Doors Open

It was another half-hour before the auction house started to empty. Ransome watched from behind his pillar as Calloway emerged, flanked by Joh

It was a couple of minutes before Calloway re-emerged. He was talking to a woman Ransome recognised. Calloway gestured along the street, suggesting a drink maybe, but she was shaking her head, trying to be polite. She accepted his handshake and headed back indoors. Joh

Not quite deserted, actually: chairs were being stacked by staff in brown overalls. Telephones were being unplugged from wall sockets. A lectern was being dismantled, plasma screens taken down. Someone had handed Laura a sheet of numbers, with a total circled in red at the foot of the page. Her face was difficult to read.

‘Hiya, Stanton,’ Ransome said. It took her a moment to place him, then a tired but genuine smile appeared.

‘Ransome, long time no see.’

The two had been in the same year at college, shared a mutual friend so tended to be at the same parties, the same nights out. They’d lost touch for over a decade, until a reunion had taken them to their alma mater. A few more reunions had followed, though they’d last bumped into one another months back at a jazz concert in the Queen’s Hall. Laura stepped forward now and pecked him on both cheeks.

‘What brings you here?’ she asked.

Ransome was making a show of studying the room and its contents. ‘I remember you saying you worked for an auction house… didn’t realise you actually run the show.’

‘You’re way off the mark.’ But she sounded flattered all the same.

‘If I’d arrived a bit earlier, would I have caught you in full flow?’

‘More of a constant trickle.’ She glanced at the sheet of numbers. ‘Markedly up on the winter sale, though, which is encouraging…’

‘I’m not interrupting?’ Ransome tried to sound concerned.

‘No, it’s fine.’

‘Only, I was passing and I thought I saw you enjoying a tête-à-tête with Chib Calloway.’

‘Who?’

He met her stare. ‘You know, the gorilla with the shaved head. Was he shopping for anything in particular?’

She knew who he meant now. ‘Didn’t seem to have much of a clue. He was asking at the end, how did all the bidding work?’ Her face tightened. ‘Is he in some sort of trouble?’

‘Since the day he climbed out of the cot. You’ve never heard of Chib Calloway?’

‘I’m assuming he’s not some distant relation of Cab?’

The detective reckoned this deserved a smile, but it was gone by the time he spoke. ‘Streak of violence a mile wide. Fingers in many and sundry dirty pies.’

‘Is he trying to launder money?’

Ransome’s eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you ask?’

She gave a shrug. ‘I know it happens… I mean, I’ve heard of it happening elsewhere, other auction houses. Not here, though, God forbid…’ Her voice drifted away.

‘It’s something I might look into.’ Ransome rubbed the underside of his jaw. ‘I’ve half a feeling one of his “associates” brought him here today.’

‘There were two of them,’ Laura started to correct him, but Ransome shook his head.

‘I’m not talking about the performing monkeys – they’re called Joh

She smiled at the description. ‘The Three Musketeers – that’s how I always think of them, they seem to get along so well, even though they’re different.’

Ransome nodded as though this made perfect sense to him. ‘Thing about the Three Musketeers, though…’

‘What?’

‘As I recall, there were four of them.’ Having said which, he took out his notebook and asked Laura for their names.

‘Wasn’t one of them Porthos?’ she teased. But the detective, her old drinking chum from college, was past jokes and attempts at humour. Anxiety flashed in Laura’s eyes. ‘There’s no way any of them would have anything to do with a character like that,’ she said defensively.

‘Meaning there’s no reason you shouldn’t give me their names.’

‘They’re potential clients, Ransome. There’s every reason I shouldn’t tell you anything.’

‘Christ, Laura, you’re not a priest or a clap-doctor.’ Ransome gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’m a detective, remember. I could stop them in the street if I liked and make them tell me. I could haul them down to the station.’ He gave this a moment to sink in. ‘And I’m sure you’re right – they’ve got nothing to do with Calloway. But this is me being nice, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. If you give me their names, I can do a quick background check without them ever knowing. Much better all round, don’t you think?’

Laura considered this. ‘I suppose so,’ she eventually conceded, wi

‘We’re agreed then?’ he checked. ‘This is going to be kept between us?’ As she nodded, he stood with pen poised against his notebook, and at the same time asked her how she’d been keeping of late…

6

Gissing seemed in no hurry to tell his story. He was swilling the malt around in its glass, nosing it now and then as if reluctant to take that first fragrant sip. It was too early in the day for Mike, and Allan was due back at the office, having lied about meeting a client for coffee. He was stirring the froth that covered his cappuccino and making regular checks of his watch and mobile phone.

‘Well?’ Mike said, for the third or fourth time. His own drink was a double espresso. It had come with a little almond biscuit, which he’d placed to one side. The Shining Star was near empty – just a couple of women taking a break from their shopping. They were at the other end of the room, well out of earshot, purchases at their feet. Electronic music was playing through the speakers, but kept just audible.

Gissing reached across and placed his fingers around the biscuit, proceeding to dunk it in the whisky. He started sucking on it, eyes gleaming with humour.

‘I’d better get back,’ Allan started to say, shifting in his seat. They were at the same booth as a week ago. Same waitress, too, though she hadn’t seemed to remember them.

Gissing took Allan’s hint. ‘It’s actually pretty simple,’ he began, a few crumbs flying from the corners of his mouth. ‘But you head off if you like, Allan, while I tell Mike here how to steal a painting without really trying.’

Allan decided he could manage a few more minutes. Gissing, having finished the biscuit, tipped the glass to his mouth and drained it with a satisfied smack.

‘We’re listening,’ Mike told the professor.

‘All the galleries and museums in this fair city of ours…’ Gissing leaned over the table, resting his elbows on its surface. ‘They don’t have room to display even a tenth of their collections. Not even a tenth.’ He paused to let this sink in.