Nothing Ventured(46)
Leigh continued to stare at William, no longer smoking.
“May I ask you a question that has nothing to do with our inquiry?”
Leigh nodded.
“I can’t work out how you managed the yellow effect on the Syndics’ sashes.”
It was some time before Leigh said, “Egg yolk.”
“Yes, of course, how stupid of me,” said William, well aware that Rembrandt had experimented with the yolks of gulls’ eggs when mixing his pigments.
“But why didn’t you add Rembrandt’s familiar RvR? That was the one thing that made me realize it wasn’t the original.”
Leigh took another drag on his cigarette, but this time he didn’t respond, probably fearing he’d already gone too far. William waited for a few more moments, before he accepted that Leigh wasn’t going to answer any more questions.
“Thank you. I’d just like to say what an honor it’s been to meet you.”
Leigh ignored him, looked at Lamont, and said, “Can I have another fag?”
“Keep the packet,” said Lamont, before he turned and nodded to SO Langley, to indicate that the interview was over.
Langley joined them in the glass box. “Back to your cell, Leigh, and be sharp about it.”
Leigh rose slowly from his place, put the packet of cigarettes in his pocket, then leaned across the table and shook hands with William. Lamont couldn’t hide his surprise. Nobody spoke until Leigh had left the room.
“There can’t be any doubt he painted the copy,” said Lamont, “which makes me all the more convinced it was Faulkner who was responsible for the theft. Did you notice that Leigh’s hands trembled at just the mention of his name? Congratulations, William.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And Reg, are you still listening in on Leigh’s telephone conversations?”
“Yes. Every Thursday evening, six o’clock, and always to his wife.”
“Any further mention of the Picasso?” asked William.
“Not a dicky bird,” said Reg.
“Of course not,” said Lamont. “Leigh wouldn’t risk repeating the message twice, so the Hawk will have to decide if that is enough for us to mount a full operation.”
“I would,” said William.
“You haven’t got his job yet, laddie.”
* * *
The first thing William did after they’d returned to Scotland Yard was to look up a number in the S–Z telephone directory.
“This is Detective Constable Warwick,” he told the girl who answered the phone. “Can you tell me if an Edward Leigh was ever a student at the Slade? It would probably have been around the early 1960s.”
“Give me a moment, Mr. Warwick, and I’ll look up the name.” A few minutes later she came back on the line. “Yes, he graduated with honors in 1962. In fact, he won the founder’s prize that year, and his one-man show was a sellout.”
“Thank you, that’s most helpful.” William put the phone down, and smiled after he checked another file that confirmed Faulkner had attended the Slade between 1960 and 1963. Fred Yates had taught him never to believe in coincidences.
William spent the next hour writing up his report on the visit to Pentonville. After putting it on Lamont’s desk, he checked his watch. Although it was only 5:30, he felt he could leave before the light under the Hawk’s door was switched off.
He grabbed his coat and was about to slink out when Jackie said, “Have a good weekend. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks,” said William, who couldn’t wait to see Beth, and tell her there was just a possibility she might be reunited with the other man in her life.
Back at his room in Trenchard House, he showered and changed into more casual clothes. He was looking forward to a weekend of debauchery. Well, his idea of debauchery—a meal at Elena’s, a couple of glasses of red wine, a run around Hyde Park in the morning, and the latest film in the evening—anything that didn’t have cops in it—and tucked up in bed with Beth by eleven.
He decided to walk to Beth’s so he could pick up some flowers on the way. By the time he reached her front door, he could feel his heartbeat quickening. He knocked twice and a moment later Jez appeared, looked at the flowers, and said, “Are those for me?”
“You wish.”
“But Beth’s gone away for the weekend.”
“What? I thought that—”
“She asked me to apologize. Something came up at the last minute. She’ll call you as soon as she gets back.”
“Then they are for you,” said William, thrusting the flowers into his hands.
Jez watched as the forlorn suitor turned around and walked slowly away, shoulders slumped. He closed the door and returned to the sitting room, where he handed the flowers to Beth and said, “Don’t you think it’s time you told him the truth?”
18
Beth phoned William at home on Sunday night to apologize, explaining that she’d had to visit a friend in hospital, and she’d been nervous about calling him at work.
“Of course you can ring if it’s something important enough to deprive me of sleep,” said William.
“Can you come to supper tomorrow?”