where no one ever wanted to be.
‘I bet he’s worth a lot, though/ said Murfin. ‘Thousands/
‘I’ve no idea/
‘How old would you say?’
‘A century or two, that’s all/ said Cooper.
Kessen cleared his throat. The room gradually fell silent.
‘I know what you’re all wondering/ he said. ‘I’ve decided to call him Fred/
The DCI smiled without showing his teeth. The expression lacked humour. In fact, it looked more like a challenge to anyone who might dare to laugh.
‘Oh, my good Lord/ said Murfin quietly.
Using both hands because of its weight, Kessen held up one of the evidence bags. It was made of clear plastic, and everyone could see what was inside it. There was also a large colour photograph of the item pinned up on one of the notice boards.
141
‘An antique bronze bust/ said the DCI. ‘This was found in a vehicle belonging to the victim, Neil Granger. The vehicle in question is a Volkswagen Beetle, which had been left parked in a layby on the A628, a few hundred yards down the hill from where Mr Granger’s body was found.’
The bust was about nine inches high, with a dull green patina, and stood on a solid base. It represented the head of a man with a Roman nose, curly hair and a rather forked beard. Whoever he was, he gazed with blank eyes into the room. Cooper was reminded of a corpse he had once seen on the dissection table at the mortuary - a homeless Irishman who had been killed in a hit and-run incident and left in a ditch. The Irishman’s hair had been black, but his face had carried a similar green tinge.
‘We know that there have been a number of burglaries from homes in the Longdendale area during the last few months/ said Kessen. ‘During these burglaries, small antique items have been taken. This is a small antique item.’
The bust was heavy, and it landed with a thump when he rested it back on the table.
‘Initial enquiries into Neil Granger’s circumstances and his asso. ciates suggest that he may not have come into possession of this item in the normal manner.’
Kessen hesitated, and looked at the faces of some of the officers in the back row with an expression of disappointment.
‘We think it may have been stolen/ he said.
‘Are we going to put photos of the bust in the media, sir?’ asked one officer.
‘Not just yet.’
‘We could get a quick identification that way, if the legitimate owner comes forward. Someone would be sure to recognize it if they saw it on TV or in the papers. It’s very distinctive.’
‘But we would also tip off the thieves that we have it/ said Kessen. The don’t want to do that yet. That’s a fact we’re going to keep to ourselves. Understood, everybody?’
There were nods, and a few shifty looks from officers who might already have mentioned the bronze bust to their wives or husbands.
‘We do have a bit of information about this item/ said Kessen. ‘DI Kitchens will fill us in.’
‘Well, we e-mailed pictures of the bust to a couple of experts yesterday and asked them to give it the once- over/ said Kitchens.
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‘Apparently, it’s a copy of an original in marble that can be found in a museum in Florence. The character with the curly hair and beard is Lucius Verrus, an obscure Roman emperor. Closer to home, though, there’s a larger copy of this in Chatsworth House. That’s the Duke of Devonshire’s stately home, a few miles east of here.’
‘f think we know what Chatsworth House is,’ said Kessen.
Gavin Murfin put his hand up. ‘Have Chatsworth had any antiques lifted recently?’ he said. ‘I mean, f went in there once with the wife and kids, and the bloody place was stuffed with them. You could hardly move for antiques. God knows what the old Duke’s insurance premiums must be like.’
Thank you, Murfin,’ said Kitchens, with an uneasy glance at the DCI.
‘In fact, while we were there, I said to the wife that if I ever got kicked off the force I thought I’d go into the antiques trade. I could train the kids to sneak a few bits of china and silver out of Chatsworth now and then, and they’d never be missed. The place is massive. In fact, can you believe there was no one even living in the part of the house that we went in? So how would they know what they’ve got, and what they haven’t? Someone could make a mint that way, I reckon.’
‘Gavin …’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘We’re investigating a suspicious death/ said Kitchens. ‘Not planning The Italian Job.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Are there prints on the bust, sir?’ asked Cooper.
‘Yes, the victim’s. Neil Granger’s.’
‘He left his fingerprints on it? That’s a bit amateurish, if he’s involved in an organized gang.’
‘Well, they always make a mistake.’
‘Everybody knows not to leave fingerprints these days. It doesn’t feel right.’
