Nothing Ventured (Detective William Warwick 1)

‘I’d wait until you meet the man before you jump to that conclusion. We’re not dealing with an art lover here, but someone who would shop his own mother, if it meant he would get off.’

‘What else do we know about Faulkner?’ asked William, chastened.

This time it was DS Roycroft who opened a file. ‘Born in Sevenoaks in 1942, the only child of an estate agent and a hairdresser. Although that isn’t what he tells his friends at the golf club. Awarded an open scholarship to Harrow at the age of eleven, and in his final year he won the school’s art prize. After leaving Harrow, he took up a place at the Slade School of Art, but soon realized that although he was one of the brightest students of his year, he was, to quote the principal’s graduation report, never going to make a living as an artist. They recommended that he consider a career in teaching. He ignored their advice.’

‘By the time he left the Slade,’ said Lamont, taking over, ‘he’d worked out exactly what role he was going to play in the art world. But he needed to gain some experience before he could branch out on his own. He joined a leading West End gallery as a trainee, where he learnt how much money could be made in the art world, especially if you were unscrupulous. He was sacked after a couple of years in circumstances that we’re not altogether sure about, although we do know that no other gallery would employ him. For some time he disappeared off the scene, until a Salvador Dalí went missing from the Courtauld, long before the Art and Antiques squad had been set up.’

‘What makes you think he was involved in that theft?’ asked William.

‘We picked him up on a surveillance camera taking a photograph of the painting a month before it was stolen. A mistake he hasn’t made since,’ said Hawksby.

‘And he must have made a good enough profit from that deal, among others, because once again he disappeared off our radar until the Rembrandt was stolen from the Fitzmolean some seven years ago. But on that occasion Mr Booth Watson was unable to reach a deal with the insurers, which looks like his only failure to date. Although the manner in which he carried out the theft would have impressed even Thomas Crown.’

William didn’t interrupt.

‘A squad car turned up outside the Fitzmolean on a Saturday afternoon just after the gallery had closed. Two men dressed as policemen entered the museum claiming an alarm had gone off, coshed the doorman and tied him up. Ten minutes later, they walked out of the front door with the Rembrandt tucked under their arms.’

‘Where were the security guards?’

‘They said they were patrolling the top floor and didn’t report back to the ground floor until half an hour later, at 4.48 p.m.’

‘Is 4.48 relevant?’ asked William.

‘He’s sharp,’ said Lamont.

‘Manchester United were playing Liverpool in the FA Cup that afternoon, and the match was being shown live on BBC1. The final whistle went at 4.46.’

‘Where was the television?’ asked William.

‘In the staff canteen in the basement,’ said Lamont, ‘which I suspect Faulkner was well aware of, because the thieves arrived just after the whistle blew for the start of the second half, and we later discovered that both guards were Manchester United supporters, which I’ve no doubt Faulkner knew only too well.’

‘If the devil’s in the detail, he’s the devil,’ added Hawksby.

‘So now you know what we’re up against,’ said DS Roycroft. ‘A highly professional, well-organized criminal, who only has to steal one major painting every few years to live the life of Riley, and can carry out the whole operation in a matter of minutes.’

‘I must have missed something,’ said William. ‘Why didn’t Booth Watson make a deal with the insurers and settle the claim soon after Faulkner had stolen the Rembrandt?’

‘The Fitzmolean were lamentably under-insured. A problem several leading galleries face at the moment. Their paintings and sculptures have soared in value over the years, and they simply can’t afford to insure them for realistic sums.’

‘However,’ chipped in Lamont, ‘the setback will have taught Faulkner one lesson. Don’t steal from galleries that aren’t fully insured or don’t have sufficient resources to offer a reward.’

‘Any questions, Warwick?’ said Hawksby.

‘Yes, sir,’ said William. ‘We now know that the Rembrandt you thought was the original is in fact a copy.’

‘What’s your point?’ said Jackie, still smarting from her mistake.

‘Someone must have painted that copy.’

‘Faulkner perhaps?’ suggested Lamont. ‘After all, he began life as an art student.’

‘Not if the Slade’s opinion of his talent is to be believed. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t know an artist who was capable of doing the job. They might well have been contemporaries at the Slade.’

‘If that’s the case,’ said Lamont, ‘you’re the obvious man to find out who that person is.’

‘Agreed,’ said Commander Hawksby, checking his watch. ‘Do you have any more questions, DC Warwick?’

‘Just one, sir. How did you get hold of the copy?’