Chapter 4
They took tea in the employee lounge. Ethan paced as he sipped. Olivia wasn’t in the mood for tea, but she couldn’t refuse a slice of the lemon pound cake with poppy seeds. She was still nervous over the morning’s events. And Ethan’s pacing wasn’t helping.
Sitting on a comfortable plaid sofa, she crossed her legs and held her plate on one knee. “Tell me about this unit you work for. A division of Interpol?”
“We’re called the Elite Crimes Unit. We focus on white collar crimes, and our agents possess specialties particular to such crimes. We work with all major criminal apprehension organizations. We are an elite crew with focused skills.”
“Such as art crime?”
“Yes. Though eighteenth and nineteenth century-era forgeries are my forte.”
“Everyone in your little cadre is an art crime investigator?”
“Not at all,” he said, slowing his pace a little. “We’ve experts in weaponry and gun trade, diamond heists and money laundering, marine diving, and all sorts of cyber stuff that is beyond my kin.”
“Cyber stuff?” She set down her fork. “I’m thankful for the cyber stuff. Makes it easier to access art-crime registries and museum catalogs. Why do you think the vandal placed the forgery over the painting? Why not simply paint directly over it? Or if destruction was his ultimate goal, why not set off the bomb himself?”
“Perhaps he didn’t want to have a direct hand in such destruction, yet was perfectly willing to allow an innocent bystander to take on that task.”
Olivia being just such a bystander. But Mr. Maxwell’s accusatory tone had disappeared. He was strictly business now, which she appreciated.
“But why not steal the original?” she asked. “The vandal had opportunity. And it would have been much more valuable intact than…” She shook her head.
“Yes, that’s the troubling twist. Why not steal it? The perpetrator obviously had the time and access. I need to give this a good think. It’s related to the incident a week ago. But I can’t touch on what the motive could be.”
“Will you make sure I get all the evidence and reports for the Wexler incident?” she asked. “I’d appreciate it. Do you work out of an office?”
“No, I will be using Scotland Yard’s resources. I don’t require a desk; simply access. Which I’ve already been granted, thanks to being vetted on a few former cases.”
“Did you work with Nigel Bellows?”
“No, I don’t recall the man’s name. He wasn’t with Arts and Antiquities. Your unit tends to disappear and resurface at whim.”
Olivia sighed. “That it does. But I’m desperately attempting to keep it anchored and maintain my position.” She winced at revealing too much. But Ethan only sipped his tea, oblivious to her slip.
“Are you a nine-to-fiver?” he asked. “Or can I expect you to be available at all hours?”
“All hours. I am a detective, Mr. Maxwell. My job doesn’t stop when the supper bell rings. I assure you I am very capable.”
“I didn’t ask if you were capable. I assume that you are. And please, you may call me Ethan. I’d like to call you Olivia, if that will work for you?”
“I’d prefer a professional address when we are speaking to others.”
“Of course.” He sipped the tea, but she noticed his wince. It wasn’t as attractive as that sexy half-smile. “You don’t have to try so hard around me, you know?”
“Try what so hard?”
“To rise above the presumptions. I make no judgments about you. Until you have proven otherwise, we are on the same level. And actually, I suppose you would be my superior, since I am considered merely a consultant on this case. Though I do intend to make myself utterly indispensable.”
“I appreciate that.” She set the empty plate on the table and stood. “While they remove the painting and take it to forensics, I’d like to spend some time in the archives. Track the origins and various travels of the Byam Shaw. Also, we should be looking at security footage. Damn, we should do that now.”
Ethan set his empty tea cup on the saucer. “Indeed. Here’s to a successful partnership that results in our solving the case. Onward, Constable Lawson.”
Olivia led them out, and they checked with the goings-on near the cordoned-off gallery. The bomb squad had successfully removed the painting and declared the area clean of further explosive charges.
“We’ll have it to Scotland Yard within the hour,” the head of the bomb detection crew told Ethan, even though Olivia was the one who asked about the estimated arrival time.
“Thank you,” she said before Ethan could reply. “Howard Leeds with forensics will ride along to ensure it gets where it needs to go. Camila!” She rushed after the director and asked about access to the security footage.
“That’s the thing,” Camila said as she slowed her pace, but kept walking toward the museum offices. “We’ve no footage. There was a storm last night, and we suspect a lightning strike cut out the feed.”
“You’re missing the entire night, or only a short time period? You must have redundancy backups? CCTV?”
“We do, and security is going through those right now. But most gallery feeds were out from ten o’clock until the new shift arrived at four this morning.”
“I’ll send out someone to check the CCTV cable and video feed for the surrounding streets,” Olivia said. “Thank you, Miss Wright. Would you mind if my partner and I checked the security footage now?”
“Of course. I’ll take a few minutes to show you there. So Mr. Maxwell is your partner?”
“Yes. He is with Interpol.”
“Excellent. That makes me feel much better to know we’ve an expert on the case. Where is he?”
Blanching at the obvious dig, Olivia turned and spied Ethan wandering back into the gallery where the painting had been removed. “He’ll be along soon.”
Ethan was a curious one. An expert on forgeries who worked with an elite group that focused on all sorts of white-collar crime? Interesting. But actually a good idea, she decided. It was almost as if he were filling the position she’d once filled when she’d worked at the Hawhouse gallery and had been deputized to consult on cases. That’s all he was, a consultant.
She needn’t worry that he’d steal the case from her. The only thing in danger of being lost to the man was her better judgment and perhaps a few sighs and decadent sensual fantasies.
* * * *
Ethan and Olivia stood behind the security officer, who was seated before a four-screen display as he queued up the requested footage. Camila had left to talk to the archives director and about getting copies of the catalog featuring the Byam Shaw. All museums kept catalogs of all the works they had ever displayed or owned.
As the security guard—whose badge simply read Bob—scrolled through the footage, Ethan closed his eyes to better take in Olivia’s perfume, a mix of floral and vanilla. A soft scent, yet it exuded a deep sweetness. Her hair spilled over one eye as it fluttered to her shoulders in a tease of saucy promises. He couldn’t help but imagine putting his arm around her waist and allowing his fingers to stray down to smooth over her delicious backside. And hugging up alongside her, dipping his head against her creamy pale neck and drawing in her vanilla-flower tease as his cheek brushed her hair and soft skin.
“I took the time to review more than last night’s tapes. This is the footage from a week before the event,” Bob said as he began to stream the video.
Olivia leaned on the back of the guard’s chair, while Ethan stood to her left, seeing well enough over Bob’s head. He scrolled quickly, then slowed when a man with dark hair and non-descript clothing walked into the gallery. He stood before the Byam Shaw for a while. “This was last Thursday.”
“How long did he stand there?” Olivia asked.
“Eleven minutes,” the guard reported. “Then he returns half an hour later for about four minutes.”
They watched as the guard scrolled forward and then to three days later when the same man appeared. His face was never visible—he turned away from the camera when leaving the gallery, as if he were aware that he was being filmed.
“Do you have him on camera in any other parts of the museum?” Olivia asked.
“I’ve scanned a week of footage for the entire museum, ma’am, and I’m sorry but I didn’t see anything. I’ll keep looking if you ask me to. I could make a guess at a few men from the entrance footage, but many had their faces down or turned. These are the images of the one who shows up frequently.”
“Show us those,” Olivia said. She stepped back to wait while the guard brought up the footage. “Seems like there should be clear views of the man’s entrance on CCTV. We’ll have to requisition those tapes. Did you mark the times of the suspect’s entrance?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve done this before. I’ve made you a list and also a copy of these tapes.” He tapped a brown envelope. “They are on a flash drive. All ready for you.”
“You’re very organized and thorough. Thank you.”
“This is recorded in the archives.” He pointed to a man who again was only seen from the back, but had the same hair style and black cloth jacket from the other footage. “He stops into the archives those same days after viewing the painting.”
Ethan leaned in and tilted his head. “Pause there.” Bob stopped the tape. The man in the video had checked out a catalog. The footage was grainy at best. “Advance slowly, please?”
The guard did so. The tape moved shot by shot.
“What are you looking for?” Olivia asked.
Ethan didn’t see what he wanted to see, as the man on the screen merely pushed aside the catalog and got up to leave, keeping the back of his head to the camera.
“I was hoping we’d see a switch. Replacing the catalog with a forgery that contained the photo of the painting hanging in the gallery.”
“If he’s destroying originals, there would be no need to alter a catalog or replace it with one he’s doctored.”
“True. Just wanted to cover all the bases. Switching images in museum catalogs is a tricky way of covering up the presence of a forgery.”
“Yes, I know. The National Gallery had an issue of the sort six months ago. Photos of the forgeries had been replaced in the catalogs. A remarkable switch.”
Ethan clamped a hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Excellent work, Bob. We’ll take the copy and view it later at our leisure. How long have you worked at the Tate Britain?”
“Twenty years, sir.”
“And how many burglaries and/or vandalisms have you helped to investigate?”
The guard shrugged. “A few dozen? I feel really bad about this one. Peter was on duty last night, and wasn’t feeling well. He called me in the middle of the night, trying to get me to come in for him, but I didn’t hear the phone ring. I only just arrived around four this morning when my usual shift began.”
“The guard on duty last night was not feeling well?” Ethan raised his eyebrows at Olivia. “Did you learn what made him sick?”
“Yes, sir. I talked to him just twenty minutes ago to get his story as I was going through the tapes. He thinks it was something he ate. Ordered take-out. Chinese.”
“Hmm… What restaurant?”
“Not sure, though we all usually order from the place down the street.”
“You think the guard could have had food poisoning?” Olivia asked.
“I’d guess that,” Bob said. “He said it was a wicked few hours there.” He rubbed his stomach. “You know? Spent more time in the loo than in here.”
“So Peter could have completely missed someone entering and pinning a forgery over one of the gallery paintings,” Ethan said.
Bob shook his head.
Ethan looked to Olivia. “You fancy Chinese?”
“Not terribly. But one of us should check it out. Thank you, Bob.” As they left the security room, Olivia hooked her purse over a shoulder. “I’m heading back to Scotland Yard to look in on the evidence.”
“I’ll swing by the Chinese restaurant. I am a bit peckish.”
“After what we’ve just heard, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”