Page 58 of My Lord
I paused for a moment, sighed, and ran my hand over my day-old stubble. “He’s telling the truth. He genuinely seemed confused when I talked about him stealing the painting and then disappearing.”
I was actually reluctant to admit that thought to myself, but something was telling me he was being straight up. I poured the whisky before I spoke again.
“Did you call Sotheby’s?” he asked, and I shook my head. I’d call them first thing. All I hoped was that the insurance company hadn’t processed the theft. I didn’t want them owning the painting.
We sipped our drinks and I poured more.
“So we’re left with the government thinking we have a connection to a Russian mafia chap who wants to launder money with me and is pissed off that you won’t let him have shares in a company that has a secret government contract,” I said.
He raised his glass to me. “I think that about sums it up.”
We both laughed and got drunk.
* * *
Mackenzie was long gone by the time I finally woke. He’d left a text message to thank me for the overnight stay and that he’d call later that morning. Before I left for the office, I remembered the call to my mother.
“Hi, Mother, just a quick question if I may? Have Sotheby’s contacted you at all?”
“No, why?”
“Because that is where Duncan said he took the painting.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“Yes, he’s been trying to contact you. Do you remember a conversation where you might have suggested a re-valuation?”
“Oh, darling, I can’t remember. I’ve accused him of theft, called the police! What if I’ve got it all wrong?”
“Leave it with me, let me see what I can find out.”
I said goodbye and then googled Sotheby’s for a telephone number. After being given the runaround for ten minutes and demanding to speak to the CEO, it was finally confirmed that, yes, the painting was indeed in their care.
“I want it returned immediately,” I said.
I got the expected,need to prove ownership, and all that, even though they had it in my mother’s name. I became frustrated and promised a visit. I also texted my mother and asked her to call them, explain that she had asked her son to deal with the painting on her behalf. Whether she had taken in everything I said, was another matter. She was just super pleased to know the painting wasn’t stolen and her friend, as she referred to him again, wasn’t a con man.
I had just about sat at my desk when two detectives showed up at reception. A call came through to my office to let me know they wanted to chat to me. Not knowing why, I decided to invite them to the boardroom upstairs. I took the stairs up and they were shown to the lift.
I met them on the upper floor. “Gentlemen, how may I be of help?” I asked as they walked from the lift.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” one asked, looking around.
“Right here,” I said, and walked to the centre of the room. I indicated to one of the many chairs around a highly polished walnut table.
“I wondered if we’d be able to speak in private,” the other said, looking at Mary. She was staring at her monitor and appeared to be humming.
“Mary, do you have your headphones in?” I asked. She ignored me. I smiled at the detectives. “Now before we start, shall we exchange names and badge numbers?” I was dutifully given business cards and also shown ID after requesting it. “Please, take a seat.” I had purposely not suggested refreshments.
Detective Burrows started. “Can I ask where you were between the hours of two and three this morning?”
“Why?”
“We need to know your whereabouts, Lord Duchoveny, if you please,” he replied. He was trying to be polite, for sure.
“In bed. Now what is this concerning?”
“Do you have anyone that could collaborate that?”
