. But I’m not.”
Sandy pushed his hat back from his forehead, and with a quirky smile asked: “Do you want me to arrest you, Poppy?”
Poppy was not in the mood for flirtation. “Of course not,” she snapped. “I’m just pointing out the lack of logic in your case, which I believe Yasmin already did at the bail hearing yesterday.”
Sandy sighed. “Yes, she did. And I would have expected nothing less from a professional like Mrs Rolandson. But I wish you would see that I’m just being professional too. You know it’s nothing personal against Mrs Wilson. And you know I was just doing my job. We’ve been over this before, Poppy. I thought you understood. Grace and Agnes were known to have bad blood. Grace had done prison time before, linked to the death of Delilah’s mother.”
“But she didn’t kill her – Delilah’s mother, or Agnes! She was charged with withholding evidence linked to a death, not the death itself. And if you’d done your homework properly, DI Hawkes, you would know that!”
Sandy raised his hands and took a step back. “Whoa, hold your horses Miss Denby. Don’t forget I’m actually here to tell you that we have no further evidence linking Grace to Agnes’ death. And that we’ve arrested someone else.”
“But if you’ve arrested someone else then you need to drop the charges against Grace!”
“I’m afraid that’s not my decision to make. I’m sure Mrs Rolandson will tell you the same thing.” The handsome detective cocked his head, waiting for Poppy’s response.
Poppy took a deep, calming breath. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. And when I left here this morning, poor Grace was nearly comatose with misery. I had just hoped you were here to tell us she had now been exonerated.”
“She might be, in time, but I’m afraid we’re not there yet. We are, though, able to declare Dante Sherman a formal suspect. And that’s all thanks to you. I wrote up a report of what you told me yesterday about your conversations with the professor at the art school. I then formally interviewed him myself. That, and some information given to me by Gerald Farmer – Agnes’s manager – led me to believe that Sherman might have been blackmailing Agnes. I contacted the Met and spoke to our mutual friend DCI Jasper Martin. Then this morning he managed to get a search warrant for Agnes’ flat and studio. He telephoned me at lunchtime to tell me what he had found.”
“Which is?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, yet. I am waiting for the evidence to arrive by special delivery tomorrow. But DCI Martin has given me the gist of it, and we believe there is enough to justify arresting Sherman on blackmail charges, if not – quite yet – murder.”
“Does it have to do with the paintings Gus and Gerald brought up with them? Can you tell me that much?”
“I can and it does.”
“I thought it would.” Poppy then went on to tell Sandy what she and Delilah had learned that afternoon from Sister Henrietta about the Lilies in the Vase painting and Dante Sherman’s attempts to buy it from her. And also about him trying to dig up dirt on Agnes from Mrs Storey in the sweet shop in Ashington, and, finally, about the threatening letter sent to her mother. “So you see, I really believe that Dante was gathering information on Agnes to use against her. And that bringing those two paintings up here – one that linked to her time in Ashington and the other to her time at the home for unwed mothers – was a way of reminding her about it all.”
“To what end?” asked Sandy.
Poppy shrugged. She had been thinking about that all the way home from the Northangers’ house. “I’m not sure, but I’ve got some ideas. Revenge? For what happened to his father? Perhaps he truly believes that Agnes killed his father like the rumours suggest. His mother, yesterday, told me he had been a very angry young man when he first heard about his father’s death. Perhaps that rage is still there. And bubbled over. The letter to my mother was threatening – very threatening. He didn’t want her talking about what happened with Agnes and his father. And perhaps more than that: talking about his father being a pervert, sexually molesting other children. This could all have been done to protect his family reputation.”
Sandy listened carefully and nodded. “Yes, I believe that’s a very good theory. But as I said, we may have evidence of blackmail but not, as yet, of murder.”
“Sherman was seen in the tower looking down to the pavement.”
“He works at the gallery. He had every right to be there. Perhaps he was just going out for a cigarette, just like the stable boy.”
Poppy nodded. She noticed the curtains twitch in Aunt Dot’s front parlour. It was Delilah, checking up on her.
“Then what’s the blackmail all about?” she asked.
“I told you I can’t give you any more details about that at the moment.”
“But it suggests that Sherman was putting pressure on Agnes about something?”
“It does.”
“Was he asking for money? Or putting pressure on her in other ways?”
“I told you, I can’t –”
“Yes, yes, I know. You can’t give me
more details about that. But do you think the exhibition was merely a ruse to bring Agnes up to Newcastle?”
Sandy nodded. “Yes, I can give you that. The evidence suggests that the exhibition was part of a bigger plan on Sherman’s part. But what that is, I can’t tell you. In fact, I don’t properly know myself. The evidence is strongly suggestive but not conclusive. However,” and he smiled, “I would like to ask you and Mrs Rolandson to come into the station and listen in to my interview with Sherman. There might be something he says that you pick up on that I don’t.”
“You want me to come too?”
Sandy grinned. “In your capacity as assistant to Mrs Wilson’s barrister, of course.”
Poppy felt chastised. Here she had been giving Sandy a hard time, when actually he really was trying to help.
“Thank you Sandy, thank you. I would love to. But… will Sherman be prepared to talk in front of me?”
“He won’t see you. We’re not a total backwater here in Newcastle. We’ve recently had one of those newfangled two-way mirrors installed in one of our interview rooms. You and Mrs Rolandson will be able to hear the interview, but you will not be able to be seen.”
Golly, thought Poppy, that is exciting! “Then I’d love to.” She saw the curtain twitch again. “But would you like to come in first for a cup of tea?”
CHAPTER 26
Delilah dropped Yasmin and Poppy outside the Pilgrim Street police station, then drove off to meet Peter MacMahon for afternoon tea at Fenwick’s. Rollo had been disgruntled to hear that he had not been invited along to the police interview too, but offered instead to “have another pop” at Gerald Farmer – and, hopefully, Gus. The women dropped him off at the Grand Hotel on their way to the police station.
Sandy signed the two women in and then ushered them down the stairs to the interview room. It was the same room that Poppy had met Grace in on Friday after she had just been arrested. She had not been aware then that the mirror on the wall behind her was in fact a spying device. She looked at Sandy. Had he been behind there, listening in to her conversation with Grace? She felt a chill go down her spine. There was a lot she didn’t know about Sandy Hawkes – like, for instance, if she could really trust him. What was really behind his offer to allow her to listen in to his interrogation of Dante Sherman? But all she got from him was a warm smile and a gentlemanly flourish as he gestured for her and Yazzie to enter a small cupboard-sized room adjacent to the interview room.
Inside the room were two chairs and a small table. And on the wall, above the window overlooking the interview room, a loudspeaker. Sandy gestured for the two women to sit, then stuck his head out and called: “Brown! Test please.”
Poppy watched as one of the constables from the Laing Gallery, who had been so dismissive of her and women in professional roles in general, walked into the room and recited a monotone version of “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. They could hear him loud and clear. Satisfied, Sherman closed the door behind him, leaving Yazzie and Poppy to take out their notebooks.
“Have you ever sat in on an interrogation, Poppy?” asked Yasmin.
“No, it’s my first. But I was wondering why DI Hawkes has asked me.”
“I was wondering that too. Perhaps though it might just be as he said: you could pick up on something he misses. You’ve done a lot already to gather evidence on this case.” She laughed. “You should probably send the police a bill.”
Poppy smiled at her. “And if they don’t pay, I know who to set on them.”
The two women settled back in their chairs enjoying the sense of mutual respect between them. A few moments later the window, like a screen in a moving picture show, filled with the main players: DI Sandy Hawkes, Dante Sherman, a man in a very expensive-looking pinstriped three-piece suit whom Poppy assumed was Sherman’s solicitor, and a woman stenographer. The door behind them shut, guarded by the artistically talentless Constable Brown. The table over which Sandy and Sherman conversed was set perpendicular to the window, so Poppy and Yasmin could see and hear exactly what was going on.
DI Hawkes opened the interview by confirming Sherman’s identity, address, and date of birth. He then read out the reason for the interview as “suspicion to commit blackmail”. The solicitor countered this by asking whether or not formal charges were going to be laid.
“We’ll determine that after this interview,” answered Sandy, who reminded both the solicitor and Sherman that he was being questioned under an official police caution. He then proceeded to open a file and produced two photographs – of the two questionable paintings at the Laing – plus the letter from the Tate that Poppy had seen on the curator’s desk at the Laing.
“Mr Sherman, can you tell us how much you paid for these two paintings please?”
Sherman cast a glance at his solicitor. His solicitor nodded.
“Not off the top of my head, no. But the amount will be in the ledger at the gallery.”
Sandy nodded. “That’s good, because we currently have a police accountant going through the ledger.”
“Well, be aware that he might not find anything. I normally pass on receipts to our bookkeeper, who writes it up. He might not have got around to it yet. In fact, I’m not sure the money has yet been handed over. Although it will be, of course.”
“Not a problem,” said Sandy, coolly, making a note. “I shall get our man to search all pending receipts too. It shouldn’t take long. I don’t believe you buy that much art at the gallery.”
Sherman gave an equally cool stare. “We buy enough.”
“Do you often buy artworks whose legitimacy is in question?” He pushed the letter from the Tate across the table.
Sherman glanced at it and curled his lip, as if he had been presented with a menu for tripe and trotters. “I only received that the day of Agnes’ exhibition. And only opened it the following morning – after the poor woman had died. If I had known this beforehand, I would have cancelled the sale.”
“The sale for which we will find a receipt when we search your bookkeeper’s office?”
Sherman smirked. “Yes, that one.”
“And will we also find evidence to support your assertion that you only read this letter the day after Agnes died?”
“I doubt that. Unless there is some kind of cinemagraphic or photographic equipment in my office, and the camera operator was hiding behind a curtain, I’m afraid you are going to have to take my word for that.”
“Hmmmm.” Sandy made a note. “And what about the word of Professor Reid?”
“Who?”
“Professor Reid from the art school. I believe he was your lecturer.”
“He was. What’s he got to say about it?”
Sandy made a show of flicking through the file in front of him and pausing to read some notes. “Well, he’s got a lot to say actually. And one of the things he said was that you and he had a conversation about this very painting three weeks ago. And that he had told you he had been at the meeting at the Tate where questions about its authenticity were first raised.”
Sherman smirked. “Yes, I remember that conversation. And did the good professor also tell you that at the time the official opinion was inconclusive? That it was just at that time an accusation?”
Sandy nodded. “He did. But why would you still go ahead and – assuming these elusive receipts can be found – buy the painting? Surely it puts the gallery’s reputation in a bad light?”
“Does it? Why do you say that?”
“I am asking the questions here, Mr Sherman, not you. Why did you buy this painting?”
“Because I thought it would be a good acquisition for the gallery. Agnes Robson is – was – a world-renowned artist.”
“But why this one? And this one?” Sandy pushed both photographs towards Sherman.
“Why not these ones? They are both high-quality Agnes Robsons.”
“Except one of them is not entirely by Agnes Robson, though,” Sandy countered.
“Apparently not. But I did
not know it wasn’t when I first purchased it. Now that I do, I shall be returning it to Gerald Farmer and asking him to reimburse the gallery.”
“Are you sure you actually bought the paintings?”
“Of course I am.”
“Really? You didn’t demand Gus North give them to you in return for keeping something quiet?”
Sherman jutted out his chin. “Of course not! Who has been telling you that?”
“I will remind you, Mr Sherman, that I am the one asking the questions.” He again perused the file, then after a few moments asked: “Is it correct that you first saw these paintings when you were down in London in August?”
Sherman gave a cool smile. “Ah, so it is Gus North you’ve been talking to. I wouldn’t believe a word that boy says. He’s got a drinking problem, you know.”
“Really? Well, it was Gerald Farmer, actually. I still have to interview Mr North. But not to worry, he is on the list.” Sandy flicked through the file again and stopped at a particular page. He took even longer than usual to read. In the silence, empty of the tick-tack of the stenography machine, Poppy could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Sherman looked to his solicitor. The solicitor nodded to him encouragingly. Stay calm, he appeared to say.
Eventually, Sandy spoke. “Mr Farmer told me he had not been aware of the purchase of these paintings until the morning of his departure for Newcastle. That is, last Thursday morning. He said Mr North had told him ‘at the last minute’ that you had requested the paintings be brought up to the exhibition when you dropped in to see Agnes back in August. But Agnes wasn’t there and you asked Gus if you could buy the paintings. Why didn’t you wait to speak to Agnes? Gus is merely her studio assistant, is he not?”
[Poppy Denby 05] - The Art Fiasco Page 25