“With regard to the victim’s room, we found an artist’s easel where you would display a painting and we know the victim had purchased a painting on Wednesday of last week. So that appears to be missing.
“We've managed to track down the lady Peter Winston-Moore purchased the painting from and she has given us a photograph, taken about ten years ago when she says they redecorated the house and decided it didn’t fit in with the new décor and stored it in the loft.
“Apparently Mrs Speed and her late husband had owned the painting for more than fifty years but she needed the money to pay for some roof repairs. It was when she went up in the loft because of the leaking roof that she remembered the painting and then saw a leaflet from Peter Winston-Moore saying he was a London art dealer and would pay the highest price.
“I'm told by those that know about such things it's a picture of Salthouse Dock in Liverpool painted in 1892 by the artist John Atkinson Grimshaw. It was in an ornate gold frame that had faded a bit. According to an expert we showed a photo of the painting to, we believe it is highly valuable, possibly as much as £250,000.
“Mrs Speed said in her statement that she and her husband had purchased the painting from a dealer in London's Burlington Arcade more than fifty years ago for £100. So when she was offered £3,500 she thought she was getting a good price for it. The original dealer is no longer in business as far as we can tell.
“Mrs Speed is an old lady of eighty-seven and finds it hard to get around so I don't think we need to include her in our list of suspects. And as she lives alone and her nearest relative, a son, lives in Spain, then we just need to check he hasn't returned to the UK in the past few days. But we did speak to him on the phone yesterday and it was the first he knew about all this so it's highly unlikely, but we still need to check him out as a matter of course.
“Now, the size of the painting is quite small. It’s in a gold frame about twenty-four inches, that's sixty centimetres for our younger members by eighteen inches, forty-six centimetres. So fairly easy to carry out unnoticed. Possibly in something like a suitcase?
We don’t know where he’s hidden the painting but I’m sure we’ll find it in due course. I’m convinced we have the right man. He had the three things we always look for: means, motive and opportunity.
So it just remains for me to say thanks for all your hard work.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The unmarked police Vauxhall Insignia pulled up at the front of the O’Connor house on Fen Road. Two large dogs on leads barked and moved forward as much as the chains holding them would allow.
Eden and Tracy made their way to the front door and rang the bell. They looked around the large yard noting the various outbuildings and containers lined up across the opposite side.
The door opened.
“Hello, Sadie. Long time, no see. This is DS Tracy Archer. We’ve come to have a chat with your husband. Is he in?”
“Hello, Mr Gold. Yes. He’s been expecting you.”
Eden wasn’t sure if this was true or simply a remark to put him off guard. After all, he knew just how cunning every member of this family could be.
“Can you take off your shoes in the hallway?”
It was more of a command than a request.
As they walked the long hallway and through to the kitchen, they passed an open door to the lounge, and both detectives were struck by how neat and tidy everything was. Not a single item out of place. The kitchen was the same. Everything spick and span.
Every traveller’s home Eden Gold had ever visited was the same. No mess, nothing out of place and so clean it would put even a top five-star hotel in the shade.
Over the years, as he had visited the homes of many people who were unemployed and at home all day he had wondered why, if they had all that time on their hands, they didn’t have time to make their homes neat and tidy. Usually the house was a complete tip.
Travelling people had their faults but cleanliness was not one of them. Of course some would argue about the mess with fly tipping that a lot of travellers caused. But inside their homes was a different matter entirely.
As they reached the kitchen, sitting at a table big enough to seat ten people and set in the centre of the spacious room was the portly figure of fifty-year-old Kevin O’Connor. He didn’t get up.
“Mr Gold. Good to see you. And who’s this you’ve brought with you?”
“Hello, Kevin. This is DS Tracy Archer.”
“Please sit down. Sadie, offer our guests a drink.”
“What would you like, Mr Gold?”
“A cup of tea, milk but no sugar would be lovely.”
“And for you, DS Archer?”
“Yes, a cup of tea if it’s no trouble.”
“No trouble at all.”
“So, what can I help you with today, Mr Gold?”
“The chief constable has asked me to come here and personally thank you.”
“Has he now. What for?”
“He says if we could prove all the crimes you’re responsible for he would have to make at least a dozen police officers redundant.”
“Ha Ha. You’re a very funny man, Mr Gold. What’s the real reason?”
“On Wednesday of last week I understand you and your two lads were drinking at the Five Bells pub in Hopworth? There was an incident that started inside the pub. A local schoolteacher called Barry Turner walked to his car but never made it. He’s in hospital still unconscious and on life support. The doctors have informed his family that he is not expected to make a full recovery. In all probability he will be 'severely disabled' with 'significant brain injuries'. A witness tells us three men matching your
