‘And you know what the kicker was? Turns out I wasn’t all that good at running an auction house on my own,’ Fred admitted without any apparent rancour. ‘I could do it when I was just in charge of admin, but I never understood the art side of things. And the auction house took a dive. To be honest, Elliot should never have left me in charge. After a few years, he realised he’d never make it as an artist. That boat, if it was ever going to sail, had left harbour years ago. And if he didn’t come back to run the auction house, he’d lose that as well. So he relieved me of my duties. And relief is the right word, from my point of view. The one thing I’d learned from running a business was, I never wanted to run a business. All that pressure. All those people working for you. This suits me much more,’ Fred said, indicating his postman’s uniform. ‘I’m out in the fresh air, and when I finish my day’s shift, I don’t take work home with me. I get a good night’s sleep, every night. And that’s priceless.’
Fred smiled.
‘But how was Elliot when he came back to the business?’ Judith asked.
‘The same. A bit superior, a bit full of himself at times, but a good person. Honest. Reliable. A good boss.’
‘You really don’t have a bad word to say about the man who sacked you?’
‘Why should I? I hadn’t run the business well, and he didn’t sack me. We agreed it would be better if I left, so that’s what I did.’
Suzie couldn’t quite believe that Fred could be so laid-back, but Judith smiled, finding that Fred’s lack of regret for paths not taken chimed with her.
‘Now, if you don’t mind, ladies, I need to get back to the depot,’ Fred said with a smile, ‘or they’ll think I’ve bunked off.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ Suzie said.
‘Although, can I ask, why are you so interested in Elliot?’
‘Oh no reason,’ Judith said with a fake smile.
Fred considered Judith’s answer, and then decided he’d let it go.
‘Very well. It’s none of my business. Have a nice day, ladies.’
Fred touched his forehead in salute, turned and left.
‘Oh, one last thing!’ Judith said, catching up with him.
‘What is it?’ Fred said.
‘Can you tell us about Stefan Dunwoody?’
‘You want to know about Stefan?’ Fred said, surprised.
He then looked up and down the street, saw that no one was in sight, and stepped behind a buddleia bush in a front garden.
The women followed him into the garden.
‘Now why do you want to know about Stefan?’ he whispered.
‘We’ve heard he was a bit of a crook. Working with Dudley. Apparently they had a number of scams going.’
‘I don’t know if you heard, but Stefan died last week. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.’
‘But it could be important. We think someone killed him.’
‘What?’
‘I know. So anything you can tell us would be gold-dust.’
Fred wrestled with his conscience, but not for very long.
‘Okay, so Stefan was always charming. Always well turned out. Always interested in you. Polite to a fault. The perfect gent. But it was all an act. Because you’re right. He was a crook. Every bit as bad as Dudley.’
‘He worked for the auction house?’
‘As our art expert, back in the day. His trick was to misidentify art.’
‘And how did he do that?’
‘Well, someone who knew nothing about art would take a painting to Dudley’s auction house, he’d bring Stefan in as the expert to value it, and Stefan would say it was a second-rate copy, or some such. Dudley would then convince the owner to sell it to him privately for a knocked-down rate. Then, wonder of wonders, the artwork would magically reappear at the Marlow Auction House a few months later, this time properly identified as being the work of a well-known artist. Mind you, the sort of art we’re talking about was never worth tens of thousands, it was only a few thousand pounds here and there. But it was still illegal, and I know for a fact the pair of them were making a fair bit on the side each year. It was despicable.’
‘Did anything happen in 1988?’ Judith asked.
‘Like what?’
‘We think Stefan bought a painting from the Marlow Auction House the same year that Elliot left for art college.’
Fred thought for a few seconds before the memory came to him.
‘He did! You’re right. It was a massive scandal at the time. Or at least, it was to us in the industry. You see, when Dudley died, Elliot inherited all of his art. And Elliot got Stefan to value his dad’s artwork to get it ready to be auctioned off. At that point he didn’t know what a crook Stefan was. None of us did. And the collection was worth a few hundred thousand pounds, it was a serious windfall for Elliot. Even though, in among the good stuff, there was quite a bit of tat.’
‘Including,’ Judith said, ‘an abstract painting that was three plain bands of colour. The top one yellow, the middle one grey, and the bottom a sort of dark red.’
‘You know it?’ Fred said.
‘So, following your logic, I take it that Stefan said it wasn’t worth much.’
‘That’s it. You see, it wasn’t signed, and it was found in a box with a couple of other unsigned paintings. And the other two paintings were amateur hour, they weren’t worth a penny. So Elliot was happy to let Stefan buy the box for a few quid. But it was another one of his scams, wasn’t it? Because, as soon as he owned it, Stefan said he wasn’t sure if it was what he thought it was. So he took it up to London for a second opinion. And it only turned out to be by Mark Rothko, about the most famous American painter of the twentieth century!’
‘How much was it worth?’ Suzie asked.
‘The thing is, it was only a sketch, not the finished article. That’s why Rothko didn’t sign it. But there’s a photo of him painting it, so the provenance is proven and that made it worth a few hundred thousand pounds.’
‘You’re kidding me!’ Judith said, amazed.
‘And Stefan refused to give it back to Elliot, or pay the correct market price for it. He told Elliot he was sorry he’d misidentified it, but there was nothing he could do. It was an honest mistake. And you’re right,’ Fred said in realisation. ‘It was only a few months later that Elliot applied to art school. I’d not made the connection before. Stefan betrayed him, and Elliot had left the business by the end of the year.’
‘Now that is very interesting,’ Judith said. ‘Thank you very much for your time, Fred.’
‘No worries,’ Fred said. ‘And if you don’t mind, I really must get back.’
‘Of course, and thank you again!’
As Fred pushed his cart off, Judith and Suzie watched him go.
‘So why,’ Judith said, ‘would Elliot break into Stefan’s house, finally get his hands on the Rothko painting worth hundreds of thousands that he should have inherited from his dad, and then leave it on the wall while he steals the frame that was around it?’
‘It makes no sense!’ Suzie said as she and Judith returned to Suzie’s upstairs sitting room a few minutes later.
‘I’d agree with you there. But it explains why Elliot hated Stefan, doesn’t it? And you know what else? Fred told us that Elliot’s painting style was mid-century, didn’t he?’
‘Whatever that means.’
‘It means he would have known all about Rothko. A mid-century painter. So, he’d have known his techniques. His palette of colours and how he made his paintings.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Imagine you’re Elliot, and you want to reclaim the Rothko that Stefan stole from you. What can you do? You can’t very well walk in there and take it back. Stefan would notice the gap on his wall and know who’d stolen it. But Elliot is a painter who’s trained in the techniques of Rothko, isn’t he?’
‘Oh! You think he painted a fake?’ Suzie asked, her eyes alight at the idea.
‘It’s a possibility, isn�
��t it? And I reckon Elliot is exactly the sort of person who’d think he could paint a forgery of Stefan’s Rothko. So let’s say that’s what he did. He painted a copy, then the plan was to break into Stefan’s house, leave the forgery on the wall and make off with the real painting.’
‘You think that’s what he did?’
‘It’s worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. And from Elliot’s point of view, Stefan stole it from him back in 1988. That would fester with anyone. But you know what? This could explain why there’s no longer a frame on the Rothko in Stefan’s house.’
‘How come?’
‘Let’s walk this through. Elliot makes his forgery, but the one thing he can’t do is fake the frame. So he breaks into Stefan’s house with his forgery, but as he’s in the process of taking the frame off Stefan’s real Rothko, I interrupt him. And this is the third time he’s either broken in or tried to break in to get the Rothko. Elliot isn’t going to be thwarted. So he grabs the real Rothko from the wall, frame and all, and puts his forgery up in its place, hoping that no one will notice it doesn’t have a frame on it.’
‘I still don’t follow,’ Suzie said.
‘I think the Rothko that’s currently hanging on Stefan’s wall is a fake painted by Elliot. And Elliot legged it with the real Rothko, frame and all.’
‘Oh I see! Then we need to tell the police.’
‘I’ll ring Tanika the moment I get home. Tell her they need to have the Rothko in Stefan’s house inspected by an art expert. But now we have a proper motive for why Elliot might have wanted to kill Stefan. Stefan found out that Elliot was the person behind the first break-in. And we know from his assistant Antonia that Stefan threatened Elliot, telling him he “could go to the police right now”. Elliot must have feared he’d end up in prison. So he killed Stefan to silence him.’
‘Brilliant! So Elliot’s the killer, he has to be! Even though he can’t be,’ Suzie added.
‘I know, it’s so frustrating! How did he do it, that’s the question. We should be following him when he’s out and about, staking out his business, putting spy cameras in his house, but we’re not allowed to, are we? We’re only civilians.’
‘Maybe I can help there.’
‘You can?’
‘Let me do some digging. I’m sure I know someone, or know someone who knows someone, who lives on Gypsy Lane where Elliot’s house is. Maybe I can get him under a bit of surveillance.’
‘Now that sounds like an excellent idea,’ Judith said.
As she said this, Judith found herself glancing at the poster on the wall that showed the Lady of Shalott. She idly wondered why her eye was once again drawn to it, and then it hit her.
‘Liz Curtis!’ she suddenly blurted.
This by no means was what Suzie had expected Judith to say next.
‘What?’
‘That’s who the woman is!’
‘Come again?’
‘The auburn-haired woman I told you about. The one who was in the garden of Stefan’s house after he died, and who ran away from me in the field the first time I spoke to you. I knew I recognised her from somewhere. Her name’s Liz Curtis.’
‘How on earth did you work that out?’
‘Well, she’s got auburn hair, like your Lady of Shalott in the poster here. And just like your Lady of Shalott, the last time I saw her she was in a rowboat. You see, Liz Curtis runs the Marlow Rowing Centre.’
Now it was Suzie’s turn to be excited.
‘And you’re sure the woman you saw those two times was Liz Curtis?’
‘I am. Do you know her?’
‘Damned right I do, and if you’re looking for someone capable of murder, then I’d put Liz Curtis at the top of your list.’
‘You think so?’
‘I don’t think so, I know so,’ Suzie said darkly. ‘You see, she’s killed before.’
Chapter 17
The seats in Suzie’s van were ripped, there were old bits of fast-food packaging strewn on the floor, and where the ignition key should have been there was an old screwdriver jammed into the wheel’s steering column. Judith tried to pretend the van wasn’t a death trap as Suzie lit herself a liquorice rollie, coaxed the engine into coughing life, and drove them both to the Marlow Rowing Centre.
‘Told you I know everyone in Marlow,’ Suzie said, very pleased with herself. ‘Although me and Liz Curtis haven’t spoken in about ten years. She had a Welsh Springer Spaniel called Crumble. The nicest dog you’d ever meet. All soft ears, energy and bounce, you know? And the most soulful eyes. Anyway, he wasn’t Liz’s dog originally, he was her dad’s. That’s how she told it to me. But her dad died. Which was when Liz inherited the rowing centre. And she also inherited Crumble.’
‘Let me guess. She wasn’t a dog person?’
‘You can say that again. She brought him to me for walking, and for looking after overnight. But she didn’t care about him. And she complained about how much I was charging her. Couldn’t I leave Crumble in my garden and charge less? Or take in some other dogs at the same time to bring down the costs. Even though I don’t like having more than one dog at a time. I can give better care if it’s one-to-one. And then one day, she stopped bringing Crumble around.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘I bumped into her on the High Street a few months later and asked her how Crumble was. And she said she didn’t know. He’d gone out one day and not come back. Just vanished. And there was something about the way she said it. I could tell she was lying. Or trying to hide her guilt. Well, the next time I was at the vet’s, I got talking to the receptionist. She and I go way back. We were at Great Marlow School together. So I asked her if Liz’s Crumble had ever been found. She was shocked I knew about it, which I didn’t, but I pretended I did. Anyway, she told me she’d heard that Liz had taken her dog up to the vet in Bovingdon Green and had him put down.’
‘I’m sorry, she did what?’
‘Even though Crumble was perfectly healthy.’
‘She killed her own dog?’
‘That’s what the receptionist told me.’
‘Is that even legal?’
‘It may be legal, but there’s no vet I’d use who’d kill a healthy animal.’
‘I’d agree with you there.’
‘Well, I don’t think anything was proven, but I can tell you now the Bovingdon surgery closed soon afterwards when word got around it was run by a vet who was prepared to kill on demand. If I’m honest, I may have had something to do with that. But the point is, Liz got her dog put down when it was as healthy as you or me.’
‘And you’re sure that’s what she did?’
‘As sure as I am of anything. It’s wicked. Crumble had such a lovely soul. Anyone would have taken him in if Liz didn’t want the responsibility. I’d have taken him. But that’s Liz. She’s a dog killer.’
Judith and Suzie lapsed into silence as they pulled into the little gravel parking area of the Marlow Rowing Centre. It was made up of a clutch of Portakabins and huts that had been built on the edge of town on a bend of the Thames. The setting was gorgeous, but the buildings were weather-beaten, and the red, white and blue canoes and kayaks that were stored in metal stacks had all seen better days.
‘You’re right,’ Judith said to Suzie as they got out of the van. ‘We could be about to speak to the killer. Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘Bring it on,’ Suzie said, and there was something about her blind enthusiasm that gave Judith pause.
She pulled her phone out and dialled Tanika’s mobile number.
‘Judith, are you okay?’ Tanika said as she answered the call.
‘I’m fine, thank you for asking. I just wanted to let you know I’ve worked out who the auburn-haired woman is. You know, the one I saw in Stefan’s garden. And in the field the day after.’
‘You do? Who is she?’
‘Her name’s Liz Curtis, and she runs the Marlow Rowing Centre.’
‘Are you sure?’
As
Tanika asked the question, Judith saw the auburn-haired woman step out of a Portakabin with a paintbrush, shake the water out of it and then head back inside. She didn’t look over and so didn’t see Judith or Suzie.
‘Oh yes, I’m sure,’ Judith said.
‘Then you have to promise me something.’
‘What?’
‘You won’t try and investigate her.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Because you’ve already put yourself at risk once, when you chased that intruder in Stefan Dunwoody’s house. And I’m not having you do that again.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that, it was very much a one-off.’
‘Because I don’t think the killer’s done yet.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I can’t be sure, but I think there might be another murder. A third murder.’
Judith’s hand tightened on her phone. How could Tanika possibly know this?
‘So you have to promise me you won’t do anything to put yourself in danger? I want to hear you say the words.’
‘Of course,’ Judith said. ‘I promise. No more amateur sleuthing. You have my word.’
‘Thank you.’ Tanika sounded relieved. ‘And thanks for the information about Liz Curtis. I’ll see what I can find out about her.’
Tanika rang off, and Suzie, who’d only heard Judith’s end of the conversation, asked her friend what it was that she had just promised.
‘Oh, nothing important,’ Judith said with a bright smile. ‘Now come on, we need to talk to Liz Curtis.’
They went over to the Portakabin they’d seen Liz come out of. They found her inside, halfway up a ladder painting the walls white.
‘Hello,’ she said as she climbed down from the ladder.
Liz was tall, thin and angular, her limbs almost longer than seemed entirely natural, Judith thought to herself. Like a praying mantis. Most importantly, she also had a shock of flame-red hair and was very definitely the person who’d run away from her twice.
The Marlow Murder Club Page 12