This time he tutted, but he did as she asked, sending the scan to a computer. ‘What’s your email address?’ he asked. Karen passed him a business card. He went to the door and called for Elvira. They heard him instruct her to forward the scans on to Karen.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Now, if that’s all? I’m a very busy man.’
Aye, right. ‘Not quite. These recent David Greig paintings? What can you tell us about their provenance? Do they come from collectors who want to capitalise on their good taste? Because dead artists do see a spike in prices if they’re any good. Especially if some of their works have been burned to a crisp in an arson attack.’
His perfectly shaped eyebrows drew down slightly. ‘I deal with David’s estate. The paintings come to me via them. They may be from other collectors or they may be held by the estate. It’s none of my business as long as the paintings are authenticated by the estate. And they are.’
‘The estate? That would be Daniel Connolly?’
‘If you know, why are you asking me?’ Now he’d moved on to the front foot. His voice was sharper, his back straighter.
‘I’m trying to get a clear picture here. Was it Daniel Connolly who brought you those six Scottish paintings you sold in the early 2000s?’ She consulted her phone again. ‘Raeburn, MacTaggart, Redpath, Eardley, Crawhall, Doig. Or was it David Greig himself? He was the one who stole them, after all.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The denial was flat, no sign of fear.
Yet. ‘I appreciate they won’t show up on your books,’ she said. ‘What with them being stolen. But if you genuinely have no idea what I’m talking about, why was the very mention of them enough to get us into the private office of a very busy man? And there will be traces, Mr Geary. The kind of traces the Garda’s Financial Intelligence Unit are well accustomed to digging out, once they know what they’re looking for. Is your house a bit bigger than your legitimate figures would account for? Have you got art hanging on your walls that’s beyond your official means? Is your car a bit too close to the top of the range? Once they get started, there’s no hiding place.’
Geary steepled his fingers together. They were surprisingly short and stubby, out of keeping with the elegance he aspired to. ‘What I don’t appreciate is being accused in my own office of crimes of which I have no knowledge.’
‘You don’t seem to understand the difference between a threat and a promise, Mr Geary.’ Karen busied herself with her phone again then held it out to show him that morning’s shot of Iain Auld. ‘Is that Daniel Connolly?’
Now there was a flicker of something in his eyes. A moment of decision. ‘It certainly looks like him,’ he said.
Karen flicked back through her images till she found the blow-up of the Brighton fire scene. ‘And this?’
‘Yes, that looks like him.’ A trace of impatience.
‘That photograph was taken outside the Goldman Gallery in Brighton the night it burned.’
‘And what has that to do with me? I’m getting quite tired of this conversation,’ he said, breathing heavily through his nose.
‘I find it an interesting coincidence that on the night when David Greig’s market values were pumped up, Daniel Connolly was on the spot.’
A one-shoulder shrug. ‘As I said. Nothing. To do. With me.’
‘Maybe not, but your association with a man who benefited directly from the Brighton arson isn’t going to be a good look for the Gardai. Especially since you also ended up making money as a result.’
‘I have no knowledge of anybody’s involvement in a fire in Brighton. My dealings with Daniel Connolly are purely to do with David Greig’s estate, of which he is the legal executor and beneficiary. There’s nothing illegal in that.’
‘Except that Daniel Connolly doesn’t exist.’
A long silence. At last, Geary shifted his shoulders inside his shirt and said, ‘What are you talking about? Of course he exists. You’ve just shown me a photo of him, for God’s sake.’
Karen leaned forward. ‘The man I have a photo of is called Iain Auld. He disappeared from his life ten years ago and he was declared dead two years ago. Can you tell me how it is you’ve been doing business with a dead man all these years?’
‘I’ve never heard the name Iain Auld before now.’ He clamped his lips tight together as if to stop anything untoward spilling out.
‘You must have done due diligence before you started dealing with him?’
‘I’m a businessman, not a fool.’ He turned away and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. It was a double-depth file drawer. His fingers walked across the file tabs and he drew out a thin red folder. ‘My dealings with Daniel Connolly.’ He selected two sheets from the bottom of the pile and handed them to Karen. ‘His passport. His bank account details complete with his address.’
It was an Irish passport, due to expire later in the year. And the address on the bank statement was Hill House, Ramelton.
‘Why would I doubt that?’ His voice was mild now. He thought he was past the worst. He spread his hands wide. ‘Ladies, I’m an art dealer. I sell work on commission. Nothing more exotic than that. If you tell me Daniel Connolly is not who he says he is, that’s a matter for you and the Gardai, not me.’
This wasn’t going quite the way Karen had hoped. Time for the last ace up her sleeve. She returned to her phone and brought up one of the photographs of the two men she’d taken that morning. She pinched the screen and enlarged David Greig’s face. She showed it to Geary. She was taken aback by the look of genuine shock on his face.
‘What the fuck?’ He recoiled in his chair. ‘How the fuck? Where’s that from?’
‘You know who that is, don’t you?’
Geary swallowed hard. ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s David.’ His tongue flicked along his lips. ‘But it can’t be. David’s dead.’
49
Either Francis Flaxner Geary was one of Ireland’s finest thespians or he genuinely knew nothing of David Greig’s resurrection. He stared down at the phone, the colour gone from his face. ‘I don’t get it,’ he murmured. ‘Why would he hide from me? I loved the man like a brother.’
Now she was flying by the seat of her pants. The plan she’d worked out and gone over a dozen times in her head was predicated on Geary being in on the whole devious plot. Time to improvise. ‘Every time you share a secret, you multiply the chances of exposure.’ Karen gave a snort of laughter. ‘If he’d told you, he’d have had to kill you. That’s what he did to the last person who found out. I can show you a picture of the dead man, if you like?’ She reached for her phone again.
Geary had the look of a man who’s been caught on a sandbank by the tide. ‘You’re making this up. I don’t know why, I don’t know what you’re trying to … This is a fucking fantasy. David was never a killer. He … we … Look, we were lovers. Way back when he first came to me and asked me to represent him. He never so much as lifted a hand to me. David couldn’t … kill someone. You’ve got it wrong.’
‘Those paintings you’ve been selling, the ones that were supposedly in a private collection – they’ve been painted since David supposedly died. That’s why the fingernails are authentic.’
‘No, this is crazy. You’re making this up.’
Karen shook her head. ‘Francis, listen to me. We can prove what I’m saying. All we need to do is send a fingernail from one of the recently sold paintings to a forensics expert. They can do what’s called a stable isotope analysis and that will tell you that David Greig has been living in the northwest of Ireland for some considerable time. Which, as far as I’m aware, he never did before his presumed suicide.’ She took in the stricken look on his face. ‘I’m not making this up. He’s living in Ramelton with the man calling himself Daniel Connolly.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘There’s one way to find out,’ Karen said, thinking furiously on her feet. ‘Get Daniel Connolly over here and confront
him with the evidence. See what he has to say for himself.’
Geary jumped to his feet and opened a tall cupboard. He poured himself two inches of Black Bush and returned to his chair. ‘You’re lying to me. David would never deceive me like that. He’d have no need.’
‘You’ve seen the pictures.’
Geary gave a hoarse shout of laughter. ‘I spend half my life looking at video installations, collages and deepfakes. The camera does nothing but lie these days.’
‘You want to know the truth, don’t you? So let’s get Connolly in this room and see whether he can explain himself.’
‘And how are you going to do that? Kidnap him?’
‘Will he come here if you ask him?’
‘What? “Come to tea so I can interrogate you”?’ Geary’s lip curled to match his sarcasm.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of, “Something’s come in that I need you to take a look at. The seller claims it’s by David but I’m not sure.” You could text him. Suggest he comes over to have a look tomorrow.’
Geary took a pull on his whisky. ‘Why should I do this? What’s in it for me? You said yourself, the last person who found out about him was killed.’
‘You’ve already found out, though. You know now. I was only going to throw you to the Gardai, but if you’d rather I throw you to David?’ She turned to Daisy. ‘That would work, wouldn’t it? Then we could stake out Francis here and wait for David to show up. Of course, we might not be quick enough off the mark.’
Daisy nodded. ‘David’s a smart operator. I bet he could get to Francis, no bother.’
He dropped his head into his hands. ‘Youse are bastards,’ he wailed, all his debonair polish tarnished.
Karen exchanged glances with Daisy, who gave her an almost imperceptible thumbs-up. ‘A text, Francis. That’s all you’d have to do. And we’ll be here waiting tomorrow morning when Daniel arrives. Then we can straighten all of this out.’
He raised his head slowly, as if it had become very heavy. His eyes glistened with self-pity.
‘Otherwise …’ Karen left the word hanging.
‘Bitch,’ he said.
‘Get your phone out.’ Her tone saturated with contempt.
He took his phone from his pocket and laid it on the desk. He unlocked it and stared at it as if he’d never seen it before. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Put it in your own words. Something he needs to come and look at.’
He sighed and began slowly tapping out a message. When he’d done, he pushed the phone towards Karen. She read:
Daniel, I had a walk-in this afternoon with a small canvas she says is David’s work. I’ve never seen it before but she’s got some paperwork. I need your authentication. She wants a quick deal. Can you come over tomorrow? Cheers, FFG.
She could see no grounds for suspicion, so she pressed send.
‘Now we wait,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose Elvira could manage some coffee?’
The coffee came from a nearby café, but it didn’t make the time pass any more quickly. Thirty-three minutes ticked by before Geary’s phone vibrated.
Can’t you scan it and sent it over?
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Unlock it,’ Karen said. Then she typed, She wouldn’t leave it with me. She’s coming back tomorrow at noon.
This time, there was no wait. Pain in the arse, but I suppose I have to check it out. See you between 11 and 11.30.
‘Thank you, Mr Geary,’ Karen said. She stood up. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow morning. You’ll understand why we need to borrow your phone. In case you’re tempted to try a wee double-cross. It’s tempting to cuff you to a radiator overnight, but I’m going to trust you to understand that, if you fuck with me, I will make sure David Greig knows you know. And before we go—’ She reached across his desk and filched the original verification of Greig’s DNA. ‘You can keep the copy,’ she said across his howl of rage.
‘Wow,’ Daisy said as soon as the door of Gallery Geary snecked shut behind them. ‘That was some performance. I had no idea where you were going with that.’
‘Neither did I. I was sure he was in cahoots with Greig. But you saw the way he reacted. He was gobsmacked when I talked about Greig being still alive.’
‘I know. His face! No way was he putting that on. He’s obviously been totally taken in by Iain Auld’s Daniel Connolly routine. How did they get away with that?’
‘I suppose because they’d been so secretive about their affair. Even someone as close as Geary had never encountered Auld. I assumed he was in on it, that because he’d brokered the stolen painting sales, he’d have the dodgy contacts to sort out Irish passports. They must have come at it another way.’
They wove through the crowded rush-hour streets towards the car. ‘So are we going to book into a hotel for the night?’ Daisy asked.
‘We are, but not here.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Daisy said, dodging a burly man who was not willing to cede the centre of the pavement.
‘Think about it, Daisy. There’s no point in us confronting Iain Auld in Geary’s office. We’ve got no jurisdiction here. I’ve already jumped through the hoops of a European Arrest Warrant once this week and I’ve no intention of doing it again. I have very different plans for tomorrow morning.’
‘Are you not going to tell me?’ Daisy pleaded as they turned into the car park.
‘I want to see whether you can work it out for yourself. Now, give me a minute, I need to send that DNA scan to Charlie, so he can get the wheels turning on comparing it with the DNA on the crowbar as a matter of urgency. It shouldn’t take long, it’s nothing more technical than setting the two profiles side by side. I want an answer by the morning.’ Karen worked her phone, then started the engine. ‘Right, now we’re going to head for Omagh.’
‘That’s in Northern Ireland, right? Didn’t they have some horrible bombing there?’
‘Right on both counts. It was an atrocity. No other word for it. An IRA splinter group who didn’t like the Good Friday agreement set off a car bomb. I can’t remember the exact number of casualties but it was somewhere in the region of thirty. I do remember that one of the dead was a woman pregnant with twins. That stayed with me, because my cousin Kim was pregnant then. Not with twins, but still. It freaked me out.’
‘Did they get the people who did it?’
Karen unlocked the car and got in. ‘Historically, justice in Northern Ireland was a complicated beast. You should read Irish crime fiction if you want to get a handle on what was going on during the Troubles and afterwards. Nobody was found guilty of the Omagh bombing in the criminal courts but there was a civil verdict that named the guilty men and made a massive damages award against them.’
‘That’s terrible. Those poor families. I mean, I know it doesn’t make the pain of losing someone go away, but there has to be some sort of consolation in seeing the killer lose their liberty.’
Karen thought of Phil’s death and the price the law had demanded from Merrick Shand. She’d spent years thinking it didn’t even touch the sides. But their encounter on the News Steps had shifted something inside her. His losses were different from hers. Some might say they were trivial compared with what had been wrenched from her. But he’d live with damage and it would change him, just as it had changed her. ‘It does make a difference,’ she said slowly. ‘I wouldn’t call it consolation, though. Nothing consoles you for the loss of someone you love. You absorb it into you. You move forward but you move in a different way.’ She caught herself. What was she doing, saying these things to Daisy? She hardly knew the woman.
‘Sorry,’ Daisy said, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘I wasn’t thinking. God, I’m so crass, I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s OK. Anyway,’ Karen added brightly, ‘that’s got nothing to do with why we’re going to Omagh. Get your phone out and start looking for a hotel. Ideally, close to the main police station.’
50
Frid
ay, 28 February 2020
Chief Inspector Callum Nugent frowned at his computer screen, considering the two images Charlie Todd had sent Karen late the evening before. ‘I can see right enough that these two DNA profiles match each other. But you’re telling me that this David Greig, or whatever he’s calling himself now, lives in Ramelton. Now, that’s in the Republic, so we’ve got a big problem there from the off.’
‘I understand that,’ Karen said. ‘But I do have a plan to lure him over the border.’
Nugent raised one bushy black eyebrow. ‘I hope you’re not talking entrapment? We’ve a strong tradition of not liking that around here.’
Karen gave him her best smile. ‘More like persuasion,’ she said. ‘I happen to know his partner, Daniel Connolly, will be driving from Ramelton to Dublin to keep an appointment this morning. By my reckoning, that means he’ll be coming through this way. We have the details of his car – make, model, registration. All I’m asking is that you pull Connolly over and let me interview him with a view to arresting him for conspiracy to commit a whole range of offences ranging from theft, fraud and arson to murder. And I’m hopeful that in the course of that interview, we can see our way to making a wee deal with Mr Connolly. Who is better known to us as Iain Auld, as I explained.’
‘And how did you come by this information, DCI Pirie?’
‘We had a meeting yesterday with the gallery that represents David Greig’s estate—’
‘How can you have an estate if you’re not dead?’
Karen held fast to the knowledge that honey catches more wasps than vinegar. ‘He faked his death, remember? So his will went through probate and as far as the art dealer is concerned, the person he has been dealing with for the last ten years is the executor, Daniel Connolly. Except that, as we know now, Daniel Connolly is in fact Iain Auld and Greig’s lover of many years.’
Nugent shook his head as if the wasps were bothering him. ‘This isn’t straightforward at all.’
Still Life - Karen Pirie Series 06 (2020) Page 33