Edwina struggled to her feet. ‘It’s the least I can do if the man’s responsible for Louise’s death.’ Edwina smiled. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll start making the arrangements in the morning.’
CHAPTER 23
In the week leading up to the reception at The Gallery, Tristan Harrow left the hospital and moved into James’s house. Initially, all went well, but as the days progressed, James could sense Tristan’s opinionated nature taking hold again. His fears were realised on the fifth day when he arrived home from work.
‘Ah, James, there you are.’
‘Oh, it’s cold out there, Tristan. You’ve been in the best place today. How are you feeling?’
‘Good. I’m feeling more myself.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ James took his coat off and threw it over the end of the banister before running his hand through his damp hair. ‘By the way, I’ll be out all evening.’
‘Yes, I know. Ashley Manning just telephoned. She said she’d meet you at the restaurant as planned but may be a few minutes late.’ Tristan paused. ‘You’re not seeing that tart are you, James? Look what her husband did to me.’
James glared at Tristan. ‘What I do or don’t do, Tristan, is none of your business. And I’ll thank you not to refer to, Ashley Manning as a tart.’
‘All right, all right, keep your shirt on, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. No good can come of it.’ James’s hand formed a fist as Tristan turned and walked back into the living room. James shook his head and climbed the stairs.
Half an hour later, he came back down, pulled his coat on and slammed the front door behind him. When he arrived at The Gallery for the reception, he found it crowded. Taking a drink off the tray carried by one of the catering staff, he made his way into the next room, where Edwina stood speaking to those gathered around her. James noticed people he knew from the university and suspected Edwina had purposely invited a few not normally on her invitation list. As he stood there, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Simon Rhodes at his side.
‘James, I didn’t know you were interested in art.’
James smiled. ‘Hello, Simon. I’m not, particularly, but my late wife, Louise, was part owner in The Gallery before her death, and Edwina Parker occasionally invites me to these fundraising do’s.’ James watched Simon’s face to see if the mention of Louise brought a reaction, but there was none.
‘By the way, I want to say thank you for your advice on those investments. They’re working out well. I’ve recovered some of my earlier losses already.’ James sipped his champagne.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Simon looked passed James. ‘Would you excuse me for a moment, James, there’s someone over there I want to catch while I’m here.’
‘By all means.’
As James watched Simon meld back into the crowd, Edwina approached.
‘How’s it going, Edwina?’
‘Brilliantly. Simon arrived early and noticed the painting almost at once. Couldn’t take his eyes from it. He asked where I got it. I told him I’d found it in the back room amidst a lot of other paintings I have stored there. I also mentioned I’d sold it this afternoon to a gentleman who is to pick it up on Thursday. I thought that might force him to do something.’
As the evening progressed, James mingled with the other guests and left to join Ashley for dinner only after Simon made his exit. When he reached the restaurant, he took a seat at the bar, but as he did so, Ashley came through the door. She looked around, smiled and walked toward him.
‘Sorry I’m late, James, but I wanted to go home and change after the tutorial.’
‘That’s fine, I’ve only just arrived myself. The reception lasted a bit longer than I expected.’
‘Oh yes, you mentioned a reception this evening. At The Gallery, was it?'
'Yes.'
'James signalled to the maitre d' who led them to a small table.
‘I didn’t realise you were interested in art.’ Ashley sat down, her black dress shimmering in the soft light.
‘I’m not. That is...’ James wondered whether to tell Ashley the real reason for his attendance, but decided against it. ‘It was a fundraiser.’
'Unable to take his eyes from her, he watched as she opened her menu.
‘How’s it going with Tristan?’
James did not reply.
‘Not well, I take it.’
‘I can’t think of a polite way to put it. He was fine when he wasn’t well because he kept his mouth shut, but since then...’ James looked into Ashley’s eyes and they both laughed. ‘He’s got to go.’
‘He can’t be that bad.’
‘He is, believe me.’
****
When James arrived home later that evening, he could hear Tristan on the telephone in the kitchen. ‘Yes, that’s marvellous. I’ll go see it first thing in the morning.’
James made his way into the living room. As he did so, Tristan appeared in the doorway behind him. ‘Ah, James you’re home. That was Simon Rhodes.’
James frowned.
‘He has a furnished flat that’s vacant, so I’ve decided to take it. I think it best. We do rub each other the wrong way at times, don’t we?’
‘We both knew that, Tristan.’ A number of thoughts flashed through James’s mind: the stolen painting, Alex’s blackmail, Louise’s death and - hopefully - Simon’s arrest. James felt compelled to dissuade Tristan. ‘Don’t you think we should persevere at least for another week? You’re not long out of hospital, and I think you should give yourself a bit more time.’
‘I appreciate your concern, but this flat sounds fine for now and being furnished makes it ideal.’
‘Well, personally, I think you should wait, but of course it’s up to you.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ Tristan rubbed his hands together. ‘So, now that’s settled and as this is most likely my last evening here, why don’t we have a drink? I have a bottle of Glenfiddich in my bag. I’ll go fetch it.’
James nodded, puzzled at Tristan’s dualistic personality. He pulled his coat off, threw it over the back of a chair and sat down. Moments later, Tristan reappeared with the whisky.
‘You’ll find glasses in the liquor cabinet, Tristan.’ Tristan poured two glasses and handed one to James.
With his thick wavy hair falling over his forehead, Tristan sat down on the sofa and lifted is glass. 'To new beginnings, James.'
‘Yes, new beginnings.’
They sat in silence for a moment or two before Tristan said, ‘How’s the investigation going?’
James hesitated, not keen to discuss it with Tristan. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Fitzjohn for a while.’
‘Well, after what Robert Manning did to me, I suspect he’s high on the Chief Inspector’s list of suspects. Especially since Manning’s wife and Alex were having an affair.’ Tristan took a sip of his whisky.
‘How do you know that?’
‘The department grapevine. What else?’ Tristan half smiled. ‘You can’t think no-one knew.’
Reminded again of the unpleasant side to Tristan’s nature, James did not reply.
****
After a fitful sleep, James woke early the next morning. He made his way downstairs and reached the kitchen as the telephone rang. ‘Hello.’
‘It’s Julian, Dr Wearing. I thought I’d let you know that Rhodes contacted me early this morning. He’s asked me to do a small job for him. It involves breaking into the gallery and taking the painting.’
‘Our man doesn’t waste much time, does he?’
‘No, not when it comes to money.’
‘Have you spoken to Edwina?'
‘Yes, in fact, I’m with her now. Rhodes will have the painting within the hour. I’ll be in touch.’
As he heard the phone click, Tristan came into the room.
‘Ah, Tristan. I didn’t hear you come down. Would you like coffee?’
‘No thanks, James. I want to go around to see that flat. If I’m
not here when you get home this evening, you’ll know I’ve moved in.’
****
Later that same day, James heard a knock on his office door and looked up to see Julian Gould. ‘Ah, Julian, come in. How did it go?’
Gould closed the door behind him. ‘It’s all taken care of. Rhodes has the painting.’
James stood up and started to pull his coat on. ‘Wonderful, but I think we’ll have to move fast. Are you going to come to the station with me to see Fitzjohn?’ James waited for Gould to reply. ‘If you’re serious about putting Simon behind bars, I’ll need your help.’
‘Okay.’
‘Good.'
****
His face stern, Fitzjohn sat at his desk, a group of young constables, assembled in front of him. He looked past them when Sergeant Betts appeared in the doorway. 'Yes, Betts?'
'Dr Wearing's here to see you, sir, and another gentleman by the name of Julian Gould.'
‘Ah. At last. Show them in.’
Fitzjohn looked back to the four faces in front of him, his expression unchanged. 'This matter isn't finished. We'll continue later.'
Fitzjohn got to his feet as Betts ushered the two men into the room. ‘James, it’s good to see you. How’s Ms Manning?’
‘Doing well, Chief Inspector.’
‘Good, I’m glad to hear it.’
‘And this must be Mr Gould.’ Fitzjohn extended his hand as he surveyed Gould's scarred face. ‘I’m glad Dr Wearing has been able to persuade you to come in to see me, Mr Gould.’ Fitzjohn gestured for the two men to sit down. ‘He’s told me about your dealings with Simon Rhodes.’
‘Many and varied, Chief Inspector.’
‘So I understand.’ Fitzjohn paused. ‘So, is there anything you wish to add?’
‘Yes. You’re aware Rhodes is involved in stolen art.’
‘I’m aware you believe he is,’ said Fitzjohn.
‘Well, Chief Inspector, perhaps I can be proved right. You see, as we speak, Rhodes is in possession of a painting, stolen from a Paris gallery.’
Fitzjohn’s brow furrowed. ‘Really?’ Fitzjohn sat back, hands clasped together in front of him. ‘Perhaps you’d both better explain.’ James relayed what he knew of the painting and of its connection to Louise’s death.
Fitzjohn looked at Gould.
‘How can you be so sure he has such a painting, Mr Gould?’
'Because, Rhodes took me into his confidence once I agreed to go back on his payroll.'
'And where's this painting now?'
‘In his office safe, or at least it was an hour ago.’
CHAPTER 24
Fitzjohn, followed by Sergeant Betts and two constables, arrived at 60 Miller Street and took the lift to the first floor and Simon Rhodes’s office. Finding the reception room empty, Fitzjohn knocked on the inner door. Moments later, it opened and Rhodes appeared.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Rhodes.’
‘Chief Inspector.’
‘We’d like a word if we may.’ Fitzjohn looked past Simon into the office where a man sat with his back to them.
‘Well as you can see, I’m rather busy at the moment. Can’t this wait?’
‘No, Mr Rhodes, it can’t. I have here a search warrant.’ Fitzjohn held up a sheet of paper. He handed it to Simon.
Simon’s face paled as he read it. ‘You’re wasting your time, Chief Inspector. I don’t have this painting.’
‘Then you won’t mind if we look around, will you?’ Simon stood aside as Fitzjohn and Betts, along with the two constables, walked into the room. The man in front of Simon Rhodes' desk turned in his chair.
‘Oh, Dr Harrow. We meet again,’ said Fitzjohn, smiling.
‘Chief Inspector.’ Tristan got to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you, Simon. We can do this later.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you’d wait in the outer office with one of my constables, Dr Harrow. I’d like to have a word with you when we’re finished here.’ Fitzjohn’s look both dismissed Tristan and one of the constables as he turned back to Simon. ‘Now, Mr Rhodes, would you mind opening the safe please.’
‘Is this altogether necessary, Chief Inspector?’
‘Yes. Now if you don’t mind. The safe?’
Simon walked across the room followed by Fitzjohn and Sergeant Betts. He bent down in front of a small safe built into the wall behind his desk and turned the dial back and forth before pulling the door open.
‘Take the contents out, Mr Rhodes.’ Simon removed two manila folders and a small black velvet-covered case. The right side of his face twitched as he glanced up at Fitzjohn, placing them on the desk behind him.'
'And the rest, Mr Rhodes.’
Simon turned back to the safe and lifted out a parcel wrapped in brown paper. He got to his feet and placed the parcel on the desk.
‘Unwrap it please, Mr Rhodes.’
Simon pulled back the brown paper to reveal a painting of the woman in the gilded frame.
‘It’s a painting I purchased recently.’
Fitzjohn smiled as he removed his glasses and peered down at the painting. ‘On the contrary, Mr Rhodes. We have reason to believe it's a painting stolen from a Paris art gallery some years ago.’
‘That’s preposterous.’
‘Nevertheless. I think it would be prudent of you to accompany my officers to the station, where we can have a little chat.’ Simon stared in disbelief as Sergeant Betts cautioned him and informed him of his rights.
‘I want to speak to my solicitor.’
‘All in good time, Mr Rhodes. All in good time.’
Fitzjohn turned to the young man who stood on the other side of the desk. ‘Carry on, Constable.’ The constable moved forward, took Simon’s elbow, and escorted him from the room. Fitzjohn turned to Tristan who hovered in the doorway of the outer office.
'Dr Harrow.' Tristan walked back into Simon's office. ‘I’d like you to come along too.’
Tristan’s face paled. ‘I assure you, Chief Inspector, I know nothing about whatever’s going on here.’
‘Then might I ask what you’re doing here?’
‘Signing a lease agreement for a flat Simon has for rent.' Tristan stepped over to the desk and picked up the lease. 'It's here.' His hand trembled as he handed it to Fitzjohn. Fitzjohn ran his eyes over the document.
‘Right. Well, it seems in order. You can go, Dr Harrow, but where can I find you if I need to speak to you later? At the address on this lease?’
A blank look came across Tristan’s face. ‘No, I think not. I’ll be at my office. May I go now?’
‘Yes. By all means.’ Fitzjohn shook his head as Tristan hurried from the room.
****
Exuding an aura of smugness seldom seen in a suspect about to be interviewed by the police, Simon Rhodes, accompanied by his solicitor, sauntered across the interview room and sat down at the table. Fitzjohn and Betts sat on the other side. Immediately, Betts loaded the tape into the machine and stated the place, date and time. After all present had identified themselves, Fitzjohn spoke, his intense gaze resting on Simon Rhodes.
'Well, Mr Rhodes, perhaps you can begin by telling us why the oil painting in question was found in your office safe.'
'Simon's sharp features remained expressionless as his left eyebrow rose. 'As I said earlier today, it's a painting I purchased recently.'
'Ah, yes, so you did.' Fitzjohn paused. 'Were you aware, at the time, that the painting was stolen from a Paris art gallery two years ago?'
'No, of course not.'
'Be that as it may, it has been found in your possession.' Simon Rhodes did not reply. 'I'm sure the French police will be interested to know who you purchased it from.' Rhodes fidgeted with the ring on his right hand.
'It's also come to our attention that approximately two years ago, the said painting was in the possession of a woman by the name of Louise Wearing.' Rhodes stopped fidgeting with his ring and frowned. 'At the time, she was part owner in a small art gallery here in Sydney. Did you know
Louise Wearing?'
'We met a couple of times.'
'I see. Then you'll be aware she died when she was hit by a car.'
Simon nodded. 'I seem to remember reading about it in the newspaper at the time.'
'Is that all? I thought you might know a little more than what the newspapers were able to tell us.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that you know a lot more about the circumstances of Louise Wearing's death than anyone read in the newspapers.'
'Why would I? I hardly knew the woman.'
Fitzjohn sat forward in his chair, turning his pen end for end, his eyes locked on Simon Rhodes's face. 'We've spoken to a man by the name of Julian Gould. I understand you're acquainted with Mr Gould?'
'We've done business in the past.'
'Yes. In fact, Julian Gould was your accountant for a time, wasn't he?'
Rhodes nodded.
'And that's the reason,' Fitzjohn continued, 'Louise Wearing sought him out when you pressured her to become involved in the sale of stolen art.'
'That's ridiculous.' Beads of sweat appeared on Simon Rhodes brow and the right side of his face twitched as his grey eyes avoided Fitzjohn's gaze.
'Is it?' After a moment, the detective continued.
'We've also become acquainted with a man called Eric Marsh. Name ring a bell?'
'No.'
'Strange because we understand you paid Eric Marsh to stalk and kill Louise Wearing.' Betts opened a large brown envelope sitting on the table in front of him and set its contents out in front of Rhodes. Simon ran his hand across the back of his neck and swallowed hard.
'Tell me, Mr Rhodes, did you arrange Alexander Wearing's death too?'
'What?'
'Don't look so surprised. We know you blackmailed him. The question is: did you also kill him?'
As his resolve waned, Simon Rhodes held up both hands. 'All right. All right. I was involved in the theft of the painting and I did try to get Louise Wearing to sell it on, but she wasn't as stupid as I'd first thought. She knew a lot more about art than I realised. That's why I had to get rid of her. Eric was happy to oblige.'
'And Alexander Wearing?'
'I swear I didn't kill him. His wife did.'
The Celtic Dagger Page 14
