Nothing Ventured (Detective William Warwick 1)

‘I’m afraid so, sir, but then Christina has never shown any real interest in my collection, other than how much it was worth. Which in this case was five thousand pounds.’

‘Mr Faulkner,’ said the judge, looking closely at the painting, ‘how can a layman like myself be sure this is a copy and not the original?’

‘By looking at the bottom right-hand corner, My Lord. If this was the original, you would see Rembrandt’s initials, RvR. He rarely left a painting unsigned. To be fair, that’s something else my wife was unaware of.’

‘While I accept your explanation, Mr Faulkner,’ said Booth Watson, ‘I am still at a loss to know how the original, now safely back in the Fitzmolean, came into your possession.’

‘To understand that, Mr Booth Watson, you have to first accept that I am well known as a collector throughout the art world. Each year I receive hundreds of unsolicited catalogues for art exhibitions, as well as several requests to buy paintings, often from old families who do not want anyone to know that they are experiencing financial difficulties.’

‘Do you ever buy any of these works?’

‘Very rarely. I’m far more likely to make my purchases from a respected dealer or an established auction house.’

‘But that still doesn’t explain how the original Rembrandt came into your possession.’

‘A few weeks ago someone offered to sell me a painting that he claimed was a Rembrandt. As soon as he described the work, I knew it had to be the one stolen from the Fitzmolean.’

‘Why did you make that assumption?’ asked the judge.

‘It’s almost unknown, My Lord, for a Rembrandt to come on the market

. Almost all of his works are owned by national museums or galleries. Very few are still in private hands.’

‘So if you knew the painting was stolen,’ said Booth Watson, ‘why did you have anything to do with it?’

‘I confess that I couldn’t resist the challenge. However, when I was told I would have to travel to Naples to view the painting, I realized it had to be the Camorra who had stolen it. I should have walked away. But like a footballer who’s convinced he’s about to score the winning goal, I charged on.’

Booth Watson had never cared much for that particular metaphor but ran with it. ‘And did you score the winning goal?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Faulkner. ‘I flew to Naples, where I was met by a smartly dressed young lawyer accompanied by a couple of thugs who never once opened their mouths. I was then driven to a run-down part of town which is a no-go area, even for the police. I’ve never seen such poverty in my life. And the only pictures on the walls of the tenement blocks were either of the Virgin Mary or the pope. I was taken down a long flight of stone steps into a dimly lit basement, where there was a large painting propped up against the wall. I only needed one look, to know it was the real thing.’

‘What happened next?’

‘The bargaining began, and it quickly became clear they wanted to be rid of the painting, so we settled on a hundred thousand dollars. I knew, and they knew, that it was worth a hundred times that amount, but they weren’t exactly overwhelmed with potential buyers. I told them I would hand over the money the day the painting was returned to the Fitzmolean. They said they’d be in touch, but didn’t even offer to drive me back to the airport. I had to walk some distance before I came across a taxi.’

‘And when you got back home, did you tell anyone about your experience?’

‘I had to share what I’d been through with someone, so I foolishly told Christina. I never thought she’d take advantage of it, and even lie under oath.’

‘And the gentlemen you’d met in Italy didn’t keep to their side of the bargain and return the picture to the Fitzmolean.’

‘The Camorra rarely stray beyond their own territory,’ said Faulkner. ‘I heard nothing for over a month, so I assumed the deal must be off.’

The judge made a note.

‘But it wasn’t?’

‘No. The two thugs who I’d met at the airport turned up at my home in Monte Carlo in the middle of the night with the painting, and demanded their hundred thousand dollars. One of them was brandishing a knife.’

‘You must have been terrified.’

‘I was. Especially when they told me they would first slit the throats of the six Syndics, one by one, and then mine if I didn’t pay up.’

The judge made another note.

‘You had a hundred thousand dollars cash on hand?’

‘Most people who want to sell me one of their family heirlooms, Mr Booth Watson, don’t expect to leave with a cheque.’