“Good morning, Officers,” Joanna greeted and, pointing to the alleyway, asked, “Is there some problem which brings you here this morning?”
“A minor disturbance, madam,” the taller of the constables replied. “Late last night, a security guard within the gallery thought he heard a knock on the side door. In order to investigate, he went to a barred window and shined his light into the alleyway. There was nothing to be seen, so he continued on his nightly rounds and gave it no further concern.”
“He must have had some worry, for he reported the incident,” said Joanna.
“Not to us, but to Mr. Hawke who then called us, for he wishes to take no chance that his gallery will be vandalized yet again.”
“I take it you investigated the side door.”
“We did indeed, and found nothing of interest.”
“In that case we will detain you no further.”
“Very good, madam.”
Joanna watched the constables stroll away and, when they were well out of hearing distance, said, “Let us have a quick look.”
We walked carefully down the alleyway and searched for anything out of order, but there were no signs that someone had come and gone or caused mischief in the narrow passageway. The door and its lock showed no evidence of damage or forced entry. But it was the barred window that drew Joanna’s attention. I saw nothing of interest other than the thick iron bars that were heavily rusted.
“You will note that the small window is a good fifteen feet away from the side door.”
“And?” asked I.
“And there is no way the security guard’s torch could have illuminated that door,” Joanna answered.
“But surely the vandal would not have knocked to announce his presence.”
“He would have if he wished to determine if there was a guard on duty.”
I had to smile at Joanna’s conclusion which both the constables and I overlooked. “The light shining through the window would have been a sure sign.”
“Which could have been seen at a distance, should the guard have decided to crack open the door and peer out.”
“So it would seem our vandal is determined to break into the gallery yet again.”
“Which tells us he firmly believes that this is where the masterpiece he so desperately wants is hidden.”
We hurried along to the front entrance and entered a deserted art gallery. There was not a single person to be seen, despite the Christmas season and the throngs of shoppers on the street. A slender, middle-aged clerk stepped out of the shadows to greet us as potential customers, but upon recognizing us and knowing our purpose she quickly retreated.
In a small office at the rear of the display room, we found Simon Hawke holding up a painting to the light for careful inspection.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” he remarked and placed the canvas on a stand beside his desk. “It is entitled Crucifixion for obvious reasons.”
The painting showed Christ on the cross, with his wounds spurting blood that was being collected by small, angelic figures hovering above. People gathered at the bottom of the cross, including the Virgin Mary, were clearly in mourning.
“It was painted by Bernardo Daddi, an early Italian Renaissance artist of some note,” Hawke went on. “Unfortunately, his work has never been of great value, and this particular work has been devalued because of the badly faded angels collecting the blood of Christ. With appropriate restoration, it would become more desirable.”
“So the painting is here for a restoration?” Joanna asked.
Hawke nodded, his eyes still on the canvas. “But we are so far behind, it may well take months before Delvecchio can give it his attention.”
Joanna moved in for a closer look. “I see the Virgin Mary at the bottom of the painting is also noticeably faded.”
Hawke nodded again. “She, too, will need retouching.”
Joanna inquired, “Was this painting in the gallery the night the vandal broke in?”
“It was, awaiting restoration,” Hawke replied. “Why do you ask?”
“Because for some reason the vandal decided not to deface the feminine figure of the Virgin Mary,” Joanna noted and gave the matter more thought as she restudied the painting. “Perhaps because it was not a true portrait.”
“Perhaps.”
“Are the areas to be restored recorded in detail?”
“Oh, yes. We note and list every defect, including fading, scratches, creases, and so on. The cataloging is done in the presence of the owner and the restorer, with me standing as a witness. The document avoids any dispute once the restoration is complete.”
“Done in duplicate, I would think.”
“Most certainly, with one belonging to the owner, the other remaining here.” Hawke reached over to his desk for a large, metal ring folder, with a sturdy cardboard cover. He opened it and pointed to a front page that lay atop a stack of others. “On the Crucifixion, for example, we meticulously described the color and fading of the flying angelic figures.”
“Who actually writes the description?”
“The restorer, for he knows the words and terms that fit best.”
Joanna examined the page, paying particular scrutiny to the signatures. Then she turned to the next underlying document and the one after. “Do all these documents pertain to paintings awaiting restoration?”
“Some refer to those waiting, but most are records of those completed over the past few years.”
“Each nicely documented,” Joanna noted, and gestured to another similar, metal ring folder that lay close by. “Does that also record restorations done by Hawke and Evans?”
“No, madam. That folder holds the receipts for paintings I have sold to other galleries who have a client for such work,” Hawke replied. “The price is clearly noted, for on occasion the purchasing gallery may wish to return the painting if their client reneges. With such a receipt in hand, there can be no dispute as to the amount paid.”
“Quite wise,” Joanna said, and quickly flipped through the pages which were much smaller than the restoration documents. “Such details are always of importance.”
“Do you believe the receipts may somehow relate to the acts of vandalism?” asked Hawke.
“Only if
