Pauline Rowson - A Killing Coast

Uckfield snorted. Horton beat a hasty retreat before the Super could voice his opinions about that, and before he could ask what Cantelli was working on.

An hour and a half later Horton was pulling up outside Hazleton’s house, where a patrol car was sitting on the driveway. He nodded at the officer outside and found the other officer with Oliver Vernon in the lounge.

‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ Vernon said brightly, shaking Horton’s hand.

‘That good, eh?’

‘I’d say,’ he enthused, crossing to the mantelpiece. ‘Take this.’ He pointed to a black wooden glass-fronted box on the mantelpiece that contained a thermometer and had a gold clock with roman numerals mounted above it. ‘It’s an antique French Empire clock, and is absolutely beautiful, not to mention in pristine condition.’ He touched it almost sensuously. ‘It was made around 1820 and its seconds dial and thermometer make it unique. For a collector it could fetch up to five thousand pounds, maybe more. And look at this pair of Famille Rose vases either side of it. Exquisite. May I?’

Horton nodded. Vernon lifted one of the small vases and handled it delicately while inspecting it. It was just over a foot high. Horton saw that it was decorated with Chinese characters in a fenced garden amidst rocks, blossoming trees and floral sprays.

‘This is amazing,’ Vernon breathed. ‘I can hardly believe it. Early twentieth century, Chinese. Could fetch anything up to forty thousand pounds at auction.’

Horton was surprised, though he shouldn’t have been, recalling what Trueman had said about Hazleton’s accounts.

With a flushed face, Vernon continued, ‘Can these antiques be traced back to previous owners?’

‘We haven’t found any paperwork for them.’

Vernon raised his eyebrows. ‘Unusual, but not unknown. Do you suspect them to be stolen?’

‘Do you?’

Vernon gave a knowing smile. ‘I can’t remember seeing any of them listed as stolen, or hearing about it. In my business it pays to keep a track of these things.’

‘And what precisely is your business?’ asked Horton lightly, before quickly adding, ‘Oh, I know you’re an auctioneer but. .’

‘I’m not actually. I’m an art historian.’

Horton contrived to look baffled, and as if this was new information to him, when Avril had already told him this and Walters had discovered that Vernon worked as a freelance valuer, researcher, lecturer and consultant. He wanted it to lead to them discussing Russell Glenn.

Vernon smiled and gently replaced the Chinese vase. ‘I research rare and valuable antiques, art treasures like this vase, jewellery and paintings for clients. When I find something, often after years of research, I offer to buy it on behalf of the client, if it’s available for sale, and even if it’s not I will try and persuade the owner to part with it, or rather my client gives me authorization to bid to a certain level, depending on how desperate he is to acquire it. Other times I will trace a lost antiquity without necessarily having a client and then I will match it with a client who will appreciate it.’

‘And is that what you do for Russell Glenn?’

‘Yes.’ Vernon’s eyes scanned the room. They fell on the painting of a sailing scene that looked like it had been executed at Cowes Week, which Horton had noted on his earlier visit. ‘I know what Russell wants and if I’m not mistaken. .’ Vernon swiftly crossed the room and peered closely at the painting. Horton exchanged a glance with the uniformed officer, who knew better than to interject. Vernon gave a low whistle and spun back, his face flushed with excitement. ‘Russell would love to own this, if it’s genuine,’ he quickly added. ‘And I think it might be. He loves beautiful things, paintings in particular, but he also buys rare pieces of jewellery for Avril. This painting appears to be a Raoul Dufy, which is remarkable because it looks like “Regatta at Cowes”, and it can’t be because “Regatta at Cowes” is hanging in the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC.’ Vernon ran a hand through his hair.

‘Who’s Raoul Dufy?’ asked Horton as a thought struck him. Could tonight’s reception on board the superyacht have been designed for the purpose of Oliver Vernon buying, or rather overseeing the purchase, of an item of jewellery for Glenn? It couldn’t be a painting because that would be too conspicuous to bring on board; all the items were being viewed on screen in the on board cinema so whatever it was had to be small enough to be brought on to the yacht by one of the guests without being noticed, especially if that item had been obtained illegally to begin with. With growing excitement Horton thought that at last he might be getting to grips with the real purpose of Glenn’s stay in Portsmouth. The charity auction was just a smokescreen. Did that mean Avril was party to this exchange? Before he could reason that one out, Vernon was speaking.

‘Dufy was a French Fauvist painter. They were renowned for emphasizing bright colours and bold contours in their work, as you can see in this painting. Dufy died in 1953. He is very noted for scenes of open-air social events, like this one. It’s either a very good forgery or Dufy painted more than one picture of the “Regatta at Cowes” in 1934. And if it’s genuine it will fetch a fortune at auction. You are looking at a very fine collection here, and the glassware and porcelain I’ve already seen in the dining room is in incredibly good condition and valuable. This man clearly had an eye for beautiful things.’

Too fine an eye . How could an office manager have afforded to buy these kinds of things, wondered Horton? The simple answer was he couldn’t. These either had to have been stolen or they were Hazleton’s pay-off for smuggling. ‘Did you know Mr Hazleton?’

‘No. I only wish I had. Is there a next of kin?’ Vernon asked keenly.

Horton knew the way Vernon’s mind was running, get in early and offer to handle the sale.

‘We’re still trying to establish that. For the time being I’d appreciate it if you would handle this matter confidentially.’

‘Of course.’

‘Could you make an inventory of what’s in the house, giving an estimated value of each item?’

‘It will be my pleasure. I’ll begin right away.’

‘An officer will accompany you.’

‘To make sure I don’t steal anything?’ Vernon grinned. ‘It’s all right, I understand and I’d welcome an extra pair of hands and eyes.’ He consulted his watch. ‘Depending on what else I find in the house I might have to return tomorrow.’

‘That’s fine and I appreciate your help, Mr Vernon.’

‘Oliver, please. I hear you’re attending our little shindig tonight.’

‘Yes, but I don’t think I’ll be bidding for any of the items on a police inspector’s pay.’

‘You might get carried away in the excitement of the moment.’

‘If I do then I’ll have to ask you to re-auction it. Does that happen?’

‘Not in the circles I operate in.’

‘The rich and famous. And they have deep pockets, like Russell Glenn.’

‘Very deep. And, as I said, they like special pieces and they’re not too fussy about their provenance.’

‘How long have you acted for Glenn?’ Horton asked casually.

‘Five years.’

‘How did you get to build up this select band of clients? I’m curious that’s all,’ Horton quickly added, smiling; he didn’t want to make it sound like an interrogation.

‘Recommendation. And a reputation for being discreet. I do a good job for one client and the word soon gets around. I started off by discovering a very beautiful lost piece of. . well, let’s just say something very valuable and treasured.’ Vernon fingered his short fair beard with his slender fingers. ‘I successfully negotiated its sale, no questions asked, nothing made public and just built my reputation from there. There’s nothing illegal about what I do, Inspector. I don’t steal anything and I don’t sell on stolen goods, not unless they were stolen three or more centuries ago and no one knows or can trace their rightful owner.’