‘Yes please.’
Beaufort described the events just as Gilbey had done, emphasising the innocence of Gilbey’s behaviour and the inappropriate intervention by Betty Zielinski. ‘She really was very confused, you know,’he said.‘She seemed to have it in her mind that the girl was her child-she referred to her as “mine”.’
‘That was the first time you met Tracey? Did you see her again?’
‘Yes, a couple of days later. According to my diary I had another sitting with Gilbey on the Friday, the third, so it was probably then. It was a pleasant sunny afternoon, and I took a stroll in the square after my sitting. The little girl was coming home from the school in the corner of the square there, and I said hello. We exchanged a few words.’
‘Like what?’
‘I really can’t remember. Nothing of any substance. Just hello.’
‘Anything else?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Did anything else happen while you were talking to her?’
‘I can’t remember anything, no.’
‘Take your time to think.’
‘I don’t need time to think,’ Beaufort snapped, and for the first time he sounded defensive. He realised it, too, and when Brock didn’t say anything to fill the awkward silence that followed, he added, calm returning to his voice,‘There was nothing else I can recall.’
‘All right, so that was the second time you met Tracey. And the third?’
‘There was no third time.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
Beaufort hesitated. ‘I believe I may have glimpsed her once in the gallery, when I was with Fergus Tait.’
‘Glimpsed? Did you speak to her?’
‘No. I’m not even sure it was her.’
‘Very well, now I’d like you to tell us about each of your meetings with Betty Zielinski.’
Beaufort gave an exasperated click of his tongue, a well-practised signal to dilatory counsel. ‘Is that really necessary?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘To what end, Chief Inspector?’ Beaufort demanded acidly, but Brock refused to be ruffled. ‘We’ll get to that,’ he said, and the judge saw that he would have to comply. He had seen her twice, to his recollection, once in Gilbey’s studio and once in the street, when she was being pursued by school children. Once again, Brock didn’t challenge the judge’s account, but asked him to go through the same process with Stan Dodworth, whom he remembered meeting a couple of times, in Fergus Tait’s company, at The Pie Factory, when Tait had shown him Dodworth’s work. ‘But I wasn’t interested. I haven’t yet got to the point of regarding authentic art and bad taste as synonymous. After that appalling effort of his with the Princess Di sculpture, I was surprised that Tait bothered with him. He was obviously sick.’
‘What about Gabriel Rudd?’ Brock asked.
‘I knew him by reputation, of course, after he won the Turner, and I have to say that of all Tait’s stable Rudd is probably the only one I’d regard as having any talent. Tait tried to interest me in buying something of his, too, but I thought him far too expensive-although in view of what’s happened that was probably a mistake; I dare say his value has doubled overnight. Tait introduced him to me once, when I was having dinner with friends at the restaurant. Rudd was very drunk, and made a fool of himself.’ Beaufort pointedly looked at his watch.‘Is that it?’
But Brock still had other names, other connections, which he wanted to explore. He showed Beaufort a photograph of Patrick Abbott. The judge stared at it without blinking.‘The face seems familiar, but I can’t recall…’
‘His name’s Patrick Abbott.’
‘Ah, the man who fell from that building. No, I don’t believe he ever appeared in my court.’
‘But you visited the place where he lived, didn’t you?’
Beaufort looked startled.‘How…?’He recovered himself and his eyes narrowed, gazing more thoughtfully at Brock.‘I did drive past there after he fell, out of curiosity.’
‘Were you ever there before?’
‘No, I certainly was not. You’re fishing, Chief Inspector, without a hook. I can’t see the point.’
Brock produced another photograph.
‘Ah.’ The judge gave a grim smile.‘We finally get to the point. Robert John Wylie.’
‘What can you tell me about him?’
‘I’m sure you know more about him than I do. You’ve had him in custody for over a week now, haven’t you? What has he been saying about me?’
‘I’d like to hear your version.’
‘He appeared before me five or six years ago with three other men on a variety of charges. Unfortunately the crown case against him was weak and I was forced to dismiss it.’
‘Had you ever met him before then?’
Beaufort and Brock stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then the judge said,‘He’s told you so, has he? Yes, I see that he has. Very well.’He cleared his throat with the air of a boxer easing a muscle before the next round.‘Two years before he appeared in my court, I had occasion to do some business with Mr Wylie. I bought something from him.’
‘What was it?’
‘That’s not relevant.’
‘Oh, but it is,’ Brock said softly. ‘You know it is. How much did you pay?’
Beaufort’s chin rose a little.‘Eight hundred pounds.’
‘Wylie has made a statement that you bought obscene pictures of children.’
Beaufort flinched. The effort required to contain his anger was apparent in the taut muscles of his mouth.‘That is not true.’
‘Maybe not, but the fact that Wylie places himself at risk of prosecution by making the statement lends it a certain credibility, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Robert Wylie is a devious and evil man who would say anything that suited his purposes. About a week ago, just after he was arrested, a solicitor by the name of Russell Clifford made an appointment to see me on what he described as a private matter. When he arrived he told me that he was acting for Wylie who, he said, had been arrested on serious charges, of which he was innocent. He told me that Wylie believed that, because of our past association, as he put it, I might be willing to exert my influence to put a stop to this miscarriage of justice. To help me in this, Wylie had asked him to give me an envelope. He claimed he didn’t know what it contained. Inside were two photocopies, one of a photograph of me in Wylie’s shop and the other of the credit card slip I’d signed that day…’
Beaufort paused as Brock placed the two copies in front of him.
‘Yes, that’s them. I returned the envelope to Clifford and told him that there was nothing I could or would do for his client, and that if he attempted to contact me again I would inform the police.’
Brock said,‘You’d seen these before, hadn’t you?’
Beaufort looked stonily at him. ‘Yes. The day before Wylie’s trial began, five years ago, I received copies anonymously. It made absolutely no difference to my conduct of the trial, although Wylie may have believed otherwise.’
‘You’re saying that Wylie twice tried to blackmail you with these and that twice you failed to report it?’
‘Yes. An error of judgement, perhaps, but not a crime.’
‘An astonishing error of judgement for someone in your position,’Brock goaded gently.‘Almost beyond belief.’
‘Don’t presume to lecture me about judgement, sir!’ Beaufort’s anger finally burst into the open. ‘I had very good reasons for my decision.’
‘You were protecting a friend.’
The judge stiffened as if he’d been kicked. ‘How… how did you know that?’
