by Sam Blake
‘Poor Edward, it’s so horrible.’
‘I don’t think he felt anything. It would have been very quick.’
‘And then whoever it was pushed him into the pool to finish the job?’
‘So it seems. But what’s interesting is that Croxley’s DNA is on the sleeve of the jumper you identified as belonging to your husband.’
‘Good God, you think Marcus killed him?’ She turned to look at him but he was looking out to sea.
He turned back to her. ‘We really can’t say just yet. It’s clear that the same tablets you were prescribed were used to lace the brandy – perhaps Marcus had left them out and Croxley found them when he arrived, or perhaps Croxley researched your history and worked out what you might be taking.’
‘I don’t think there’s any painkiller or sleeping tablet I haven’t been prescribed.’
Gallagher grimaced. ‘The thing is – I think I mentioned it before – Croxley was involved in a previous suspicious death in a swimming pool where drugs were a factor. It was a good few years ago, but our UK colleagues are going to re-examine the case in light of recent events. DNA analysis has come a long way.’ He stopped speaking for a moment, as if there was more that he couldn’t tell her. The wind began to pick up again as he continued, ‘It’s a bit of a conundrum. Looking at the times of the phone calls and the time Croxley sent his texts, it seems he was still alive at 3.40, but your phone records show that you called at 3.30.’
‘It might not have been Croxley sending the texts.’
‘Very true. Perhaps Marcus did kill him first and then sent the texts himself. There’s no sign of his fingerprints on Croxley’s phone but it ended up in the water somehow.’
Vittoria shook her head. ‘It all sounds so crazy, really.’
‘I know. Forgive me for saying this – Marcus was a bit of a bollocks, even when we were in school, but he didn’t deserve to die like that.’
‘You’re right. Although, I have to confess I’m having a few difficulties with everything I’m finding out now. It’s like he was living two lives.’ She sighed. ‘There’s still no sign of the paintings?’
‘None at all, but we’ll keep looking.’
‘Thank you for telling me, Inspector. I’d rather know – about everything. I don’t want to find out what was happening in my husband’s life from the press again. Once is enough. And thank you, I know you’re working twenty-four seven on this.’ She stopped for a moment, biting her lip. ‘But what about Aidan? I asked him to check on Marcus and he found them. Does that make him a suspect too? Especially given their past?’
‘Aidan Kelly was in the middle of Dublin Bay all day with a crew of five other people who can say categorically that he was with them until late evening. There are about a hundred others who can corroborate that. He didn’t even go to the jacks on his own.’ Gallagher said it with a degree of relief in his voice. ‘It’s looking increasingly likely that this Andronov character is involved. With the type of money and influence backing him, we think that he travelled to Dublin on Saturday. His tail lost him in East London that morning somewhere near Bethnal Green. He could easily have been heading to an airport.’
‘But City Airport has massive security, CCTV – surely someone would have seen him?’
‘It might not have been City. My British colleagues think it’s more likely he used a small plane or helicopter and landed at a private airport here. They’re checking flight records, but private pilots don’t have to file their passenger manifests, just a flight plan. They’re supposed to declare the number of passengers they’re carrying but then it’s up to immigration at our end to follow up.’ He scowled. ‘The biggest problem right now is that both Andronov and Kaprizov have suddenly acquired diplomatic immunity – Christ knows how. The embassy got in touch with the National Crime Agency after they arrested them.’ He shook his head, ‘You have to give it to the Russians – they look after their own.’
Vittoria sighed heavily. ‘That’s a bit of a brick wall, isn’t it?’
‘Yep, for us and for our UK colleagues, but look it, the investigation is heading in the right direction. There have to be other links in this chain who don’t have the benefit of being friends with Putin. And we’ll see what this Stephanie Carson has to say about things.’ Vittoria pursed her lips, but didn’t respond, as he continued, ‘There is something else, though. It might make you feel better about the provenance of those paintings – well, at least the one you took to London.’
Vittoria sighed and rubbed her hand across her eyes. She knew Inspector Gallagher had seen the horror on her face when she’d explained where they had come from. ‘Go on, tell me.’
‘It was a forgery. Well, the Pissarro that you gave Croxley was. The team in London got Sotheby’s to look at it. They’ve had some big problems with fakes and have their own forensic guy, an American who works with the FBI, apparently.’ He paused. ‘So they said the painting was extremely good, the paint was even cracking in the right direction – apparently paint from different periods and parts of the world cracks differently, and that’s something these forgers can do – but it contained traces of some suspect pigments.’ He paused again and pulled a notebook from the pocket of his jacket. He flipped it open, checking his facts. ‘They said Hansa and arylide yellows were only available after 1910. So Pissarro would have had some problems finding it in 1897 when he was supposed to have painted your picture.’
‘My God, do you think Croxley guessed when he saw the others, and that’s why Marcus killed him?’
‘Whoever was involved, that’s a possibility. Your husband needed to sell them and he couldn’t risk their real origins being revealed. Or perhaps he realised he’d been drugged and thought Croxley intended to steal them. Either way, Marcus had them commissioned. Apparently someone in Sotheby’s was having a gossip with a woman who they recommend to museums and collectors, and it looks like she did all of them. She’s based in Scotland but the art world is incredibly small. It’s quite normal to get copies done for display – she does them for museums and private collectors, and she thought that’s what Marcus wanted them for so she used the wrong yellow. He omitted to mention to her that he was planning to sell them as originals.’
Chapter 56
NO. 42’S FLAGSHIP STORE on Fifth Avenue was closing to the public when Lily emerged from her meeting with Marianne Omotoso in the conference room on the tenth floor, the October evening sun slanting into the upper windows. Downstairs, the staff were preparing for the invitation-only evening, a celebration of the Freedom line with the announcement of their new bespoke designs that would be reflected in limited-edition suites available to retail.
Bespoke designs that Lily was creating.
Lily’s mouth was dry with nerves but Marianne had been full of praise for her sketches and prototypes, insisted, even though she’d only just started, that she say a few words to open their event this evening. They’d been going through Marianne’s presentation for most of the afternoon, ensuring it ran perfectly. Tonight was the pinnacle of some incredible marketing activity that included – Lily could still hardly believe that this idea had become part of it all – the release of a flock of white homing pigeons from the Statue of Liberty to fly back to the store. And Oli Lennon himself would be arriving in his signature silver Rolls-Royce to charm his very best customers. Lily had had several Skype chats with him, had been surprised at how friendly and normal he seemed. She hadn’t known what to expect but had been completely wowed by the story of the little boy who had grown up beside the Kimberly diamond mine on the Northern Cape and gone on to build one of the most prestigious brands in the world.
Lily felt her stomach turn with a potent blend of anxiety and anticipation as she waited for the lift. Quite apart from the excitement of Oli Lennon actually being there, and all the A-listers arriving downstairs, her drawings would be projected onto a huge screen at the end of the first floor as Marianne made each of the announcements about the new ranges. It was a total clic
hé but working for No. 42 was literally a dream come true. The hours were incredibly long, the senior staff demanding and tempestuous, but she’d settled in fast and she was loving every minute of it.
But it wasn’t just the excitement of the presentation making her nervous. Tonight Lily knew she’d see Vittoria for the first time since Sergei Andronov had been arrested in the shop and they’d discovered that Edward Croxley, the man she’d once wished to die, had literally met the deep end in Vittoria’s swimming pool.
With her husband Marcus.
Lily felt fear prickle down her spine. She didn’t know how involved Vittoria may or may not have been, and she didn’t want to know. The moment she’d heard about the double tragedy, Lily had closed her ears and her mind. She’d made a point of not reading the papers or watching the news, had kept off social media.
Some things she really didn’t need to know.
The Irish police and the British officers who had arrested Andronov were sure he was involved and they were the experts.
But whatever had happened that day, Lily needed to thank Vittoria. They had the shop back because of her, and Jack had already come up with some clever ideas to entice more casual customers in, as well as developing their specialist business. Almost losing it had made him appreciate how much he loved it. And with the shop to focus on, and the girl from the French restaurant next-door-but-one popping in every two minutes, her moving had been less of an issue. Lily still crossed her fingers whenever she thought about it, but he seemed to have come completely out of the depression that had taken him to Waterloo Bridge and the dark waters of the Thames.
Even George the one-eyed cat seemed happier. He’d never liked her flatmates’ music, and when Jack had moved back into the apartment above the shop, George had gone back to his spot beside the till where he could spend most of the day curled up asleep – so still that many customers thought he was stuffed. At night he climbed out of the kitchen window at the very top of the building and vanished among the pitched roofs and chimney-pots of Great Russell Street to meet his feline friends and raid the bins behind La Lidoire, the French restaurant where the lovely Alessia, as Jack called her, worked.
Knowing Jack was happy was just so important to Lily that she couldn’t explain it. It meant that she was able to relax and enjoy every waking minute here without any worries. She had to kick herself every time she got out of bed – and she still felt like she was on holiday every day, the sounds and the scents of the city strange and wonderful. She felt alive in New York, as if she was poised on the edge of something exciting. And at No. 42 they were constantly innovating – it was the perfect place for her to develop her skills and really make her mark.
As the lift – elevator, Lily corrected herself – arrived, she glanced in its mirrored wall and poked a loose strand of red hair back into her lucky silver filigree clip; with her hair up she looked very corporate. She was wearing a black crêpe pencil dress and wedge sling-backs that made her feel almost grown up – and about ten years older – but tonight she needed to look the part. The black fabric showed off the prototype diamond birdcage brooch pinned to her shoulder, the door open, a jewelled bird of paradise rising from its prison. It was the key piece in the collection that Marianne would be revealing later. The fashion magazines and New York press were all there, as well as some of No. 42’s most valued clients. Tonight was all about making the right impression.
As the elevator doors opened on the second floor, Lily could hear the chatter rising from below, blending with the sounds of classical music from the string quartet located at the base of the stairs. She could have come out on the ground floor but she wanted a chance to see who had arrived already, and the best place to do that was from the top of the Art Deco staircase that swept down to the main sales floor.
Lily’s shoes were silent on the soft carpet as she reached the top of the stairs and looked down. Uniformed staff were passing around glasses of champagne balanced on silver salvers, guests mingling and chatting. The store was certainly impressive, glittering display cases reflecting the equally glittering accessories of women who looked like they had just stepped off the red carpet at the Oscars. Many of them probably had. Around them men in dark suits filled the gaps.
Biting her lip, unable to resist a grin, Lily took in the crowd. In a few minutes they would be listening to her speak, talking about her caged-bird range, inspired by the old-world prints she loved so much. It was a metaphor for so many elements of modern life that connected with No. 42’s long-term goals. Marianne would be going on to detail No. 42’s campaign for using ethically sourced stones and for sustainability; they were proactively reducing the company’s global environmental impact in ways that made Lily feel proud to be associated with the brand. It wasn’t just about luxury: it was about taking real corporate responsibility, and Lily had been made to feel like an important cog in that machine from the moment she’d arrived.
Leaning over the balustrade, Lily scanned the crowd below her, one eye on the flow of guests filtering through the ring of security around the front door. She recognised so many faces from film and TV, but then she saw another face she recognised.
Lily’s heart jumped as she saw Vittoria walk in, dressed in a figure-hugging navy silk dress with flowing sleeves, a good-looking man close beside her, his hand loosely on her waist. Lily watched as she accepted a glass of champagne and scanned the room. The man with her whispered something in her ear, smiling. Now, who was he? Puzzled, Lily watched them cross the room, taking in the crowd and the projected displays. Their body language was casual but intimate.
As if she could feel Lily’s gaze on her, Vittoria turned and looked up the staircase. Her smile was broad and warm as their eyes met. Vittoria casually weaved through the crowd, crossing to the bottom of the stairs, apparently listening to the string quartet. Lily began to head down.
‘It’s so lovely to see you.’ Lily air-kissed her on each cheek.
Vittoria smiled. ‘You look amazing, very … professional.’ They both laughed. The last time they had met on the park bench in Russell Square, Lily had been wearing denim overalls and Doc Martens.
‘Thank you, I had to step up my game a bit.’
‘It suits you – oh, this is Aidan.’
Vittoria blushed slightly and half-turned to introduce her friend. Lily held out her hand. His handshake was warm and genuine.
‘Great to meet you. Vittoria told me about your wonderful job. Congratulations.’
Lily smiled. His accent was Irish. He was older than Vittoria and very attractive.
‘Thank you so much. Do you work together?’
Aidan shook his head. ‘No, I’m a bone man, backs and necks mainly, lots of whiplash. I fix the outside; she fixes the inside.’ He grinned. ‘Why don’t I let you ladies catch up while I do some shopping? I’d love to have a chat with you before I go, though, Lily – I’m very interested in diamonds.’ He picked up a glass of champagne from a platter and wandered off towards a case of men’s watches, attracting glances from several of the women he passed.
Lily tuned to Vittoria, her eyebrows raised. ‘He’s rather lovely. Those blue eyes. Is he available?’
‘I’m afraid not. He’s got his hands full at the moment.’ Vittoria smiled. ‘But tell me, how are you getting on? All settled?’ Vittoria took a sip of her champagne, her dark hair gleaming in the light from the chandelier above them.
Lily kept her voice low, shaking her head as if she still didn’t believe it herself. ‘It’s been amazing. I haven’t had a second to stop. They found me somewhere to live and I’m loving the design work. I’m working on a whole new range of little birdcages.’ She reached up to touch her brooch.
‘It’s absolutely beautiful.’
Lily smiled. ‘You’ll see more in the presentation later.’
Vittoria’s eyes were warm. ‘I’m so pleased. Really. And how’s Jack?’
Lily’s eyes met Vittoria’s for a moment and she felt them fill with tears. Lily caug
ht them on the back of her finger. She couldn’t get emotional now – she had to talk to at least a hundred of New York’s elite in a few moments. ‘He’s back living above the shop, and he’s doing great. He was going to come tonight but we decided Christmas would be better. I really—’
Vittoria held up her hand. ‘Don’t say it. That was the deal. You helped me and I helped you.’
Lily faltered, then keeping her voice low said, ‘But your husband? What happened?’
Vittoria put her hand soothingly on Lily’s arm. ‘We don’t know exactly what happened, the investigation is only getting going, really, but it looks like he was trying to double cross Croxley. He might have got in too deep with the wrong people. Really, trust me, it’s not something you need to think about for one moment.’
Lily bit her lip. She didn’t know if she’d ever get a chance to tell Vittoria the dramas that had unfolded at their end, about Sergei Andronov getting arrested and them all having to give statements. One thing was sure, Edward Croxley had definitely got in with the wrong people.
‘Vittoria! How lovely, what are you doing here?’
Lily looked up sharply to see who had recognised Vittoria, relaxing a moment later as Vittoria turned and, smiling, embraced a beautiful blonde woman, her hair long and loose around her shoulders. She was even tinier than Vittoria; she looked so delicate she might break.
‘Yana, what on earth are you doing here? I thought you were still in London?’
The woman called Yana gave Vittoria another hug – they obviously knew each other well. Turning to Lily, Vittoria introduced them. ‘This is Yana. She’s the prima ballerina with the Russian National Ballet, who is supposed to be working hard in Covent Garden at the moment.’ Vittoria tried to look stern.
‘Tsk, all work and no play. I’ve only come for two days. I love No. 42. Some invitations you cannot resist.’ Yana turned to Lily. ‘Vittoria saved my life. She is very quiet but without her I would be dust. Poof.’ Vittoria blushed as she continued, ‘She is the reason I am still dancing.’ She turned to look behind her. ‘Now, you must meet my uncle, Vittoria, he’s been asking so much about you. One moment.’
