by Lily Ashton
“Thank you, but no. I’m not going to subject an unsuspecting public to my doodles.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel. I won’t twist your arm – but please think about it, there’s still time before the opening.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
They were heading along the path and back towards the house, when Walker stopped suddenly.
“I’ve just thought of something. There was someone else who knew when the drawing would be delivered to the gallery. He popped in for a drink the evening before Vivien’s party, and I’m pretty sure it was discussed. He didn’t hang around and I’d forgotten all about him. The solicitor, Hacker. Edward Hacker.”
Chapter 23
As Alice drove back to Great Wheaton, one question kept popping into her head: What just happened?
Did her funder’s husband just hit on her?
She only went over to pump his wife for information and the next thing she knew, he was plying her with alcohol … Without the kitten, who knows what might have happened. It wasn’t as if she gave him any encouragement. And it was hardly the behaviour of the distressed owner of a stolen – missing – artwork. Was he so rich he didn’t care about the drawing, about art? It seemed to Alice he did care – he cared very much.
On the high street, she spied a rare free space and parked the Defender. As she was getting out, she received a phone call from Claudia Rowan. The Courier would run the Augustus John theft story in the next edition and it would be accompanied by photos. The theft was a genuine news story and she could not hold it back any longer.
Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse …
Alice messaged Stefan Erickson, warning him that they about to be deluged with enquiries about the newly discovered Augustus John. Then she made her way to Hacker, Stanley & Dole’s office. Edward Hacker had known when the drawing would be delivered to the gallery. The firm was down as having borrowed Beach and Vivien Taylor had said the painting was at its office. What was the harm in asking Hacker if she could see it?
According to a gaudy yellow sign stuck to the inside of their window, the solicitors offered clients discreet and discerning representation. Alice pushed open the door and entered a contemporary, if bland, reception area. A young man with a Great Wheaton Rowing Club tie introduced himself as Toby and asked how he could help. By contacting Edward Hacker and telling him that Alice Haydon would like to see him, she said.
“He’s busy at the moment, but I can book an appointment for another time?”
“In that case, perhaps someone else can help. It’s about a painting he borrowed from the council’s art collection. I’ve been promised the same work for an exhibition I’m organising, so I’ve come to collect it.”
The man huffed and consulted his computer screen. “I don’t know anything about that, I’m afraid. I’ll have to ask—”
“Thank you, Toby, I’ll take this.”
Alice turned at the guttural voice and recognised its owner from one of Freddie Garfield’s cuttings. The man was tall and balding, with rounded shoulders which made his suit appear a size too big.
He walked across to Alice and offered his hand. “I’m Edward Hacker. And you are?”
“Alice Haydon. I’m the senior curator at Gregory’s House. I’m here to enquire about a painting which I believe is hanging in this office. I’d like to have it for our centenary exhibition.”
“Come through to the meeting room.”
He pulled out a chair at a large oval table, seemingly from habit rather than good manners, then sat down on the opposite side. He placed both hands, palms down, onto the table between them.
“We did borrow a painting from the council – Beach I believe it was called – and we were told we could have it as long as we wanted. Which means, sadly, that it is not available for your exhibition.”
He pushed his hands more firmly into the table and crossed a little finger with a purple-stoned ring over its neighbour.
“Well, that’s inconvenient. My gallery has been promised the work too. It’s intended as the centrepiece of the exhibition.”
“I don’t know anything about that. All I know is that we have it now, and all things being equal we plan to keep it for the foreseeable future.”
“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement? Between the two of us?” Alice rocked on the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. For such impressive-looking chairs they were stone hard. “How about I borrow it from you for the run of the exhibition and give it back afterwards?”
“I’m afraid not.” He smoothed a hand across his bald head.
“Just for the opening then. I can let you have it back almost immediately. You’ll only be without it for a couple of days.”
“It’s not possible. I wish I could help, but I can’t.”
A money spider moved across Edward’s jacketed shoulder and stopped at the edge of his shirt collar. For a full minute, spider and man refused to shift. Then, sensing victory, Edward lifted his hands off the table, leaving sweaty prints on the polished surface. He twisted his head a few degrees to glance at the spider, then looked back at Alice with a ‘See how I didn’t budge an inch?’ look.
Not having engaged a solicitor before, Alice wondered whether this was a normal pose or if it was just for her benefit.
“Councillor Taylor was telling me about your generous charitable support. Have you considered holding one of your events at Gregory’s House? Our garden is perfect for drinks receptions and parties, especially at this time of year. Warm summer evenings and a lovely view of the river.”
Edward leaned forward and broke into a big smile.
“I know, I’ve been to a couple of events there myself.” He flicked the spider away. “I agree it’s a lovely spot. I would certainly consider it for our next fundraiser. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea.”
Now that he was onto something he enjoyed, Alice decided to go in for the kill.
“And when are you planning the next event?”
Edward pushed the chair back and crossed his legs. He outlined a celebrity charity auction he was planning for September. “I’m friends with Luke Evans, the actor, and …” – his cheeks reddened as he became more animated, and Alice could not take her eyes off the spreading blush – “and I want to smash last year’s total.”
The man could bore for England, thought Alice.
“That does sounds interesting. If you send me an email with the details, I’ll see how we can help.”
“That’s kind of you, I appreciate it.”
Alice looked over Edward’s shoulder to a painting on the wall behind him.
“That’s a fine portrait. An ancestor of yours, by any chance?”
“Yes, it is,” he said, flashing another smile. “That’s William Hacker. He was my great, great grandfather and a founder of the firm along with William Stanley. I’ve done a lot of research on my family history and according to the records, this portrait is a good likeness. Stanley’s portrait is in the other meeting room.”
“I’d love to see it. Do you have time to show me?”
She followed Edward along a corridor to the other side of the building. She peered into the offices, which were as silently frantic as the Courier’s. In front of William Stanley, she offered some suitable platitudes, then asked if she could use the bathroom.
“Of course. It’s upstairs, turn left and first on the right. I’ll say goodbye now and Toby will see you out when you’re ready.”
Alice checked the few paintings that lined the stairs as she climbed to the first floor. She checked the corridor too. And the toilets. But Beach was not there. Mission over, but not accomplished, she trudged back downstairs.
The front door was straight ahead, so it was only by luck that she turned her head to the left. He had his back to her, but Alice could h
ear Edward Hacker’s guttural voice. He was talking to a grey-haired, grey-suited man, and Alice recognised him immediately. Julian de Havilland.
Chapter 24
Alice moved the sofa from beneath Daisy’s riverside windows to the middle of the room, facing the wall that separated the living space from the cabin. She moved the coffee table in front of it. Clearing the clutter from the low bookcase, she deposited the items she had bought on the way home.
First, she unwrapped a cork board and propped it on the bookcase, against the wall. In the centre she pinned a photo of Jason Marley, and in the top left-hand corner, her father’s postcard of Augustus John’s girl. Below that, she pinned separate pictures of Edward Hacker and Julian de Havilland, linking the two men to the postcard with a line of thin, red gift-wrap ribbon.
On the other side of the board, she placed an index card with the word ‘Beach’ written across the middle in green pen. Below that went a picture of Hacker, Stanley & Dole’s office, which she joined to the index card with a piece of green ribbon.
“Knock, knock.” Roddy’s voice drifted through from outside the hatch door.
“Come on in, Roddy, it’s open.”
He clumped down the companionway, dragging a pair of canvases, roughly one foot square, attached to bamboo sticks with sellotape. He was about to speak when he saw the cork board.
“Heavens, child, whatever are you doing?” He propped the sticks against the sofa and hurried to the board.
“I’m determined to get the Augustus John drawing and Beach back, so I’ve set up an incident board. I’ve pinned up what I already know and I was going to work out what to do next.”
“Dear girl.” Roddy removed his straw hat. “You are dealing with missing works, not a homicide.”
“It’ll be the death of my career if I don’t find those artworks. I need to restore my good name; it has been shredded in the few days that I’ve had this job. Ironic, as I’d hoped promotion to senior curator would improve my shaky curatorial reputation.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry. Dubious reputations can take you a long way. I’ve been living off mine for years. So, who are your main suspects?”
“For the Augustus John drawing, I’ve got Edward Hacker and Julian de Havilland. Both of them saw the drawing at Vivien’s house the night before her party and crucially, they both knew when it would be delivered to the gallery.”
“That sounds reasonable. Anything else?”
“The two of them know each other, pretty well from what I can gather. I’ve done a bit of research on HSD’s activity in the town and the firm does have a longstanding relationship with the council. Oh, and I saw them together, only today, in Hacker’s office.”
Roddy sat on the sofa, Alice next to him. She passed him the sweet jar. He selected a pear drop and she took a flying saucer. Together they contemplated the board in silence, like a married couple watching their regular television soap opera.
“Can you think of any other suspects, Roddy?”
Roddy tugged at his beard.
“One doesn’t like to cast aspersions on one’s friends; but there are people I know who would happily pay someone to steal a rare Augustus John – and could afford to do it. Though whether they’ve taken this particular John drawing is debatable.”
“As for Beach, I’ve got Edward Hacker down for taking that too,” said Alice. “He admitted that he borrowed the painting and that he still has it. But he was most evasive. He didn’t say where it was or what he’s doing with it, or when it would be returned. And I didn’t see it in his office when I looked, though that’s where Vivien Taylor told me it was.” She lifted one foot onto the sofa and clutched her knee with both hands.
“So,” said Roddy, “we have a double theft on our hands.”
“I think so. And I wonder if they might be linked. I don’t think we can rule out Hacker and de Havilland acting as a team. Julian is used to doing what he wants and ignoring the rules when it suits him, even his own ones. And then there’s his penchant for awarding contracts to friends.”
“Talking of which …” Roddy got up and fetched his canvases. “I want your opinion on these placards.” He held a stick in each hand, waiting for Alice’s reaction.
“They’re very good, but what are they for?”
“Livvie’s organised a protest march to coincide with Jason Marley’s funeral tomorrow, which she thought would be a fitting tribute. I’m going, so I made these placards to take along.”
“They’re lovely, Roddy.” She knelt on the sofa and twirled the sticks around. “It seems that everyone is against the shopping centre, so you should get a good turnout.”
“Why don’t you come along? There’s nothing like causing a commotion on a summer’s morning.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
Alice’s phone rang and Stefan Erickson’s name lit up the screen.
She listened in silence for a minute, then thanked Stefan and hung up.
“He’s going to send me names of people he thinks would be in the market to buy the Augustus John. I’ll add them to the list of suspects. I’m glad he’s involved with this, he’s being so helpful.”
“Of course, he is. He’s giving you other people’s names so you won’t think it was him that stole the drawing.”
Alice shook her head. “I really wouldn’t—”
“Well I really would. I’d put Erickson down as my prime suspect. He knows the drawing’s value and the effect it will have on his reputation. Even better, he saw where it was stored in the gallery. He could have nipped back later that evening and taken it.”
Alice laced her fingers together, her chin on top.
“It pains me to agree, but I suppose he should be a suspect.”
She pinned an index card with Stefan’s name on the incident board.
“There we are. Three suspects already. This is going to be a tricky investigation.”
“What’s that doing there?” Roddy jabbed a finger at the board. “Why Jason Marley?”
“Because he’s dead. We know he was found in the river, but we don’t know why or how he got there.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of investigating that too?”
Alice showed Roddy the ‘JM’ letter.
“I think he knew who had Beach and he was going to tell me. Until we know what happened to him, I have to assume he’s somehow connected to the painting.”
“Dear girl, do be careful. You are making some big assumptions here. And treading dangerous ground.”
Alice took the letter and pinned it up on the board, underneath Jason’s picture.
“Roddy, I have to know what happened to Beach. I think it’s possible it will lead us to the Augustus John.” She hesitated. “And I will be careful.”
Roddy arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. He picked up one of the placards, leaving the other against the sofa.
“You can carry on playing with your board, while I get on with the serious work of protesting.”
“Actually, before you go, Roddy, the Courier’s editor is adamant that the John theft story runs this week. Other than you, me and Stefan, nobody knows it’s a special drawing and publishing pictures will only flag it up to the wrong people. Any ideas?”
“That odious man won’t respond to reason, as I found out when he ran a scurrilous story about me a few years ago. I’d have sued him if I’d had any money.” He banged the placard on the floor.
“I seem to remember that Marjorie Cavendish has a connection to the Courier. Isn’t she a trustee or something?”
“Roger was a shareholder, and after his death Marjorie inherited his shares. She knows the owners and the editor well.”
“So, we could get her to ask the editor to run the story but pull the pictures?”
“Is that we or you?”
Alice pulled her m
ost winning smile.
“Would you mind, Roddy? You know Marjorie much better than me.”
“You know you’re becoming very bossy, young lady.”
Alice felt a blush spread over her face and neck as she watched Roddy make for the exit.
“Roddy, I’m sorry. I had no idea I was being so … pushy. I just want to get the drawing back.”
Roddy half-turned. “I know how keen you are to do a good job and I’m happy to help you.” He smiled and held out a hand. “Now, do you want to come over for a drink later and we can discuss our protest tactics for tomorrow?”
“Thanks, but I’m cooking dinner for Joe tonight.”
Roddy laughed. “Shall I order a Chinese? A Plan B?”
“I don’t know what you think is wrong with my cooking, I eat it all the time.”
“Dear girl, if only you knew,” he said. “I’ll see you on the stump tomorrow. Don’t forget your peaceful protest weapon.”
Alice picked up Roddy’s placard. The words ‘Nature not Profit’, in green paint, were surrounded by images of flowers and wildlife. She ran a finger around a rose. The original plan, for a communal garden and play area, had been somewhat more inspired than the concrete shopping monstrosity that Julian de Havilland wanted now.
Opening her inbox, Alice found a response from the Land Registry. Title for Dunn Road appeared to be in the name of a company called Carrie Developments.
The name was unfamiliar, so she searched the internet and found the organisation’s website. There were some sketchy details of the construction company’s history, along with a broad mission statement that could have been the mantra of almost any company. Two case studies revealed that the company had built a holiday resort in Antigua and a block of luxury apartments in Belize. And that was about it. No Contact page, so no email, phone number or address.
Alice searched the council’s website. She found a report on the agreement with Carrie Developments for a joint project to build the proposed shopping centre on the Dunn Road site. She skipped through the report, written in legal speak that went over her head, and went to the signatures at the back, where she found addresses for both organisations. The council’s was listed as High Street, Great Wheaton and Carrie Development’s was in the British Virgin Islands.