Fielding just stared at McClean, then shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn`t know, Chief Inspector.”
“By the way, we`ve checked with the DVLA. It appears you have a vehicle on your books that transports containers. I didn`t see it anywhere when we arrived.”
“You`re right. We do own a vehicle for such purposes. Hopefully, as I mentioned earlier, we shall be working with containers in the near future. But that is a matter for discussion with my employers. In the meanwhile, we rent it out. Currently, it is with a haulage company the other side of Wimborne, about twelve miles east of here.”
“Name?”
“Come through to the general office.”
Fielding asked one of the young women to open the equipment hire file on the computer.
“Here we are, Chief Inspector. It was rented out to Albion Haulage on the twelfth. Does that satisfy you.”
“Thank you, sir. We shan`t take up any more of your time.”
Chapter 52
“Everything all right?” I asked McKenna anxiously.
“Of course. I remained in the background, John did most of the talking. They left after about an hour.”
“Well done,” grinned my mother, and kissed him on the cheek.
McKenna glanced at me, and blushed. To cover his confusion, he said firmly, “Which means, laddie, we have to do something soon with all those works of art in the barn behind the house. We cannae` keep playing musical chairs with them. Sooner or later, we`re going to get caught out.”
*
I spent much of the weekend trying to come up with a way to deliver the paintings to the authorities, without being regarded as a criminal, in league with the actual thieves.
I was packing to leave on Monday morning when my mobile phone emitted its usual chirping sound.
“Hello, Roger, how are you,” I asked.
“I haven`t heard from you in a while, Alan. But from what I`ve read in the papers, and seen on TV, all has been resolved. An unfortunate result, but nevertheless, a result.”
“Er… not quite, Roger.”
“Alan, what are you saying?”
“Nothing over the phone, Roger. I tell you what, I`m in Dorset at the moment, why don`t I drive over to Salisbury and we can chat more freely.”
*
I climbed the stairs above the hairdresser`s shop, and tapped on the door of Tamworth Associates.
Roger opened it, and beckoned me into his office.
“I almost didn`t recognise you, Roger, being your natural self,” I said lightly.
“Whatever you`ve got to tell me, Alan, say it now. For the past hour I`ve been on tenterhooks, wondering what you`ve done, or possibly haven`t done.”
“Right… er… I`ve still got the Turners.”
He started shaking his head.
“Just what I feared you were going to say. Bloody hell, Alan, the stakes are even higher now! How can you be so calm?”
“Listen, it`s all right for you sitting in your cosy little office, wearing a summer frock, or the uniform of the Lord High Admiral! You come up with a way to return them without winding up in front of a judge at the Old Bailey!”
Not given to venting my anger so loudly, my outburst jolted him into silence.
We sat on either side of the desk for some minutes without a word being spoken.
“I suppose,” he remarked finally, “that it has been difficult for you to find a solution. Perhaps I can help in some way.”
“What way do you have in mind?”
Another lengthy silence.
“Let`s go and have a drink,” he said at last. “Alcohol might free up the synapses.”
*
We bought a bottle of red wine and some ham sandwiches, and sat in a quiet corner of The Cloisters in Catherine Street. Conversation was sporadic. Both our minds fixed on the conundrum before me. An hour later we were walking back along New Street and as we turned into the section of the High Street for pedestrians only, Roger muttered.
“I need to buy some stamps in the Post Office. You go on to the office, I`ll only be a few minutes.”
I wandered down the High Street heading towards the gate which, once, must have been part of the walled city. It was deep, for above was a dwelling of sorts. I strolled through to catch a glimpse of the cathedral.
Turning to go back, I saw Roger Tamworth walking through the gate towards me.
It was then I recalled when I had had too much to drink, and Roger had helped me back to the apartment. My vision had narrowed, and he had appeared as though at the end of a tunnel. Walking through the arched gate brought back the memory… and more.
Suddenly, I had a possible answer to my problem.
*
“How certain are you, Nikos?”
“From what I`ve gathered, he must know all about your arrangement with this fellow Engel. After all he was working with the guy. He could be our biggest danger, father.”
There was silence at the end of the line in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, finally.
“I cannot afford for anyone to know of my involvement, especially now, when it didn`t succeed. If word ever got back... You know what has to happen. Make sure it is done efficiently and quietly.”
Nikos grinned to himself. Thus, are such competitors dealt with.
Chapter 53
“The airfield is closed. Nowadays, it`s only available privately, they use the grass strip,” said the fellow.
“So you don`t get any planes coming in here anymore?” asked Timmings, out the car window.
“Only in an emergency.”
“Have there been any emergency landings recently that you know of?”
“I live in one of those cottages down the road.” He pointed into the distance. “A twin-engined plane did come low over us a week or so back. I wondered if he`d make it. Anyway, he did. The pilot appeared to work on the engine, while two other chaps got into a car, which whisked them away. The pilot must have fixed whatever the problem was. When these fellows returned, a short time later, the plane flew off again.”
“Thank you. You`ve been most helpful,” said Timmings.
*
“Yes, two chaps turned up with the correct paperwork, and asked us to deliver the container to Southampton Docks. One, the more elegantly dressed of the two, paid us for the delivery there and then. It was to be secured in a stack, ready for onward transfer no later than the twenty second of the month. Though the final destination was not yet known. Why, is there a problem?”
McClean turned to the site manager. “You probably heard about the stolen Turner paintings. The ones that were destroyed. The explosion occurred in the container you transported to Southampton.”
“Good grief! I didn`t know! Christ, do you think we`re the ones responsible?”
McClean gave a half smile.
“No, but tell me, did one of them go to the container?”
“Yes. He had the keys, and, after all it was his property. We were just storing it for him.”
“No doubt, that`s when the explosives were installed,” murmured Jim Timmings.
On the way back to Compton Abbas, Timmings remarked. “We now know why, and how. But we still don`t have a clue as to who helped the thieves before the container arrived in Wales.”
“I believe we do,” replied McClean quietly. “But proving it is another matter.”
Chapter 54
“Are you mad? How could you possibly fetch up and unload a truck load of paintings without anyone witnessing what you`re doing?”
“It`s the perfect solution, Roger. I just have to work out a few details.”
“A few details, eh? Well, you can count me out. I wouldn`t come within a country mile of such a hare-brained scheme!”
*
Leaving Roger`s office, I had driven the Range Rover to London. En route, stopping at a service station for fuel, and on the off-chance I had phoned Sophie. Would she care to have dinner with me this evening? She said yes to the invitation immediately. In a way I was slightl
y surprised.
*
I was a little early, and instead of calling up to her apartment followed the path to the riverfront. The view of the Thames from the third floor had been impressive; but at ground level you had more of the colour, smell and sounds of the river as it ebbed and flowed.
I stood there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, absorbed in what I saw all around me. It was dusk, lights in the apartment block were coming on. I glanced up to where Sophie`s balcony was located, and there was her cousin, Nikos, with his arms around her.
It was not the attention one would have expected of even a close cousin.
When I rang the intercom, she said she would meet me at the door.
A minute later she pushed through the glass-fronted entrance, and kissed my cheek.
“Alan, it`s nice to see you,” she smiled.
*
At the restaurant in Chelsea, I asked casually, “Is your cousin, Nikos, still staying with you? Or has he gone home?”
“No, he is still at the apartment. Though I believe he intends to go home next week. Anyway, let`s not talk about him, let`s talk about us. What`s the current situation regarding all your paintings? If this man Engel is dead, doesn`t that mean you`re off the hook? He can no longer make demands upon you?”
“Mm… I`d like to think so. He was certainly up to no good ransoming the Turner paintings for the Parthenon Marbles.”
“Did you know what he was up to?”
I shrugged. “I can`t say.”
“How do you mean? You can`t say, or you don`t want to say?
I shook my head. “Sophie, I`m not saying any more. As I`ve said before, the less you know the safer you are. I`ll just say this, I knew all along the client was extremely wealthy.”
Of course he, or she, was wealthy. They all were. Engel catered for the well-heeled and the egocentric: where personal pleasures came first.
“I see… How`s your mother, Alan?”
I told her how an embarrassed McKenna had sought my permission to ask my mother to marry him.
“How sweet. I think that`s charming. What did you say?”
“I said no, of course.”
“What! That`s awful! You didn`t, did you?”
I grinned at her. “No… I said I was delighted, and hoped they would both be very happy.”
She smiled. Then turned the conversation to the Chagall copy she wanted as a present for her uncle.
I could see she was put out when I said, “Not yet, Sophie. Give me time to work out what I`m going to do with all my grandfather`s paintings. As I said before, copies or the real thing, if my grandfather obtained them by dubious means, they`ll have to go back to the rightful owners. If he bought them in all good faith, then perhaps we can come to some arrangement.”
She did not want a dessert, and soon afterwards I drove her back to her Battersea apartment. Hopeful of being invited in for coffee, again I received just the merest kiss on the cheek, a squeeze of the hand, and a murmured, `Thank you for a lovely evening`, as she slipped out of the Range Rover, through the main entrance doors, where she gave a brief wave as she entered the lift.
Once upon a time, I thought, I was rarely put out when girlfriends went their own sweet way. I was still not sure that I cared. It may have been more the challenge. Now, it seemed I was slowly receding in Sophie`s favours, and her `so-called` cousin was the man of the moment.
Chapter 54
“Alan, I`ve got something I want to ask you.”
“Roger, it`s in the middle of the bloody night! Go back to sleep and wake me at a sensible hour!”
Rising slowly to the surface of wakefulness, I cast an eye towards the bedside clock.
Then I recalled Roger Melville`s reaction to my early morning phone call.
“Sorry, Roger, Even though it`s not even six o`clock, what can I do for you?”
“You can open your bloody front door for a start! I`m standing out here in the rain!”
I got out of bed, pulled on a robe and pushed the entry button.
A few minutes later a wet Tamworth came through the door.
“How on earth did you get so wet?” I asked.
“I couldn`t park close enough, and foolish me, I thought you would hear your entrance buzzer within seconds. I was outside for over fifteen minutes waiting for you to let me in.”
“We`re roughly the same size. Dry yourself off in the bathroom and I`ll dig out some suitable clothing.”
*
“So what prompts you to come hot foot from Salisbury?”
“I`ve been thinking, Alan. You know your way around the art world, above and below the ethical line… ”
“What do you mean by that?” I said sharply.
“Come off your high horse. You know damn well what I mean.”
“I was strictly kosher until my grandfather left me those paintings.”
“But we both know you could have informed the police about them. So why didn`t you?”
“Because I didn`t want the upset and worry that would bring to my mother.”
“Plus the fact that such a revelation would not have done your standing in the art world a lot of good. Particularly, when airing your holier-than-thou views in your art newspaper. Perhaps, too, it was a good thing the BBC did give you the heave-ho. They would not have wanted one of their principal culture presenters suddenly finding wall space in his family house for works of art expropriated by the Nazis.”
Roger had touched a nerve.
Deep down, he could well be right. Perhaps I had thought, subconsciously, of the likely repercussions. I could not come out with a suitable rejoinder.
“Look,” said Roger, breaking the silence. “I didn`t come here to put your inner feelings to the test. As I mentioned earlier, I`ve got a proposition I want to put to you.”
“Oh.”
“Let me explain. Periodically, a company commissions me to seek out things.”
“What do you mean… things?”
“ You know… antiques, artefacts, paintings, that have been lost. I don`t mean lost in the narrow sense. Expropriated, as they were in the Nazi era, stolen to order from museums and galleries, removed from private collections.
“It`s a specialised field, and this particular company offers a discreet range of services. Its principal aim being to identify the true ownership of lost items, and negotiate their return.
“Of course, it`s not as straightforward as that. While it employs in-house lawyers to mediate, the company occasionally makes use of freelance people, like myself, to locate works of art that have, shall we say, disappeared.
“Naturally, before all that, a check is made of legal title, to make sure the client actually has a right to a missing item. In that regard, it has an extensive database of stolen, looted and missing items. It`s an American company. Over there it liaises closely with law enforcement units. It doesn`t operate in quite the same way here in the UK. Consequently, we have to be a little more careful.”
Roger leaned forward in his chair.
“Although this commission came from the London office of the company, it emanated from the headquarters of Restitution Incorporated in New York. Apparently, the client is the grandson of the original Jewish owner, who lost it in the Nazi rampage in 1937, when they confiscated paintings they termed `degenerate`. It went missing, along with many other works, from the Stassfurt salt mines art repository near Magdeburg in 1945.
“So, my proposition is this. I`ll provide whatever you need for the return of the Turners, if you`ll work with me in trying to locate a missing van Gogh. Now, how`s that for fairness?”
“Which van Gogh?”
“It`s called, Lovers, The Poet`s Garden.”
“Actually, it`s title is, Lovers, The Poet`s Garden IV. It was the fourth painting in a series. His second storey window overlooked la Place Lamartine, a green oasis in the bustling, provincial town of Arles. But I had the impression it had been destroyed long ago in the bombing of Dresden, during the Second World War.”
>
“Not according to a report issued by German Customs officials and the police. They visited a flat in Munich, and someone was confident they saw the van Gogh painting before they left to obtain a search warrant. When they returned, that work of art, together with a number of others, had disappeared.”
Roger took an iPhone from his pocket, and scrolled up a black and white image of all that now remained of the painting.
“So, what do you say? Do we work together to see if we can somehow locate it? If it still exists.”
It exists alright. It was among the paintings in Gurlitt`s truck.
“Before you rush into anything you might regret, I have to tell you I now have the painting, The Beach by Laura Knight.”
“What! After all that agreeing to work together, and now you tell me that? Alan, you really are too much,” said Roger in exasperation.
“I did say before you rush into anything you might regret. You can back out now of helping me. I would quite understand. In fact, you could drive over from Salisbury and collect the painting any time you wish.”
It was his turn to sit there in silence.
Eventually, “No, I`ll stand by my word. I`ll still help you. How on earth did you come by the painting? More to the point, have you worked out all the details of the operation yet?”
“More or less. In fact, I was about to ask if you were any good at signwriting.”
“Signwriting? Now what has your devious little mind cooked up?”
“I need a vehicle painted to resemble an authorised City of Westminster Council lorry. I`ll show you a photo of what I have in mind.”
Roger studied it carefully.
I said, “I could arrange for a vehicle to be painted in the council`s livery, Blue at the base, a thick gold line, then the rest in white. But it`s the council`s emblem and wording on the white which I could not reproduce.”
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