Paint a Murder

by Lily Ashton

  Now she reflected on it, why had she pinned her hopes on so many speculative pieces? Roddy may not finish his painting. Duncan Jones had said no to Nicholas Waites’ figurines and Alice had failed to find Beach. To top it all, the Augustus John might be a fake.

  “I agree. As things stand it’s not a show I would want to shout about.” She laid her hand on the table next to the drawing. “This should be a central part of it, but I can’t include it if I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

  “You are right to be cautious, even I am not sure.” Stefan leant forward and lowered his voice. “However, in my opinion, this drawing is an authentic Augustus John work.”

  “Really?” Her voice spiked an octave. “What makes you so sure?”

  “It has John’s fluid lines and his superb draughtsmanship. It also has an authentic signature, though the work would speak for its creator even if it were unsigned. But, I agree that it is not the same as the famous drawing of the girl. I believe that what we have here is a different work altogether.”

  “You mean, we’ve discovered a new Augustus John drawing?”

  “It is possible. But without a provenance I cannot be certain. An investigation is required to establish the drawing’s journey from artist, all the way through to current owner.”

  “If it does turn out to be by John, why would he have produced two drawings so similar?”

  Stefan leant against the table, the strip light bathing him in cold light. “Augustus John taught art early in his career. He could have created a drawing as a practical example during class and given it to one of his students to study. My own theory is that he gave away lots of drawings in this way, including incomplete ones. Some of these could have been kept in private ownership and we have no idea they even exist.” He flicked his hair over his shoulder. “Another explanation, is that this drawing could be a study for the more famous one. Perhaps he didn’t like it so much and abandoned it. That is why we need that provenance, Alice. I can help with research, but I need you to get an accurate account of Vivien Taylor’s purchase and of the friend she bought it from.”

  “Of course. I’ll speak to her and get whatever information I can.”

  “Good. When you know more, call me and we will talk again. In the meantime, I suggest we keep this between ourselves. If the media or, worse, the art world, finds out, they will descend on you like a flock of snow geese.”

  “I’ve got an un-dis-cov-ered John, dah, in my baaaa-sement,” Alice sang as she locked Daisy’s hatch door behind her and skipped down the companionway into the saloon. “I’ve got the biggest star in the biggest exhibition the gallery has ever had!”

  She had romped home after leaving Stefan at the train station, scarcely able to believe her luck. A newly discovered Augustus John would set the art world alight and send her career into the stratosphere. She was bursting to tell somebody the exciting news, but she could tell precisely no one. Not yet anyway.

  She flitted around Daisy, cleaning up the kitchen, dusting the living space and even cleaning the windows. But it was impossible to keep her mind from racing. She thought of the spectacular opening she would put together. Lots of lights, a cocktail bar, the nation’s media. She wondered whether Duncan should hire a PR agency.

  After planning and re-planning her imaginary event, Alice switched on the air conditioner. Discarding her clothes, she flung them onto a chair and lay on the bed in her underwear. She turned on her side and watched the stars through a gap in the curtains – fairy lights in a charcoal sky.

  Showing the Augustus John drawing could be a career-defining moment for Alice. But first, she had to prise that provenance out of Vivien Taylor.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning, Alice emerged through the hatch door to find Joe leaning over Daisy’s side, arms resting on top of the railing. He straightened up when he heard her.

  “Hey. You get a good sleep?”

  Alice hid her face with her hands. She hadn’t seen this coming. Assuming that Joe would be exhausted from his trip, she had expected him to be at home in bed at this time of the morning.

  “Yes, thanks,” she said as she sidled over the deck, stopping just beyond his reach. “How about you?”

  “The body was creaking after the long ride from the ferry and I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d wander over and see how you were.”

  Alice clutched her elbows and hugged herself as though for reassurance. Emboldened, she inched a little closer.

  “Joe, I’m so sorry I didn’t come with you. I tried to call you …”

  Joe held up his hand. “I need some breakfast before you launch into a full-scale apology.” He limped across the deck. “I’ll make it, sit yourself down.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Joe, but from what? There’s no food here.”

  “I assumed that’d be the case, so I stopped at the market on the way over.”

  Alice smiled. “Actually, I’m hungry too. What have you got?”

  “Eggs. Also cheese, tomatoes and spinach. I’ll do an omelette. What would you like in yours?”

  “Everything?”

  Joe headed into the saloon, emerging in less than ten minutes with a tray of toast, coffee and two omelettes, which he set on a square wooden table. The tang of cheese wafted up as Alice dug her fork into puffy eggs. She swallowed and sighed.

  Breakfast over, Joe got up and eased across the deck, stretching his legs with long strides. Alice followed him.

  “Joe. Joe. I’m really sorry about Uncle Patrick’s party.

  I …” She ran out of words, despite spending a silent breakfast planning what to say. She waited for Joe to fill the void, but this time he said nothing.

  Alice swung her arms back and forth, then let them hang beside her. Over Joe’s shoulder, a little family tableau caught her eye – father, sons and fishing gear motoring along the river, their dog barking at the swan family bobbing in the wake of the boat.

  “I had to stay, yesterday, um … That is, I felt that I had to stay, that I couldn’t run off on my first morning as senior curator.” She machine-gunned the words, as if more of them would amount to a rational explanation. “I thought Duncan would think I wasn’t serious about the job and perhaps he might even take back the promotion. I’m sorry if I came over a bit hasty. And maybe a bit rude … and thoughtless.”

  Joe showed no reaction. Then he moved off the railing. He towered above her, his sapphire eyes narrowing.

  “You thought that, maybe, you were a bit thoughtless.”

  She swallowed hard, and her voice faltered. “I definitely was. I could have put it much better, if I’d thought about it first.”

  “So, if you’d taken a minute to think about it, you would still not have come with me? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Alice rested her jaw in both hands and contemplated the deck, before she thought it safe to reply,

  “I have to be honest with you, Joe, I was afraid I’d get fired if I went away the day I’d been promoted. So I stayed. And I’m sorry I missed Uncle Patrick’s party. But I’m even more sorry that I upset you.”

  As the words spilled out she grew calmer and she gave Joe the trace of a smile.

  “Okay, I get it.” A little pulse appeared on his temple. “You didn’t want to ruin the first day in your new job, so you ditched me.” Joe’s forehead furrowed. “Well, I’m not going to be dumped out of your life when you feel like it and picked up again when it’s convenient for you. And I’m certainly not going to let you trash my family’s celebrations at the last minute, with no explanation or apology.”

  Joe leaned forward until his face was inches from Alice’s.

  Alice’s head thumped and she braced herself for more words to blast through the space between them.

  “I don’t know what else to say, Joe, except that I was thoughtless and inconsiderate and I’m really sorry. A
nd I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”

  Joe glared, then stepped back and gave a hazy smile. Finally he said, “Okay. I accept your apology.”

  “I’ll call Uncle Patrick and apologise.”

  “You’ll do that. But in the meantime, there’s a forfeit to be paid.”

  Alice’s mouth dropped. “A forfeit? What sort of forfeit?”

  Joe lunged forward, picked Alice up in his arms and turned towards the river.

  “You breakfast with the swans.”

  And he threw her over the railing, into the water below.

  Chapter 16

  The Bull Hotel had been serving drinks to Great Wheaton’s residents and visitors for over five hundred years. The hotel’s original timber structure, exposed beams and enormous stone carved fireplace, were visitor attractions in their own right. A young woman, positioning herself for a selfie, slid backwards along the bar, parting customers from their drinks.

  Alice placed her order with Flora and glanced at photos of some of the bar’s most famous customers. Politicians, artists, writers and a border collie named Bailey, who in the 1890s had accompanied his master to The Bull every day.

  Alice and Joe took their beers into the courtyard, which was as packed as expected on this sunny Thursday lunch time. In the midst of the throng, Alice spotted Claudia Rowan waving, so she weaved through the customers to join her. Finn Kinnaman was there too.

  “Sorry, we didn’t see you, we only got two drinks.”

  Alice introduced Joe to Claudia.

  “Good to meet you, Joe. Don’t worry about drinks for us, we’re already sorted.”

  “Okeydoke,” said Joe. “Hi Finn. What’s brought you out this way?”

  “You two know each other?”

  “We met when we were covering Lenny Livingstone’s trial in London a couple of years ago,” said Finn.

  “Well you won’t get that sort of job here,” said Alice. “There are no organised crime bosses in Great Wheaton.” They all laughed.

  “Actually, we were just talking about you, Alice,” said Claudia. “Finn was showing me the pictures he took at Vivien’s party. There’s some good ones of the Augustus John drawing and now that you’re here, you can help me choose which one to use in next week’s feature.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to run the story a bit closer to the opening date?”

  “I thought you were keen for some advance publicity. Tell people about it now and build up the anticipation, that’s what you wanted, right?”

  “Well yes.” Alice worked the label of her beer bottle with a fingernail. “But it’s still six weeks away. People might forget about it if we tell them now.”

  “They won’t forget if we keep reminding them in the weeks leading up to the event, which is what we planned to do. And it’s only just over five weeks away, which isn’t that long.”

  “Surely a couple of weeks won’t make any difference?”

  “Vivien Taylor would kill me. She specifically asked me to big up this event. It’s for your benefit too. You seemed keen enough the other day, so I’m surprised you’re stalling now.”

  Alice looked at Joe, willing him to jump in and change the subject. But he missed her entreaty.

  “I’m a bit concerned about you publishing pictures of the drawing. Just in case we decide not to put it in the show.”

  “Nice try, Alice. You know better than I do that that drawing will be centre stage in the show. Or else Vivien will pull every penny of council funding from Gregory’s House.”

  “Can I at least see the article and pictures before they go to print? Just to double-check the details?”

  Claudia pursed her lips and glanced around the courtyard. When she faced Alice again, her lips had softened but her eyes were cold.

  “I don’t usually let the subject of my stories approve my work and I’m not sure I can make an exception for you.”

  Claudia sipped her wine and fixed Alice with a stiff stare.

  “I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath.”

  “I heard about the drowning incident outside the gallery the other night,” said Joe. “Are you involved in reporting that story, Claudia?”

  “No, that’s being handled by our crime reporter. It’s a terrible thing, I knew Jason Marley well, nice man. Just when he was making some headway with his protest against the shopping centre too.”

  “Really?” Alice perked up. “You think he was actually getting somewhere with it? What had he achieved?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I do know the council officers were in a flap about him. Apparently, Jason found out something that scared them. A lot.”

  “So, his death has come at a convenient time for them?” said Alice.

  “It would appear so.” Claudia lifted a hand as though to stop a thought in its tracks. “But I don’t think for one minute it was anything other than a tragic accident.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Finn. “My police source hinted that it might not have been a straightforward drowning. Not that he would expand any further.”

  “You must have a special source, Finn, as the official police line is that it’s being treated as an accident.” Claudia brushed a fly from her glass. “While I think of it Alice, you know the George Shaker story we talked about the other day? His donation to Julian de Havilland’s election campaign?” Alice nodded. “We had an intern working with us at the time, who did the research for that piece. Finn reminded me when I mentioned it to him earlier; actually, Finn knows him.”

  “Yeah, we worked together on a couple of stories while he was at the Courier and we kept in touch after he left. If you want to speak to him I can give you his number.”

  “That would be great, thanks,” said Alice. “I would like to know more about George Shaker, actually Julian de Havilland really. What’s the intern’s name?”

  “Freddie Garfield. He’s a staff reporter on the London Standard now.”

  “I know a bit about George Shaker,” said Joe. “In fact, I’ve met him a couple of times. His reputation for dodgy dealing doesn’t stop people inviting him to their parties.”

  “He was at Vivien’s unveiling the other day and he seemed quite at home.”

  “He’s Great Wheaton’s most glamorous criminal, so he adds a certain cachet to drinks receptions,” said Claudia.

  “So, what else did he do to get such a bad reputation?” said Alice. “Surely there was more than just that dodgy donation?”

  “He was barred from being a company director, something to do with the finances at his own company. Freddie will know the details. It happened before the donation scandal, so it gave the impression he was a serial fraudster.”

  “Here’s his number,” said Finn.

  Alice punched Freddie Garfield’s details into her contacts list.

  “What other stories did he work on?”

  “A whole host of things,” said Claudia. “He was such a good researcher that everyone wanted him. A classic terrier – once he’d been given a brief, he just had to get to the bottom of it.”

  Alice contemplated questions she wanted to ask Freddie Garfield, but stopped when she caught Joe’s anxious glance.

  “But this afternoon, we’ll enjoy hot rays and cold beer.”

  Alice reflected on Claudia’s comments about Jason Marley. He knew something that had the council worried. Whatever it was, there was something he thought Alice should know. She had to find out what it was.

  Chapter 17

  Later, Alice sat on Daisy’s deck, working up an article for the centenary exhibition catalogue. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, hammering out a description of Ann Gregory’s paintings.

  Freddie Garfield had been delighted that someone was interested in his research and had invited her to meet him in London. Joe was going with her and t
hey would spend the day together – giving her a chance to make up for missing Uncle Patrick’s birthday.

  Guests from a neighbour’s party spilled across Sam’s Lane, seeking shade under a leafy plane tree near Daisy’s bow. Their chatter masked the trilling at first, so it was only when the noise persisted that Alice realised her phone was ringing down in the saloon.

  She let it ring, not wishing to break the flow. The caller had other ideas, however, and tried again. And again. Finally, Alice groaned and got up to answer it.

  “Get over to the gallery as fast as you can,” said Duncan Jones. “We’ve had a break-in.”

  By the time Alice arrived at Gregory’s House, the police had blocked off both ends of Albany Street, along with access to the gallery. She had to fight her way through a knot of onlookers and the uniform on the front door. Once inside, she found an agitated Duncan talking to an unexpectedly familiar man.

  “What happened?” she said as she ran across the lobby.

  “Somebody broke in,” Duncan said in a quiet, pinched voice. “And stole the Augustus John drawing. From the store room. In the basement.”

  Alice’s limbs weakened; she felt as if she was going to faint.

  “What? No. It can’t be gone. It just can’t.”

  “Hello, Miss Haydon,” said the tall, handsome man beside Duncan. “I’m Detective Inspector Nathan Salisbury and I’m leading this investigation.”

  The words, spoken with studied formality, did not register, but the face did. Nathan Salisbury had been her first serious boyfriend, when she was at college and he was a police recruit. She had not seen him for many years, but here he was again, right on her doorstep.

  Nathan turned to Duncan and gave a little smile. “Actually, we know each other.” To Alice he said, “I realise this is a shock, but we want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay, Alice? We need to establish a timeline, so we can begin our enquiries. And I have to give the owner a preliminary account of what’s happened.”