by Carole Pitt
Elizabeth didn't agree with Patterson but she kept quiet. Now wasn't the right time to argue with him. She checked her watch and realised that if she wanted to fit everything in today they'd have to make a move.
'You're right. Let's not talk about Daly. First stop is at Sotheby's in Imperial Square.'
'Have you found a Rembrandt in your attic?'
Elizabeth removed an A4 envelope from her shopping bag. She handed it to Patterson. 'I printed these images off last night; they're all masks originating from North Western British Columbia. Some of them are old and very valuable and reside in museums. The rest are a cross-section of what is available to buy on the open market. Jackie Kilmartin is convinced Morven killed Wilson for the mask but Morven tells us the mask wasn't worth much. Either Morven is lying, in which case where is the damn thing? It wasn't in his hotel room or with his personal effects. The only other possibility is after he killed Wilson he hid it somewhere and unless he confesses, we can forget finding it. Without another motive for Wilson's murder, we're stuck with the mask. We can't eliminate it until it's found and as we've no idea what it looks like I'm hoping Sotheby's might point us in the right direction. We have an appointment with a Natasha Samuel, expert in tribal masks from all over the world.'
'I presume this Natasha will keep quiet about our enquiries.'
Elizabeth yawned. 'These Sotheby types are used to keeping secrets. Some of their clients are billionaires. After that, Les Harper is next on my list. But I've got to be careful as he drinks with some of the top brass.'
'You're going to interview Jade Harper's dad?' Patterson asked looking concerned.
'No you are.' Elizabeth removed a file from a bright red shopping bag. 'Witness statement from the The Crow's Nest pub where Jade Harper was seen drinking with Wilson on several occasions. This will be your main topic of conversation with her father.'
'Thanks a lot,' Patterson said.
'That girl has a reputation and so has her boyfriend Duncan Mortimer. He's on record for a couple of burglary offences. The evening Wilson died, Jade's parents provided alibis for both of them, saying they didn't go clubbing until late. Unfortunately, we can't prove or disprove it yet. Okay, so Morven is our prime suspect. He's charged with Wilson's murder and is about to appear in court. I'm not saying he's innocent or guilty but what I am saying is this investigation is flawed. I need to start at the beginning and take my time. Everyone on the team is aware of the gaping holes. Certain people we overlooked need scrutinising again to eliminate them. If in the end we're only left with Morven, then I'll concede.'
Patterson stood up. 'Harper senior will be straight on to the Chief Constable shouting harassment.'
'I don't care, think of the latest scandals. Newspapers paying cops for information, bribery and corruption is endemic. If all this results in people getting away with murder then I'm prepared to put my job on the line, and so should you. We can't eradicate this behaviour but what we must never do is condone it.'
'Who else is on the list after Harper?'
'Duncan Mortimer and Rory Cook.'
'Isn't Cook a Grasmere student?'
'I did some digging into Cook. I talked to a couple of people who knew him well. I spoke to them separately and they both said he suffers violent episodes caused by too many drugs and has a monumental chip on his shoulder. He's managed to stay under the radar which tells me he's crafty, cunning and worthy of our interest.'
Patterson sounded weary. 'Is that it for today?'
'Depends,' Elizabeth said.' I haven't done any overtime for a while. Now we're back together we can start catching up.'
'On the subject of Yeats, I still haven't come up with anything concrete.'
'Don't worry Tony. Listen to the words of popular sayings. Patience is a virtue and everything comes to those who wait. I'm sure there are plenty of others, but I've forgotten them.'
'Do you want to come back for a drink later?’ Elizabeth asked.
Patterson shook his head. 'No thanks, not after that crushing hangover the other day.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was only a few minutes’ walk from Wetheralls to Imperial Square. Elizabeth had parked opposite the Town Hall and hadn't any change for a ticket. As always when she ran out of change, she stuck a police notice on the dashboard, which didn't always impress the traffic wardens. Luckily, the Saab's windscreen wasn't harbouring a plastic envelope containing a demand for seventy pounds.
Elizabeth and Patterson cut through Imperial Gardens. Built at the beginning of the twentieth century the gardens provided a venue for concerts and other cultural and social events. Their original use was as the pleasure grounds for the Montpellier Spa and the current layout dated back to after the Second World War. Elizabeth loved the place especially during the summer months when it became a venue for many outdoor events and festivals. Her personal favourites were the Literature and Jazz Festivals.
They found a bench close to the tennis courts. The skateboard park was busy and Elizabeth wondered if some of the teenage boys had bunked off school. Droves of skateboarders headed there at weekends and she remembered standing watching them one summer evening after having dinner with Calbrain. She brushed away the memory as quickly as it came.
Sotheby's did business from a converted four-storey magnificent grade two listed town house. Imperial Square had many private residents as well as businesses and Elizabeth knew you needed at least one and a half million pounds to live there. They opened the ornate door and stepped into an elegant hallway. A receptionist looked up and asked whom they were here to see.
'Natasha Samuel,' Elizabeth stated.
A minute later they were ushered towards a wide staircase leading to the first floor. Ms Samuel greeted them while talking on her mobile phone. When she ended the call, she held out her hand. 'I don't deal with the police very often.'
She was a tall willowy redhead with the appropriate green eyes. She watched as Patterson stared at her and Elizabeth knew they'd both noticed the uncanny resemblance to the murdered model Lily Jerome.
She handed Natasha the printouts. 'These images are based on what the students at Grasmere created during their project. The mask we're keen to identify originates from North Western British Columbia. Maybe the Nass River Valley area, but we're not sure. It could be old and very valuable, or a cheap imitation.'
'Please sit down,' Natasha said and picked up a pair of glasses. She studied the print outs slowly until one held her interest. She didn't speak and Elizabeth sat back content to be patient. A few minutes later, the expert laid down the printouts and removed her glasses. 'I must say I'm intrigued. You must think that's rather ghoulish.'
Patterson smiled and said, 'I imagine you deal with plenty of works of art, works that have a dubious history.'
'You'd be surprised how many. All antiquities require a good provenance so we tend to ignore lengthy complex stories from owners and find out for ourselves. Sometimes we have to because sellers often lie about the object's history. For instance telling us it's been in the family for generations when it clearly hasn't. Fraud is rife these days and unfortunately, we have to deal with it. In this case, if the mask is very old it might be difficult to trace its life story.' She flicked through the images again. 'What makes you certain the mask belonged to the Nisga'a people?'
Elizabeth explained about the Grasmere student who had holidayed in the Nass Valley. How she'd discovered a Nisga'a Wolf Chief was visiting the area and why the art department head had invited him to the school. She was careful with her disclosure. Natasha Samuel's job required discretion but Elizabeth wasn't taking any chances.
Natasha pointed to one. 'The mask could also be Tsimshian, so that gives me a bit more to go on,' Natasha said. 'Let me give you a little historical background. The early explorers came to the Pacific North West mainly for fur. For instance, the black pelt from the sea otter fetched a high pri
ce. George Vancouver, a captain in the British Army was sponsored to survey the area beginning in seventeen ninety-two. His orders were to encourage trade with the indigenous people and collect artefacts to take back for European museums. There are still many records of transactions instigated by the early explorers. Unfortunately, a proportion of these treasures never made it back to Europe and no one really knows where they ended up. Piracy could account for plundered treasures finding their way into American or European families who began huge collections. Since the mid twentieth century, many pieces have found their way back to their rightful owners. But those that don't make it home sell for enormous sums.'
Elizabeth didn't have time for an extensive history lesson even though she found it interesting. What she needed was an image they could work on. 'Let's say the mask is a couple of hundred years old. I assume it would be very valuable.'
'Yes it would,' Natasha stated. 'And it's likely its people would want it back. I'm busy for the rest of the day but I'll have time tomorrow. I need to consult some reference books for accurate images.'
Elizabeth was grateful for her help. 'You're also a historian I believe.'
'I did a Masters on the Plantagenet dynasty, from 1154 to 1485.'
'History wasn't my best subject at school, so I don't know much about that period.'
Natasha smiled. 'There's been quite a resurgence of interest since those remains buried underneath a car park in Leicester were confirmed to be that of King Richard III, the last Plantagenet king.'
'I did follow the story and thought how lucky we are to live in this era. Forensic science has advanced even in the last five years, but unfortunately, it doesn't always solve a crime. Detectives rely on experts, which leads me to my next question. From a historical point of view, do many people kill to acquire a piece of art?'
'Plenty have throughout history, so it's possible, but until I have some idea of why, I'm as stumped as you are,' Natasha answered.
Elizabeth felt more positive. She was beginning to believe the mask had to be the real motive. 'Ring me if you come up with anything.'
'Natasha showed her out. 'Thanks to the Antiques Road Show, the public think studying antiquities is a glamorous job. It's actually very much like your occupation. You have to be a damned clever detective.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It turned out Jade's father was the Les Harper of bookmaker fame, who currently owned a chain of shops throughout the South West. Before setting off Patterson had found out more about his backgaround. Apparently, his grandfather had been a bookie and had taken the young Les with him to racecourses in the days before it was legal to open shops. Apart from Harper's twenty-five outlets he had other business interests, but surprisingly wasn't a racehorse owner. Early on in his career, he'd had a brush with the Inland Revenue over a betting scam. Considering Harper now mixed with high-ranking police officers, he wondered how he'd escaped prosecution. After digging into the Faraday brother's finances Patterson had realised that even these days it was still possible to hide large sums of money.
Harper was entertaining friends at Cheltenham racecourse. There was no race meeting but the restaurant with its panoramic views across the racecourse had a reputation for corporate dining. Surprisingly, Harper hadn't objected to Patterson's request to see him but had insisted it was at the racecourse or not at all.
Patterson took the Evesham Road and pulled into the car park twenty minutes later. He sat for a while enjoying the peace that hung over the famous landmark. He'd only been here a few times and three years ago had come for the Gold Cup. Horse racing to him was an enigma. Elizabeth liked horses and would love to own one but had confessed she wouldn't be able to look after it properly. She constantly complained about never having the time to hire one and go for a ride. Plenty of ordinary people enjoyed going to the races but the real power and money was in that small percentage of the population who lived and breathed the sport. Horses were magnificent animals and Patterson could remember the excitement he'd felt watching them gallop to the finishing line, feeling their power through the thundering noise. He got out of the car hoping he'd dressed appropriately. Recently DI Jewell had ordered her team to smarten up, telling them it was one less thing for Yeats to complain about. Patterson didn't feel comfortable in a suit but he straightened his tie before heading towards the main buildings.
Work on the new forty-five million pound grandstands was still in progress. He'd read an article in the Cheltenham Echo stating the completion date was on schedule. It also highlighted the other improvements, to include a new Royal Box and hospitality suites.
Situated on the fifth level of the grandstand overlooking the winning post, Les Harper's restaurant of choice had stunning views across the racecourse. Patterson negotiated his way through the tables and chairs and saw Harper engaged in conversation with three men. From the sound of their voices, they were definitely inebriated.
He sat at an empty table and decided to be polite and wait. He looked over and wondered how Harper got on with his daughter, considering she was a self-confessed rebel. He assumed she'd caused her father a fair amount of trouble during her teenage years. As her father seemed in a genial mood, confirming a few facts might be easier than he'd anticipated. Patterson moved towards the Harper's table and introduced himself. The other two men staggered to their feet and wobbled away.
'What can I do for you Sergeant Patterson?' Harper asked, as he removed a cigar from his pocket. Patterson spotted the no smoking sign but Harper was already on his feet and guided him onto a balcony.
Patterson chose his words carefully. 'We have new evidence in the Wilson investigation. I'm hoping you can help me.'
Harper didn't look concerned. He obviously wasn't worried about his daughter's possible involvement. He smiled and said, 'What's that got to do with me, or Jade?'
'Did you go with her on the Canadian trip?'
'Good God man I'm too busy to take a holiday. She went to stay with her Aunt Betsy in Calgary then according to her, got fed up and fancied sightseeing up in Alaska. In the end they didn't make it that far. I can't remember exactly what happened but they were stuck in some godforsaken place up in British Columbia. I guess that's how she knew about this chap you've arrested.'
‘He's out on bail and if I might point out, presumed innocent until proven guilty.'
Harper took a sip of his drink. 'I overheard a conversation the other night in the Queens. Seems everybody's satisfied he's the killer.'
This was unexpected news to Patterson. Yeats had done a good job if the brass were convinced.
'Did your daughter ever mention a mask?'
'Not to me. Talk to her mother, they like their little secrets,' Harper said puffing on his cigar.
'This mask was probably very old and valuable. Maybe from the same area your daughter visited in BC. We're trying to find it.'
Harper seemed disinterested and signalled the waiter to fetch him another drink. 'Can I get you something?'
'That's very kind of you Sir. I'll have a coffee.'
The cigar smoke wafted in Patterson's direction and he resisted the impulse to waft it away. 'So Jade didn't mention anything about a mask?'
'I knew they messed about trying to make them in the art class. Papier-mâché she said, but as she didn't bring her effort home I haven't a clue what it looked like. Can't help you there I'm afraid. That school she's at is a complete waste of time if you ask me. What these kids need is to learn more science and mathematics. They're all thick at that Academy. Jade had a place at the Ladies College but flatly refused to go.'
'Did you know the victim, Keith Wilson?'
Harper thought for a minute. 'I probably met him at one of the parent's nights, but can't say I remember him. Listen Sergeant, I feel sorry about this teacher, it's a terrible thing, but believe me my daughter is not involved. She runs with a wild crowd occasionally but she would
n't hurt anybody.'
There was no way to spare Harper's feelings so Patterson launched straight in. 'An anonymous telephone caller to the police station told us they'd seen your daughter several times in a pub with Wilson. According to this witness, they appeared intimate.'
Harper looked shocked. 'Christ he's nearly as old as I am, if not older. What was she doing out with him?
'It could have been perfectly innocent,' Patterson said, 'or maybe not.'
Harper's face turned red and Patterson could see he was furious.
'Your daughter's association with Wilson is important since his death. I'm sure you can guess what I'm leading to. He might have stalked her. On the other hand, she may have been the one who started their relationship then got tired of him. There are all kinds of permutations as you well know and it could have led to violence.'
Harper shouted for the waiter. Patterson noticed his hand shaking.
'Half the time I've no idea what Jade gets up to. That's my wife's responsibility. I'm too effing busy working my balls off. I provide the cash; apart from that, they don't give a shit about me. My wife has her own problems Sergeant and neglects her maternal duties. I'll talk to Jade later, assuming she's coming back tonight.'
Patterson said, 'We need to talk to her. This is why I came to see you first. I didn't want to turn up at your house without you knowing why. If Jade was having an affair with Wilson, she has to be honest about her exact location when he was murdered.'
Harper looked scared. 'I thought she'd already done that. Maybe I should talk to some of my mates, get someone else to interview Jade.'
Patterson had been waiting for him to mention his police cronies. The inference was clear. He didn't want a jumped up sergeant interviewing his wayward daughter. The old boy's network in action.
'That's your privilege.'
'Surely to God this investigation is over now you've got the right bloke?'
'I can't comment. An investigation is never finished until a trial starts. All the witnesses are reinterviewed as a matter of course.'
