“Mm… these days most vehicles make use of printed acetate to display such details. I could get that done, but do you mind telling me the reason why you want it?”
“Let me explain what I`ve got in mind, Roger.”
*
For the next hour I related the idea I wanted to put into practice. He asked numerous questions, some I couldn`t immediately answer.
“Well, it seems very much `a wing and a prayer` proposal. I can see plenty of pitfalls, even to the point of getting caught and winding up before a judge. But… OK, if you want my help, you`ve got it. Now show me precisely what you want printed on the acetate film.”
I shook his hand.
“Thank you, Roger. I`ll go down to Mead Court at the weekend and talk to John Fielding about the basic colours to be painted on a truck.”
Chapter 55
Fielding pulled up a number of images on the computer.
“That`s the style is it, Alan? Blue and white divided by a yellow band.”
“It`s more gold than yellow,” I remarked. “But it won`t matter too much at night. We shall also need a pair of flashing orange lights set above the driver`s cab. Do you think you can manage all that in ten days?”
It was Saturday morning. We were in Fielding`s office of Johns` Haulage Company.
“That shouldn`t be a problem, Alan. What sort of vehicle did you have in mind?”
“A box unit, preferably with side and rear doors, and if you can get hold of something with a tail lift, so much the better.”
“What I can lay my hands on is a seven and a half tonne DAF, which has both a tail lift and side and rear doors.”
“Ideal. May I leave that to you then?”
“What about a driver? I don`t want to appear too inquisitive, but if you are moving some paintings, would you like me to do the driving?”
“I`d like to say yes, but I don`t want you to be involved if it all goes pear-shaped.”
“It would be more likely to happen if you have someone who doesn`t know how to handle such a vehicle. Who else have you got helping you?
“Well, McKenna, and someone you haven`t met called Roger Tamworth.”
“How did he get involved?” John asked.
“He`s a private investigator. I came across him some time ago, when trying to find out more about Horst Schendler. The fellow whose shady business was taken over by Peter Engel.”
Suddenly, the shrill ring of a telephone in the outer office interrupted our conversation.
“I`d better take that. Everyone is out in the yard. It might be a client,” he said over his shoulder.
“Johns` Haulage… What! Play along with them! Play for time! We`ll be there as quickly as we can!”
“Alan! That was your mother. Engel`s man, Nicholls, has arrived with those heavies of his. They`re intent on removing the paintings from the long gallery. They attacked McKenna, and ran through the house. From what she heard in all the shouting, they`re intent on taking the Gurlitt truck from the barn as well. Your mother was upstairs at the time, but they`ll soon find her. We must hurry!”
We rushed out to the Range Rover. But then I halted.
“Have you still got those police uniforms and the unmarked car?”
“Yes, in the far warehouse.”
“Get the two lads who wore them last time. The car has got a roof siren hasn`t it?”
He shouted back something lost on the wind as he turned at a run towards the maintenance shop.
*
In the Range Rover we followed the vehicle with its flashing blue lights set in the front grill, and the alternating lights fitted to the roof. A mile from Mead Court the siren started up. As the leading car neared the entrance gates a large, white truck and a saloon car hurtled out the drive and sped off in the direction of Shaftesbury.
We found my mother and McKenna in the drawing room. He was out cold, his face a patchwork of cuts and heavy abrasions. My mother had been gagged and tied to a chair.
*
We sat in an airless room while McKenna was being treated in the Minor Injuries department at the local community hospital. Eventually, he appeared on my mother`s arm, looking decidedly better than when we lifted him from the floor and ran them both into Shaftesbury.
“Alan, those paintings have to go,” said my mother quietly. “If your police car hadn`t turned up when it did, God knows what they would have done to poor Jerry.”
“Och, lassie, it`s nothing… just a few bruises,” he muttered. But it sounded as though he was talking through cotton wool. His lips puffed, the words distorted.
“Actually, mother, it`s in hand. They`ll be gone very, very soon.”
*
McKenna was helped upstairs at Mead Court, with mother fussing over him like a broody hen. When she eventually came down, she said, “He`s resting quietly. The hospital gave him some painkillers, and he`s taken a couple of those and fallen asleep. So he won`t be talking to us for a while. Shall we have something to drink?”
I poured her a stiff whisky. John and I had a glass of wine.
I could see my mother was close to tears, and it must have been evident to Fielding. After a few minutes he said, “Well, I must get back to the yard, and close up for the day.”
I ran him back to Blandford Forum. On the way he said what had been on my mind. “We were fortunate to get there in time. But I wonder if they`ll come back, Alan?”
“I have a feeling we haven`t seen the last of them, John. Now Engel is out of the picture, presumably these people are trying to grab whatever they thought was valuable.”
“Well, we can`t go to the police about them, that`s for sure.”
“They probably went back to the house in Shaftesbury, so it may not be long before they begin their surveillance of Mead Court once again. There are times when there is no one at the house, that way they can choose when to carry out a raid without risk of being interrupted.”
I grinned at him as I drew up in front of the offices. “We could use that against them.”
“What do you mean?” John enquired.
“Not so long ago, before they installed cameras, lights and other warning devices at Dinah`s Hollow,” I explained, “They took it in shifts to watch the store and also Mead Court. The Gurlitt truck is at present in a barn at the back of the house. Supposing they were made aware it had been moved to Dinah`s Hollow? Not only are the paintings of greater value, it would be a piece of cake to steal it from there.” I unconsciously stroked my chin. “I`ll have to give it careful thought.”
Chapter 56
It was simple to break into the barn.
The rear door, hidden on the inside by a stack of pallets, was opened by a key hanging on a hook in the back lobby of the house.
Opening the rear doors of the vehicle was more difficult. But McKenna, who seemed to know his way around locks, took a mere ten minutes to gain entry.
John Fielding was with us, and together the three of us removed the Turners and the Laura Knight, and replaced them with the Gurlitt paintings, retrieved from the store of McKenna`s farming friend. A van Gogh was removed from Conrad Gurlitt`s hoard; and paintings from the long gallery were added to the consignment. Though, again not all of them.
In many respects I felt a sense of betrayal to Grandpa Johns. Whether he had come by them fairly or not, I realised it was not for me to judge. However, deep within me the feeling gradually took hold, genuine or fake, the heirs of former owners should have the benefit of their return. Just a couple would be retained in memory of my grandfather, and as a form of recompense for the security and care he had lavished upon them.
The Turners, the Laura Knight, and several other works went into the cellar of the house for safe keeping.
The next day, my mother phoned the police.
*
“I was in the house, officer, upstairs in my bedroom, when I heard the sound of breaking glass. Then footsteps crossing the hall. He, it may have been they, must have thought the house was empty. Most of the tim
e the doors are kept locked, though a few windows are usually slightly open.”
The police car had drawn up on the forecourt. Its blue, flashing lights strongly broadcasting its presence.
*
It was all too obvious to onlookers keeping vigil in the shrubbery close to the main gate.
“Christ, I wonder what they want?”
“Whatever it is, it can`t be good news.”
“You`d better phone Nicholls. Let him tell us what we should do.”
Nicholls` voice declared the caller may like to leave a message.
“Right, if in doubt, we`ll stay here,” murmured one.
A half an hour later the police car rolled down the drive, passing them as it headed for the gates.
Minutes later McKenna came from the house, and headed for the barn. A short time afterwards the Gurlitt truck from Munich appeared, and turned right before taking the Dinah`s Hollow Road.
Nicholls` men saw it was heading for the store. Nevertheless, one of them clambered through the hedges and had a clear view of McKenna using bolt cutters on the security chains. The tall, double doors swung open.
Among the bushes one of them murmured, “He must have cut off the electricity. None of the lights have come on.”
McKenna climbed into the cab and eased the vehicle into the dark interior. Shutting the doors, he secured new locks on the chains. Whistling a mindless tune, he began walking back to Mead Court.
*
They had returned to the house in Shaftesbury when Nicholls finally rang.
“The police have been to Mead Court,” explained the leader of the trio. “We don`t know what transpired, but shortly after they had gone, that fellow McKenna broke into the barn and drove the truck, the German truck carrying all those paintings, round to the store in Dinah`s Hollow… Are the paintings still in the truck… Well, how should we know! Find out.. Why should we find out? Oh, I see… OK, when can we expect you?”
“What did he say?”
“Nicholls reckons the paintings in the truck could be really valuable. He wants to check, and will join us about ten o`clock tonight. Then we`ll go to the warehouse. If they`re there, we`ll simply take them. It would be far less bother.”
*
It was after one in the morning when Nicholls and his cohorts crept silently up to the warehouse. As McKenna did earlier, bolt cutters soon severed the chains. Opening one of the doors just sufficiently to squeeze through, it was quickly closed behind them. The four men switched on torches and went over to the truck.
They had both the keys to the rear doors and the ignition key.
They were quickly satisfied the Gurlitt paintings were in the truck. Indeed, they couldn`t believe their luck. So, too, were the works displayed on the walls of Mead Court.
A double bonus.
“Right,” said Nicholls. “Let`s take the truck.”
“OK… but where are we taking it to?”
Nicholls stood there for a moment, uncertain. In his mind, he dredged through all the possibilities he could think of. Then it dawned on him.
In the semi-darkness, they caught the flash of a smile.
“We`re going to Birmingham,” he declared.
*
It had been John Fielding`s turn to watch the store in Dinah`s Hollow.
When Nicholls and his people had arrived, his softly spoken phone call had startled me before it grabbed my immediate attention.
“They`ve gone into the store. Do you want to join me to see what happens?”
“Yes, I`ll be there in a few minutes. I`ll drive the Range Rover down to the gates. If they take the truck away, join me and we`ll follow them. I`ll awaken McKenna.”
*
The four of them squeezed into the cab.
One of the trio drove the truck, reversing slowly out the store onto the apron. With silence uppermost in his mind, he gently eased the vehicle out the gateway onto the A350, and headed for Shaftesbury.
“They`re heading north,” was the cryptic message on the satellite phone.
John slipped into the passenger seat and we gave them two or three minutes before following in distant pursuit. There was no need to be up close and personal. John had removed the sophisticated transponder unit from the transporter before it had been quietly dispatched to a watery grave. This had been discreetly fitted to the Gurlitt truck. Thereafter, monitoring equipment had been installed at Mead Court, and with McKenna at the controls, we were easily able to plot the details of the route they were taking. John had also introduced a small bonus. We could also listen in to their conversation.
There was a brief halt at the house in Shaftesbury.
We overheard Nicholls say, “Right, Jim and I will follow in the car.”
Five minutes later they were on the move, continuing north through Bath.
“They must be heading for the M4 motorway,” John remarked.
This was confirmed a short while later when the phone rang. It was McKenna.
“They`re on the motorway heading for Bristol.”
Nothing had been said in the truck. It seemed everyone was occupied with their own thoughts, or were asleep.
The phone rang again. Another route change.
John listened intently. “Right, thank you, McKenna.”
“He thought they might be driving into Wales, but it appears they`ve taken the M5 going north.”
At the junction we too joined the northbound carriageway, and shortened the gap between us to half a mile.
Still no sound from the truck.
It remained that way for the next thirty minutes. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if the sound system had failed, when suddenly a voice said, “Services coming up, I want to stop for a pee.”
“So do I,” said another. “I`ll speak to Trevor.”
It was then I saw the sign for the Gloucester Service Station, and slowing, eased into the inside lane. I took the slip road and parked in the `cars only` area.
“I fancy a coffee, John,” I said. “Can I get you one as well?”
“Be careful you don`t bump into them.”
“Hmm… right.”
I leaned over the seat and retrieved a baseball cap, and took dark glasses from the glove box. I also remembered Roger`s comments, about changing the way one walked.
“ OK? Now what do you want. Tea or coffee?”
Coffee. And something to eat. A bacon roll would do the trick.”
“What, at this time of the morning? It`s only three o`clock.”
“I feel peckish. Don`t you?”
I came back with his roll and coffee. I had the same. Even at that hour the smell of bacon cooking was irresistible.
We sat there until the phone rang.
This time I answered it. “They`re on the move again.”
“Thanks, McKenna. Everything all right your end?”
“Apart from the thought that perhaps there was a fault with the sound system. But they are just not talking over much.”
“Yes. That was my concern at first. I suppose there isn`t much to say, especially in the dark.”
“Aye, laddie. That`s the conclusion I came to. By the way, there`s no rush. They`ve stopped for fuel and will be another ten to fifteen minutes.”
*
They continued their northerly journey at a sedate fifty miles an hour.
Stirrings in the truck ahead.
Someone said, “I could do with a good breakfast.”
Another added, “Yes, I`m feeling peckish. Can we stop soon?”
“I`ll phone Nicholls.”
There was a muffled conversation, which ended when the driver`s companion said, “Right… we`ll stop there.”
The phone burbled. John answered it. “Right, McKenna, thanks.”
“Apparently, they`re slowing for the Frankley Service Station, which is coming up. I suppose we`d better join them,” John remarked.
*
They took their time. It was nearly an hour and a half, and getting light, before they rejo
ined the motorway,. This time it appeared Nicholls had taken the passenger seat in the truck. His voice came over clearly on the radio system.
“Take the A41 going east at Junction One.”
“Right… where after that?”
“Not too far, we are heading for Handsworth, on the outskirts of Birmingham. I`ll tell the others. Where`s the phone?”
“George put it in the glove box.”
We could hear items being moved around, then Nicholls again.
“OK, I`ve got it.”
A moment later. “We are coming up to junction one shortly and taking the A41 east. OK? Stay behind us when we make the turn.”
The sound of a catch being unfastened. Then Nicholls` voice.
“What`s this letter?”
“What letter?”
“This one in the glove box.”
“No idea. . .though now I come to think of it. . .something was on the seat, and Jim stuffed it in the glove box when we all squeezed in.”
The rustle of paper.
Then Nicholls` voice reading something in German.
Mein lieber Freund, es ist wichtig, dass du mir die Gemälde die ich dir geschickt habe bis am 15. April zurückgibts. Jemand will sie sofort kaufen, und wir können drei Millionen Euro teilen! Allerbeste Wünsche, Conrad.
Nicholls burst out laughing.
“What the fuck does that all mean?”
“The answer to the jackpot! This will make our fortune! What it says is, `My dear friend, get the paintings I sent back to me by the fifteenth of April. There is someone ready to buy them, and we can share three million Euros!” All best wishes, Conrad.`”
“Where do we have to go?”
“To Munich, my friend. To apartment eight at forty two Amalienstrasse, a very fashionable street in the Schwabing district. The home of Conrad Gurlitt!”
*
A short time later Nicholls said, “I must make another call.”
“Mike, it`s Trevor, Trevor Nicholls. Can I make use of your warehouse for a few days? It`s a MAN TGL box truck… two days at the most… In about forty minutes... Thanks.”
“They`re going abroad, John,” I grinned. “I was getting a little anxious, but it worked. Now they`re going to park up somewhere to sort out the trip.”
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