“Madam, you never cease to amaze me,” Lestrade said sincerely. “However, your fabricated scheme has left me with quite a problem, for I must now write a report that details how the confession was obtained from Mr. Blevins. I cannot do this without including your imaginary eyewitness, which of course is no eyewitness at all.”
“Then you are obliged not to write such a report, and thus be most lenient with the nearly sightless Joseph Blevins who I suspect will never again be a threat to society.”
“Are you suggesting we allow Joseph Blevins to go free?”
“I am suggesting you let justice and common sense supersede the written law.”
“After all, Inspector, it is Christmastime,” I chimed in.
Lestrade sighed resignedly. “Shall we be allowing the second lockpick, who you say is also guilty, to go free as well?”
“Only after he has provided us with the information we require,” replied Joanna.
We entered a small room quite similar to the one we had used to question Joseph Blevins. But the individual sitting behind a wooden table was altogether different than the emaciated Blevins. Archie Griffin was a large, well-built man, broad across the shoulders and middle-aged, with neatly combed gray hair. His clothes were presentable, with a colorful sports coat and white shirt that had its collar unbuttoned.
Lestrade again made the introductions, but on this occasion noted that Joanna was the daughter of Sherlock Holmes. If that fact moved Archie Griffin, he did not show it.
Joanna went directly to the point. “We know you are involved, Mr. Griffin, so do not waste our time denying it. There is evidence against you, but it is less than overwhelming and for that reason we can offer you a most lenient way to escape punishment. Tell us all and you walk out with a warning. If, on the other hand, you deceive us or omit details we deem to be important, you will be marched out of Scotland Yard in handcuffs, without saying good-bye to your wife and family.”
“I want a written statement to that effect,” Griffin insisted.
“Absurd demands will not advance your cause,” said Joanna. “If you must, speak in a third-person fashion.”
“Which will not be a confession and cannot be construed as such.”
“Obviously.”
Griffin cleared his throat, as if preparing for a formal presentation. “Let us say a friend of mine was approached by an unnamed person to pick the lock of an art gallery. It is a pricey place, so the lock will be difficult.”
“Was he informed that it was a Chubb detector lock?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe he was.”
“Would your friend be required to enter the gallery once the lock was picked?”
“That was an absolute requirement, as I recall, and that would make the job a bit dicier,” Griffin replied. “Pick and run is far more simple and less likely to end with a bad result.”
“Which translates into being discovered.”
“Exactly, for such galleries often employ security guards that patrol throughout the night. In any event, my friend, who was going through a prolonged slow period, showed some interest initially but it quickly faded when he learned the hirer was willing to pay only a single pound for the job. With that, my friend said good-bye and took his leave.”
“But only after telling the prospective buyer of a colleague who was down on his luck and would be willing to perform such work at a discounted price.”
“Quite so.”
“Be careful with your next answer,” Joanna warned. “Did this down-on-his-luck colleague have a particular handicap?”
“I was told he had a problem with his sight.”
“And finally, did your friend give a description of the hirer?”
“I cannot help you there, for they met in darkness in an alleyway next to a pub. According to my friend, the prospective hirer wore a thick scarf that covered his neck and lower face.”
“Did it carry an odor?”
“Coal tar, disgusting coal tar.”
With an approving nod, Joanna said, “Inspector Lestrade will see to your release shortly.”
Lestrade accompanied us to the front entrance of Scotland Yard and hailed a four-wheeler for us. Opening the door of the coach, he asked, “How did you know that both of the lockpicks were involved?”
“There were a number of clues indicating we were dealing with a nearly sightless individual,” Joanna replied. “These included the multiple scratches around the keyhole and the trampled flower bed indicating at least two individuals had walked over it in single file, as if one were leading the other. And then there was the cost of an experienced lockpick. The blind one would be far less expensive for obvious reasons and that would be an important consideration for our vandal who had fallen on hard times.”
“And the involvement of Archie Griffin?”
“The vandal would attempt to hire the best at first, and turn to the lesser talent when he had no other choice.”
As we rode away, I could not help but believe the man with the terrible dermatitis was the key player who was involved in every aspect of the criminal ongoings. For he was the vandal who knew the paintings and their locations, who hired the lockpicks and directed their activities, and who slashed the portraits to peer inside. And it was no doubt he who would place the hidden masterpiece on the black market and sell it to the highest bidder. Yet we were no closer to his identity than we were on day one.
“We have to put a face on the vandal,” I thought aloud.
“Agreed,” said Joanna.
“But where do we look next?”
“On the first floor of Hawke and Evans, for there is where it lies.”
“What is the basis for that conclusion?”
“The sound of turning pages the blind lockpick heard,” Joanna said, and leaning back on the headrest, she closed her eyes and drifted off.
12Delvecchio
Big Ben was striking ten when our four-wheeler reached the front entrance of Hawke and Evans. As we stepped out, we noticed two constables exiting from
