Stone Angels

by Paula R. C. Readman

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat running around with a wheelbarrow,” Heythorp said.

  “That’s the idea. If you don’t mind, I would like to have a shower now.”

  “Of course, thank you for your time.” Heythorp said as Wicklow opened the driver’s door. “We may need to question you further at a later date Mr Ravencroft.”

  “My agent is in America,” I heard myself say. “Though I’m not supposed to know that, Detective Heythorp, so if you do see him, please don’t mention that I told you so.”

  “Is he now? That’s very interesting.” Heythorp opened the passenger door. “Thanks for that, Mr Ravencroft. Us coppers appreciate when the public are being helpful.”

  As I watched them drive away, I wondered why Heythorp found Basil being in America so interesting.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stone Angels

  The Fifth Painting

  1967

  I heard nothing from Basil for months, and guessed he wasn’t back from America yet. With no risk of being disturbed, I focused solely on my angel series. Late one afternoon, the phone rang.

  “Hello, James. Sorry for the interruption.”

  “Good afternoon, Jenny.” I was disappointed that it wasn’t my agent. Since Basil had been away Jenny and I were now on first name terms.

  “Mr Hallward asked me to give you a call this morning, and it went clear out of my head.”

  “That’s so unlike you, Jenny. What’s happened?”

  “Everything here is a little chaotic. No time to explain. Mr Hallward’s client has now paid for his painting. So, if possible, could you run it in as I need it pronto?”

  “Sure. I can have it with you tomorrow morning if that’s okay?”

  “That’s great. I’ll see you then.”

  As I lowered the receiver, I heard her flustered voice calling, “Oh James, hang on. Are you still there?”

  “Yes, what is it?” I scanned the tubes of paint before me. On a scrap of paper, I made a note to recheck my stores of certain colours.

  “It’s just he didn’t leave me any details about which one he wanted!”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I know the one he’s asking for.”

  “Great. That’s something I can tick off my list. See you tomorrow.”

  “Of course, Jenny. Bye for now.”

  “Thanks, James.”

  On waking, I was surprised by how eager I was to find out how well Basil’s latest trip to America had gone. Not that I wished to share in Easter’s glory, more to gloat in Basil’s disappointment. My desire for Basil’s return was the driving need to locate the next model as soon as possible.

  I climbed the stairs to Jenny’s office and heard the rhythmic mechanical sound of her work. Her frosty pink polished nails hammered out a flurry of crisp white paper as she worked at her typewriter. Her door stood ajar and I entered without knocking. A large wooden desk dominated the space while a narrow sash window filled the back wall, with its uninspiring view onto the street below.

  Jenny’s fingers paused as she looked up from under her blunt black fringe and smiled. She had an exotic beauty about her. Her confidence shone out as she rose and took the brown paper-wrapped painting and placed it in a large metal cabinet behind her. On turning back to me a flush crept across her creamy-brown cheeks. “I’m so sorry, James, Mr Hallward isn’t here at the moment.” She reached into her desk drawer; her thin silver bangles glinted on the cuff of her green blouse. Jenny handed me a thick white envelope. “He asked me to give you this.”

  I tore open the envelope.

  Jenny saw something register in my face and added, “James your land and seascape paintings are so powerful. When I look at them, it’s as though I can feel the full force of nature wash over me. Your palette knife style of painting gives a three-dimensional element to your work.”

  Surprised by her sudden outpouring, I rested on the edge of her desk. “Thanks— that’s kind of you to say so.” I began reading the letter.

  Jenny shuffled some papers. “I—just wanted you to know. It’s wrong for me to say, I know but… your work is far superior to Joseph Easter’s. It’s unfair that Mr Hallward doesn’t exhibit your paintings.”

  So bloody predictable of Basil! I screwed the letter up. Annoyed at another commission and more time-wasting travelling to various locations along the Suffolk coastline to come up with a variation on a common theme just to satisfy some rich bloke and his pretentious wife, I sighed. Suddenly, aware Jenny was apologising, I smiled.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m speaking out of turn, James.”

  “Jenny, you’ve nothing to apologise for so don’t upset yourself. I wasn’t upset with you. Don’t say anything to risk losing your job, especially not for my sake.” I stood.

  She laughed. “Oh, James, Mr Hallward would be lost without me.”

  “That’s true enough.” I laughed, glad to break the tension. “Anyway, it hasn’t been a wasted journey when I get to see you. I better get home and start on this.” I waved the letter at her. “Just another one like all the others I’ve done so far. Not really pushing my artistic potential.”

  “Our clients love them.” Jenny said her long fingers busy typing a letter to another one of Basil’s flunkies, no doubt. “Have a safe journey home, James.”

  I stepped out onto the high street and turned the collar of my trench coat up against the bitter March winds. With my head down I headed towards the art shop to restock my supply of materials before heading home.

  The old shop with its black beams and sooty grey plaster had a narrow façade and seemed caught in its own time warp. It would’ve looked out of place on the high street among the growing numbers of modern buildings. I pushed open the heavy door with its small leaded window and stepped in.

  A bell rang within the storeroom alerting the owner that a customer had entered. A muffled voice called from the other side of a glass-beaded curtain. “I shall be with you in a moment.”

  The interior should have been quite dark due to the collection of paintings filling the two bay windows on either side of the entrance that blocked out the daylight. But inside was surprisingly bright and spacious. One area of the shop had an assortment of artist’s materials from paper, notebooks, sketchpads, canvases, stretcher bars, as well as boards and panels. Almost anything, any artist would need.

  The other half of the shop served as a downmarket gallery where for a small sum of money, artists without an agent could hang their works in the hope that someone like Basil Hallward might walk in and spot their artwork. The most expensive items like brushes and paints were out of reach behind a large wooden counter.

  With my back to the counter, I took in the display of dusty paintings and wondered how long some of them had been hanging. Then the tinkling sound of the beaded curtain alerted me to the fact the shop owner was now ready to serve me.

  “Hello. May I help you?”

  I expected the stooped figure of old Bert, the shop owner but, instead, a young woman stood bathed in a shimmering golden light before me.

  “Hello— can I help?”

  For a moment, the composition of the shapes, light and shadow created by the piles of boxes, I glimpsed through the curtain behind her began to transform. Within that split second, the boxes became tower blocks racing skywards on my canvas as my mind transformed the girl into a stone angel.

  “Are you all right?” Her question shattered the image.

  “Hmm, sorry…” I reached into my pocket. “Just expected Bert. Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine.” She pushed an auburn lock of hair behind her ear. “At his sister’s. I’m helping out here until one of his nieces arrives home as they both live abroad.”

  “Oh. Are you his daughter?” I pulled out the list of things I needed.

  “No, just a friend. Bert’s helped me out in the past. I’m Jackie. And you?”

  “Oh, I’m…Tommy Blackbird,” I said with a grin.

  “Pleased to meet you, Tommy. So what can I hel
p you with?”

  I passed my list to her.

  Jackie leant forward and straightened out the list with the side of her hand. Within my mind, I selected the right colours and added them to my palette. The light caught the soft wisps of her hair as she brushed it over her shoulders. Holly green, I decided was the perfect shade of colour for her eyes. I began mixing to create the right shades to mirror mother’s tortured soul. In shades of black, greys and greens.

  “Are you one of Hallward’s artists?” Jackie’s question snapped me out of my thoughts. “There’s an awful lot of materials on here.” She waved the list at me.

  “Hallward’s?” I reached for the list. “Does it matter if I’m not?”

  “Oh no… sorry, but it’s just that Bert said I should keep an eye out, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “You have to be eagle-eyed working in here. Stuff goes missing all the time. Some of them try to pull a fast one. You know the sort of thing—can I pay you when I’ve made my fame and fortune?” She bit her bottom lip and pointed to the dusty paintings.

  “Luckily for you I’m not one of his lackeys then.” I laughed.

  “Sorry I guess I shouldn’t have said that. Bert’s words, not mine.”

  “Do you see many of them in here, then?”

  “We mostly get ‘wannabes.” She gave a slight nod in the direction of the art gallery.

  I crossed to the wall of paintings and peered at them.

  “You’re one of Bert’s regulars are you?”

  “Well, sort of. I’m from out of town. Whenever I’m this way, I normally pop in. He has everything I need in one hit. Tell Bert I’m sorry to have missed him.”

  “So you’ve come quite a distance then?” She ticked each item off the list with her fingertip as though she were crossing them out in her head.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Will you want to be taking all of this with you now?” She creased her brow.

  “I have a commission I need to get started on.” I reached for the list and she quickly covered it with her hand. “You’re a professional artist, aren’t you?”

  “I am indeed.” I noticed she wore no rings on her delicate fingers.

  “Oh…” Jackie chewed at the side of her thumbnail.

  “If there’s a problem, I could always go elsewhere.” The size of my order would boost Bert’s takings.

  “It’s… just… that it’ll take me a while to get it together and…” She gave a smirk. “It’s half day closing too. A friend is picking me up soon.”

  “Right. I see we have a problem.”

  “Could you pick it up tomorrow?”

  “Will Bert be back?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I’m holding the fort until further notice.”

  “I’m sure his shop is in safe hands. May I ask— do you know, Mr Hallward? I mean, has he been in here?”

  “You mean Hallward of Fine Arts? What do you think?” She gestured to the room.

  “I was hoping to start promoting my work in London and wasn’t sure what the going rate is to exhibit here.”

  “Why not pop in and see Mr Hallward. I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you if you’re any good or not.”

  “Is his gallery far from here?”

  “Not at all— just up the road. You can’t miss it. Very modern. Take a look then you’ll know whether it’s the sort of place you’ll want to hang your work.”

  “Thanks. So it’s safe to say Hallward has never entered here?”

  She laughed. “I don’t think he would risk his business reputation on these.” Jackie gestured to the motley collection of paintings. “Unsellable masterpieces, that’s what Bert jokingly calls them. Goodness knows how long some of them have been hanging here. I’m not an expert, but I can recognise bad art when I see it.”

  One painting looked to be some sort of farm scene. The artist had painted a series of abstract squares on a blue and green background and called it, ‘Sheep on Blue and Green.’

  “I’ve met him a couple of times.”

  “Who?” I glanced back at the painting. “The artist who painted that?”

  “No.” She laughed. “I meant Hallward. He came to my boyfriend’s flat to see some of his work.”

  “Your boyfriend has work here?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “And that’s not one of his.”

  “Glad to hear it. So Hallward liked his stuff. What happened?”

  “Don’t know—we split up. He loved his work more than me, I guess. So what do you paint?”

  “Landscapes and seascapes. Abstract mostly.”

  “Are there any on show in London for me to see?”

  “Sorry, only in Suffolk. A local gallery there sells my work.”

  “What a pity. So are you happy to leave this with me until… say tomorrow afternoon? I’ll have it ready by then.”

  “That’s fine. What’s the latest I can collect it?”

  “Say five. That’s when we close. I could give you a ring as soon as I have it ready.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I’ll be out and about. I can be here by five at the latest. Could I bring the car round to the back of the shop as the street is very narrow out there?” I gestured towards the front. “Less an inconvenience to others.”

  “No problem. See you tomorrow then.”

  I arched my shoulders against the wind while pulling my collar up as I left the shop and nearly collided with an elderly couple coming towards me. I sidestepped them and hurried towards the main road. The windows of Joe’s café shone bright with condensation, freeing me from further concerns that anyone else might have seen me.

  At the corner, I took the footpath, that ran to the back of Basil’s gallery and on towards the small, neat bistro where Annie once worked. I wanted to grab a hot drink and maybe something to eat while wasting an hour.

  In the warmth of the St. Clair’s bistro, I sipped my tea and wondered if Basil had started to join up the dots yet. If I were in his shoes, I would’ve tried to link someone other than myself to the girls’ disappearances. In the last four years Basil has been their only suspect, but with no conclusive evidence, the police had been unable to touch him.

  I checked my watch. Plenty of time for me to familiarise myself with the route to the back of the shop and watch how long it takes for her to get ready to leave.

  The waitress had finished serving at the other table and was heading in my direction, cleaning cloth in hand. “Are you ready to order?” she asked, cleaning the table next to mine. Her grease-stained overall was pulled so tight across her ample bosom that only a small button stopped it from all spilling out. Plastered on her face was a broad red-lipped smile as she waited for my answer. One hand rested on her thick waist, while the other pushed a curl of bleached blonde hair back under the small, grubby cap she wore.

  “What do you have in the way of sandwiches?”

  “What do you fancy, love?” she asked.

  “Cheese and pickle would be nice.”

  “Coming right up, love,” she said, shouting my order to the kitchen assistant as she carried the tray of dirty crockery to the counter.

  While I waited for my food, I deliberated about increasing the pressure on Basil. It would be quite satisfying watching him really sweat. My thoughts wandered. My fifth angel called to me. I pondered on whether to use my car to stakeout Jackie or whether it’ll be less conspicuous to watch her on foot.

  On checking my watch, I decided not to wait. “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to leave. May I take my sandwiches with me?”

  The waitress looked up. “Of course, love,” she beamed, revealing a row of decaying teeth. “Just wait a moment. We’ll wrap them for you.”

  I hurried back to the junction between the main road and the back street. I was looking for somewhere close enough to the corner that gave me shelter and spotted a boarded-up shop directly opposite.

  The shop entrance was set well back from the kerb and perfect for sheltering fro
m the bitter wind and nosy parkers. I leant against the grimy window and pulled the greaseproof package from my pocket. I removed half the sandwich from its wrapper, lifted it to my mouth. I was mid-way through taking a bite when a woman dressed in a long, mauve coat, and Cossack-style hat emerged from the back street and walked in my direction.

  As I stepped back, the door behind me swung open. I ducked in and closed it just in time. Jackie stood where moments before I had. She pushed her cuff back and checked her watch before looking up the street again.

  My thoughts raced. The possibility of snatching her now hovered, but something stopped me. I took one bite of the sandwich and tossed the remains into the pile of rubbish at my feet.

  Jackie stepped onto the pavement and wave as a green Mini Cooper shot across the road and did a U-turn before pulling up alongside her. The driver jumped out and the blaring sound of Dylan singing ‘the answer my friend is blowing in the wind,’ filled the abandoned shop along with the sound of girlish laughter.

  I moved forward enough to see a leggy girl run around the car and throw her arms around Jackie. After exchanging a few words, Jackie wiped her face.

  “Forget about him, Jac. Men aren’t bloody worth it,” Leggy called as she ran back round to the driver’s side. “Come on girl, get in. Let’s party like there’s no tomorrow.”

  They sped off.

  I stepped onto the pavement, barely missing a small dog. It jumped up growling and snapping.

  “Sorry, love.” The old woman pulled on the dog’s lead. “Come on, Buster. It’s time we got home.” She hurried off in the opposite direction.

  I crossed the road, and took the next one along from Back Street, to see if I could find a way to the rear of the art shop.

  Chapter Sixteen

  1967

  I made my way down a road called Back Street. It ran parallel to the shops on Market Street Five minutes later I turned onto a narrow, cobbled thoroughfare between two boarded up houses. Daylight was fading as I hurried along, hoping I was heading in the right direction.

  Along one side of the lane a high brick wall ran with gateways that led into the backyards of the houses, which stood on Market Street. I found a gap lit by the glow of a single streetlamp when the wall finally came to an abrupt end. The gap seemed wide enough for a car or small van to pass through. Beyond this was a wasteland partially covered with overgrown shrubs. Deep ruts—tyre marks I presumed, lined the rough ground, showing that vehicles had regularly crossed over.