a magazine, to Beaufort. It was also possible to make out a title on the magazine, Tiny Tots. The second document was a photocopy of an eight-year-old credit card slip made out for ‘goods’to the value of eight hundred pounds. The customer was John R. Beaufort, and the vendor Cupid’s Arrow Adult Shop.
‘That’s a lot of dirty books.’
‘Oh yes,’ Wylie gave a nasty little smile. ‘They were special.’
‘Does Beaufort know you have this?’
‘I sent him a copy a couple of years later, when I needed a favour.’
‘And did he oblige?’
‘Yes, a bit of bother with the law. He sorted it out. But now.. . now he knows I could be a problem for him, don’t you see? That’s why I’m helping you.’
‘You’re not serious about Beaufort killing the sculptor, Dodworth?’
‘He wouldn’t do it himself, but he had it done.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Dodworth set it up for him, with the little girl. He knew too much, just like I do.’
‘What about the old woman?’
‘She was there in the square that day, feeding the birds, when I took that picture of Beaufort and the girl. She saw them too, and she charged over and told him to leave her alone. She was crazy. I reckon she’d seen him at it before. And now there’s another killing. Who was it this time?’
‘The girl’s father.’ Brock watched Wylie’s reaction carefully. He seemed genuinely shocked. ‘He was attacked at home. It was very violent, I understand. DI Gurney’s in charge.’
‘But he’s only an inspector. You’re senior to him. You’ve got rank.’
‘He’s got friends, the support of people higher up. He’s on the fast track, making a name for himself. I don’t fancy your chances with him, Wylie. I don’t think he’ll lift a finger to help you.’
‘You’ve got to save me.’
‘Then you’ve got to give me the means. By themselves these bits of paper prove nothing and the photographs would be dismissed. What I need is you, on record, telling the story that goes with them. I need you to make a state-ment, to me and DI Gurney, on camera confirming that you took those photographs, describing the circumstances, just as you’ve told it to me.’
‘It’d be my death warrant.’
‘I’ll look after you. Gurney and his friends won’t be able to sweep it under the carpet if you go on the record with me present. Then I’ll have something to work with.’
Wylie bit his lip, glanced at his solicitor. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’
‘Don’t take too long. Gurney won’t wait.’
‘And the emails? You’ll stop them?’
‘I can’t promise. That’s a chance you’ll have to take.’ Brock got to his feet. ‘Five minutes, that’s all you’ve got.’ He turned and walked out.
He went to the monitoring room where Bren was watching Wylie and his lawyer on a screen.‘We should go on the stage,’ Bren said.‘Do you think he’ll agree?’
‘That depends on how genuine he is about being afraid of the judge.’
‘He looked pretty genuine to me.’
‘Maybe, but he’s still not telling us the whole story. He just happened to be at the gallery with a camera and caught Beaufort red-handed? I don’t think so. If the pictures are genuine, then Beaufort was set up. The question is why, and who else was involved. But for the moment, all I want is for him to admit that he took those pictures, then I can tie him to the camera in his flat that he says he’s never seen before.’
‘Not to mention going for the judge,’ Bren said. ‘If Wylie goes on the record, you’ll have no option but to act.’
‘Yes, that too.’
On the screen they seemed to have reached a decision. They watched Clifford get to his feet and go over to the door, asking the guard outside for DCI Brock. When Brock arrived he said, ‘My client agrees to do as you ask. He has to rely on your good faith to keep the other side of the bargain.’ Good faith the phrase made Brock uncomfortable. There was no good faith on either side of this bargain. He said,‘I’ll get DI Gurney.’
They resumed their double act, Brock coaxing, Bren feigning disbelief, but stopping short of anything that could be interpreted as outright deception on camera, and Wylie repeated the story he’d told Brock, complete with dates and times.
Kathy found what she’d been looking for on the twelfth page of the appendix, with the following entry:
Death Steals the Child at Midnight, 1792, oil on canvas,
47.6 x 35.4 cm, Soane Museum, London. Engraved by William Bromley (1769-1842). Imprint: Published 5th December 1802, by F.J. Du Roveray, London. Inscription (bottom left) Painted by H. Fuseli R.A. / (bottom right) Engraved by W. Bromley.
There was no illustration or description of the painting or the engraving copied from it, but the title was very evocative. Was this the picture that had inspired the image on Gabe’s first banner?
Kathy closed the book and then her eyes. Perhaps she was becoming obsessive too, haunted by ghosts as Gabe had been.
26
Detective Inspector Tom Reeves delivered Sir Jack Beaufort to the door of the Shoreditch police station precisely on time. The judge had said little on the journey, sitting rigidly upright, face as impassive as a Roman bust, hands crossed on the attache case on his knees. He marched through the front door with the air of an inspecting general and was shown to the interview room with more careful deference than any of his predecessors along that route had ever received. Conscious of his own reputation as one of the country’s sharpest legal brains, he had thought it superfluous to bring a legal representative.
Standing stiffly in the small room, Brock introduced himself and Bren as if they were all complete strangers, then recited the caution. They took their seats and all three of them, Brock, Bren and Sir Jack, drew small black notebooks out of their pockets at the same moment. Sir Jack unscrewed the cap of a Mont Blanc pen and began writing.
Brock said, ‘I’m sorry to bring you here, sir, but there are a few things we need to clarify.’
If it was intended to be conciliatory it wasn’t received as such. Beaufort raised cold eyes to Brock and said,‘I heard the news-the shocking news-this morning about Gabriel Rudd. Are you quite sure that this is the best use of your time and resources?’
Brock sensed the anger beneath the sarcasm, and saw it as his best hope. He replied with studied patience. ‘As I said, I believe you can help us clarify one or two things.’
‘I have two conditions. One, I want a copy of the recording of this interview.’
Brock said,‘Agreed.’
‘Two,’Beaufort’s tone became harsher,‘I want to know if you’ve cleared this with your superiors, and if so, what their names are.’
‘Commander Sharpe has authorised this interview,’ Brock replied, unperturbed.‘That’s Sharpe with an “e”.’
‘I see.’ Beaufort wrote in his notebook. ‘Very well, go on.’ He had automatically assumed the role of presiding authority.
‘I’d like you to tell us about each and every occasion on which you met or saw the missing girl, Tracey Rudd. I have a photograph of her here to help you.’ Brock took an enlargement of Tracey’s picture from his file and placed it on the table. For a moment the judge stared down at the bright blue eyes, the curly blonde hair, the shy smile, then he looked up.
‘I saw her on the afternoon of the first of October, at the house of the painter Reg Gilbey, in Northcote Square. I believe Gilbey has already explained the circumstances to you, and I mentioned it again to one of your officers, Sergeant Kolla, yesterday. Do you want me to repeat it?’
