Paint a Murder

by Lily Ashton

“Oh, so you’ve known Vivien Taylor a long time?”

  “That was Walker’s first wife. But yes, I met Vivien when she first stepped out with Walker. Charming woman. And very persuasive – she talked me into being a councillor.”

  “You were a councillor?” Alice almost spat out the words out. She would have been less surprised if Martin had told her that he kept a zebra in his bedroom.

  “Yes. ‘You won’t have to do anything,’ she said. ‘Just show up, I’ll tell you what to say.’ Good as her word she was, always gave me my lines. Of course, what she really wanted was my name. Still, it was easy enough fitting the duties around my acting and it was all for a good cause.”

  “And how long were you a councillor?”

  “Twenty years. Just did my mayoral year then gave it up. Long enough run, didn’t want to bore everyone.”

  “You were mayor of Great Wheaton?” This time, there was no disguising her surprise.

  “It’s de rigueur, once you’ve been a councillor for ten years. That’s me as mayor. I’ve also got one from an anniversary do with some of my predecessors, another one of Vivien’s parties. That was a bash, I can tell you. Went with a blonde I’d known for years. Took me three days to recover.” Martin sniggered.

  “What was the anniversary?”

  “The town hall’s bicentenary, and there was a civic service to celebrate.” He picked through the rest of the photos. “I can’t see it here, but it must be around somewhere. I’ll dig it out and send it to you if you like. You said you wanted some material for your catalogue, didn’t you?”

  “Please do, I’d love to see it.”

  Martin Bradman took centre stage in the room, legs astride, cravat askew, and threw out his arms.

  “Now. Paintings! The windswept moors of Yorkshire, or the languid river at Great Wheaton. Alice Haydon, you decide.”

  Chapter 39

  “So, I took the Yorkshire Moors.”

  Alice showed Roddy a photo of the painting on her mobile.

  “What did you think of Marty Bradman?”

  “He was hilarious, if a bit creepy. I got a run-down of the blondes he’d taken to various parties. Those theatre types really do live on another planet.”

  “I think he picked up his last blonde from the drag queen bingo. And she wasn’t blonde!” Roddy handed back the phone. “Surely we’ve got all the paintings by now. Feels like we’ve been at this job for ages.”

  “Two weeks actually, but we’re nearly there. The unticked ones on this list are still to be collected. You pick who you want to see.” She tapped the paper. “By the way, how’s your own painting coming along?”

  “Dear girl, how is an artist to create when he’s constantly interrupted by work? It’s going slowly since you ask. I can’t concentrate when I have to traipse around town collecting artworks.” Roddy folded his arms.

  Alice frowned. “Okay, don’t worry. Look, you carry on with your own painting and I’ll deal with the rest of the lenders.”

  Roddy unfolded his arms and pointed to Alice’s incident board.

  “On other matters, dare I ask how your investigation is going? I see your incident board has grown since I last saw it.”

  “I’ve got lots more information, but I’m no nearer finding any answers. I feel as if it’s staring me in the face, but I just can’t see it. It’s very frustrating.”

  “Well, if you’re nearer the answer than you were before, you’ll get to it in good time.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  After Roddy left, Alice picked a rhubarb and custard sweet from the jar and flopped onto the bean bag. She had hit a blank wall with her investigation into the people behind Carrie Developments, other than knowing they were clients of Hacker, Stanley & Dole.

  There were no stars for the exhibition. But the show had to have at least one star piece.

  Jenna, she decided, would think her useless if she didn’t get something spectacular. And time was running out.

  Helen Yardley insisted they meet in Narebridge, worried that someone might see them together in Great Wheaton. It was hot and sticky as Alice drove upriver and even with both windows fully open, the cross-breeze struggled to cool the Defender.

  Alice eased into a kerbside space on Narebridge high street and strode to the café Helen had suggested. She found Helen squeezed into a corner seat, the table pulled to her chest, searching eyes peering through her glasses.

  “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m glad to see you, though I would still like to meet Councillor de Havilland too.”

  “I know, but you’ve got me now.” Helen attempted a smile. “So, you want to know about the paintings Julian borrowed from the council’s collection?”

  “Yes. I noticed he’d borrowed several over the last few years. Also …” Alice paused, searching for the words. “When I saw the collection the other day, one of them wasn’t the original. And the last person to borrow that work was Julian.”

  Helen’s mouth dropped. She pushed her glasses up her nose and glared at Alice. “What do you mean, not the original?”

  “I know it sounds far-fetched, but one of the paintings was a copy. A good one, but a copy.”

  “What’s makes you say that?” Helen fingered a bunch of keys on the table.

  “Well this, for a start.” Alice handed Helen the Art in Your Home receipt.

  Helen turned another shade paler.

  “Are you saying that someone is stealing paintings from the council’s art collection and replacing them with forgeries?”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  Helen’s paleness turned to puzzlement. She was silent for a moment, before a little of her colour returned.

  “Actually, that makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “I can’t explain, but it ties in with my own suspicions.”

  Alice’s stomach flipped. “You suspected there was an art thief at the council?”

  “Well no, but strange things have been going on over the past few years.” Helen peered around the café. “I’ve been trying to piece them together. But your suspicions about the collection? They do confirm something I already knew.”

  “Has it got anything to do with Jason Marley’s opposition to the Dunn Road development? He knew who was behind Carrie Developments, didn’t he?”

  “He did.” Helen sighed. “He wouldn’t tell me who it was, he said the less I knew the better. He worried about me losing my job, or worse. But eventually I convinced him nothing would happen to me. That last night …” Helen’s eyes filled with tears. “That night, he was on his way to see me. He was going to tell me everything. But someone killed him before he got the chance.”

  Alice too glanced around the café. There were only a couple of occupied tables at the front, but she moved closer to Helen anyway.

  “Do you have any idea who it was?”

  “I could guess, but we’re talking about murder here. I don’t want to falsely accuse anyone.”

  A tear dropped from Helen’s chin, and Alice handed her a tissue.

  “Jason was your boyfriend, wasn’t he?”

  Helen nodded. “Jason was kind and generous. He reminded me of my late husband in some ways. Though Bernard would never have had the nerve to defy the council the way Jason did. And in public too.” Helen dabbed her eyes. “He didn’t want anyone to know about our relationship, especially the councillors, they hated him for what he did.”

  “I can imagine. Did Julian know about you and Jason?”

  “I never told him, but I’m sure he guessed.” Helen wiped her face with the tissue and tucked it into her dress pocket. “Jason was right to bring his judicial review and he wasn’t going to be deterred, Julian or not. The process to appoint Carrie Developments was flawed, wrong in fact. Jason had the evidence to prove it and
I’m sure he’d have won his case.”

  “But Julian was responsible for the process. And he tried to coerce Felicity Gault into voting for Carrie Developments, even though she knew they weren’t the best option. This all took place on Julian’s watch, Helen.”

  “I know it looks bad.” Helen tucked in her chin and stared over her glasses. “But Julian didn’t have any choice.”

  Alice straightened up, putting new distance between herself and Helen.

  “I understand why you’re sticking up for Julian, I know he’s your brother.”

  Helen clutched the table with both hands.

  “He is, but that’s not the only reason I’m on his side.”

  “Did someone ask him to make sure Carrie Developments got the contract? Or put pressure on him to do so?”

  Helen leaned in close and whispered, “He was told to.”

  “He was threatened?”

  “Shhh. It was made very clear to him that Carrie Developments should get the contract. And this wasn’t the first time, oh no. He’d been set up before, during his election campaign.”

  “You mean the dodgy donation? Someone set Julian up by incorrectly recording the donation and snitching on him to the Electoral Commission.”

  Helen nodded.

  “But the story was only live for a short time, Helen. The Courier didn’t even run it. He survived, didn’t he?”

  “He was supposed to survive, Alice, that was the point. The Electoral Commission was smoothed over and the fine was paid for him. But it was only a public survival. Behind the scenes, Julian was in their debt. And it got worse. It destroyed his marriage and if his twins hadn’t stood by him as they did, I think he would have broken. And now he has to do as he’s told, or he’ll be exposed for fraud in public office. He’ll be disgraced, maybe even end up in prison.”

  “George Shaker gave him the donation, right? He’s a disgraced businessman himself, so he must be the person behind Carrie Developments, and—”

  “Oh no. George Shaker was set up too. He and Julian knew each other well and George just wanted to support a friend. He asked how the donation should be paid and Julian told him the correct and legal way. George did it by the book. He wasn’t to know that donations by barred individuals should be declared as such. It was the perfect set-up and there was nothing Julian could do about it.”

  A waitress cleared a nearby table, loading up her tray with half-eaten cakes and empty coffee cups.

  “Why are you telling me all this, Helen?”

  “I’ve worked at GWDC for twenty years. I’ve loyally supported the administration, councillors of every persuasion, in the expectation that they serve the community to their best ability. But I’ve come to realise that some of them are only there to serve themselves and they don’t care how they do it. Or who pays the price.” Helen wiped away another tear. “And Jason paid with his life.” She grasped Alice’s hand and pulled it towards her. “His killer is still out there and I want him caught. Find him, Alice.”

  Alice clasped Helen’s hand and settled her other hand over the top.

  “I will, Helen, I will. But I need to know who’s pulling the strings at Carrie Developments. If it’s not George Shaker, then who is it?”

  “Someone much bigger.”

  Chapter 40

  Someone much bigger. The words rolled around in Alice’s head as she walked to the Defender. Whoever Mr X was, he had set up Julian de Havilland, apparently manipulating him at will. He – or she – had put Julian under pressure to award Carrie Developments the Dunn Road shopping centre contact, worth a fortune. But what was his interest in the council’s art collection? And Beach?

  Alice’s phone beeped and just as she was pulling it out of her bag, she was bumped by a stocky man jogging along the footpath in the other direction. She swung around, on the verge of yelling, but a pair of bandy legs and a rim of amber curls beneath his peaked cap choked the impulse. Her eyes followed the man until he shot around the corner and disappeared.

  It was the man she had seen when she was supposed to meet Jason on the bridge; and here he was again, moments after she had met with Jason’s girlfriend. It was no coincidence, surely.

  Her hand shook as she unlocked the Defender. She jumped in and sped out of Narebridge. Once on the river road, she slowed down and took a deep breath. She glanced involuntarily in the rear-view mirror, but all she saw was her own wide and frightened eyes.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Alice. He obviously lives in the area. Why wouldn’t you see him around?”

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead and looked out the window. Fields of glowing yellow rape and green pastures, slashed by the grey-blue river, shot by. Two boys in bright orange kayaks raced each other, silver oars sending sparkles of sunlight across the water.

  On another balmy evening the previous summer, she and Joe had paddled up this way. Joe had borrowed a rowing boat from a friend and they had glided up the river, soaking in the living landscape. The further they moved away from town, the quieter the waterway became. Their only company were families of ducks and geese and a memorable pair of elegant black swans.

  Two miles along, they had stopped for a cold beer at a pub overlooking the river. It was not until the sun began to fade that they realised they had no lights and would have to row back in the dark. The moonless night was so pitch that Alice could barely distinguish the river from its banks. She would have been afraid, but for the reassuring plink of the oars slicing through the water. The river’s murmur was calming. It was one of the reasons she so enjoyed living on Daisy.

  She was so deep in reminiscence that she did not register the jolt at first. But the steering became leaden and the Defender lurched off to the right. Alice clung on to the wheel as it fought to rip itself out of her hands. A wooden fence hurtled towards her. She wrestled with the car, slamming on the brakes. The Defender slowed, but not in time to stop it plunging off the road and into the fence. Its heavy front end broke through the wooden rails and it careered along the grass. Alice hammered on the brakes and the car eventually came to a standstill, leaving her slumped over the wheel.

  She lifted her head, blinking away salty tears. She put a hand to her head, but could not feel any bumps, and a check in the mirror revealed no more cuts or bruises than she already had. A flock of sheep had lifted their heads and were staring at her with mild interest, unfazed by the intrusion.

  She opened the car door and slid to the ground. Her legs wobbled. She steadied herself and examined the damage. There was only a small dent on the galvanised front bumper, but the back had not escaped so lightly. The driver side wheel guard was buckled and the tyre was in ribbons.

  All in all, remarkably little damage.

  Alice reached into the glove box and retrieved her insurance documents. Just as she was punching in the number, she heard a shout. A man waved from the roadside, standing in the gap the Defender had made in the fence.

  “Hey there!” he yelled across the grass. “Do you need any help?”

  “My tyre has blown.”

  “I’ll come over.” The man marched through the gap, a black Labrador trotting along beside him.

  He reached the car and inspected the ruined tyre.

  “That’s a blow-out alright. Still, the old Defender landed on her feet.” He patted the car’s rump. “Do you have a spare?” He raised a questioning jet eyebrow, a contrast to the silver of his closely cropped hair.

  “Yes, it’s in the back, but you really don’t have to do it. I can call the breakdown service.”

  “It’s no problem, it won’t take long. If you could take Samson for me please?” He held out the dog’s lead. “I’m Victor, by the way.”

  “Alice.”

  She was about to protest again, but she was too angry and tired to argue. She opened the back of the Defender and let Victor rummage around collecting tools
. He lifted out the heavy tyre with ease, leant it against the car and fitted the jack together. It looked as if he had done the job many times before, so was not in need of any help.

  Alice stepped out of the way and stood in the field, holding a stranger’s dog while he changed her car tyre.

  A surreal end to a bizarre day.

  Chapter 41

  “A dead man in the river, a Mister Big, an increasingly complex incident board, a council with a collection of fakes, an Augustus John drawing on the run …” Roddy pulled his straw hat further over his face and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It gets scarier every time I speak to you. I positively fear for my life!”

  Alice sat on the sun lounger with one foot on Daisy’s rail.

  “Roddy, I’m serious.”

  “And that’s the problem, Alice. You’re taking this far too seriously. Great Wheaton is not the den of thieves you are making it out to be.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because crime of this nature takes ingenuity and there’s nobody in this town with that sort of imagination. The only person I would credit with the right intelligence and cunning is you, dear girl.”

  “Very funny. Not.” Alice swung her other foot onto the rail.

  “I mean it, you are the only person I can think of. You have the wherewithal, the knowledge and the contacts to distribute the drawing and the other paintings you say are missing from the council’s collection.” Roddy paced around the deck, warming to his theme. “And it wouldn’t take you five minutes to get a company set up in the British Virgin Islands and make a bid for the Dunn Road development contract. If you put your mind to it, you could be a master criminal.”

  “Really, I don’t know where you got such a mad idea.”

  “Well, come up with someone else then.”

  “Hey!” Joe ran along Sam’s Lane and across the gangway. He stood on the deck, legs apart, arms outstretched. “You’ve been shot”.

  “I’m pretty sure I haven’t been shot. But seeing as you said it with such conviction, maybe you can persuade me otherwise.” Alice giggled.