Page 80 of The Dead Come to Stay
“It was August,” he murmured.
“Good,” said Chen—in a far more soothing manner than Jo could muster at the moment. “August 23, and it was raining the night of the gallery opening,” she added.
Arthur kept his eyes on the painting, but a half smile worked across his features.
“It was—I didn’t have an umbrella. Adien offered to share so we walked together. I didn’t want to go back to my car; I didn’t want the evening to end. The Laing wasn’t far; I asked him if he’d like to see a painting.”
Jo could picture them: two men in summer suits, not holding hands but permitted the closeness of a shared umbrella in the rain.
“He didn’t know the poem. I think I might have gone on about it for some time.” Arthur’s voice had grown quieter, husky. “Hetalked about Greek epic and compared the painted sky to a wine-dark sea. And I... asked him if he’d like to join me for a glass. God; I’d forgotten that! We went to the Velmont Hotel for dinner.”
“Gorgeous,” Chen said, patting his arm gently. “Absolute luxury, the Velmont.”
Arthur nodded, but seemed slightly unsteady on his feet.
“They had a 1999 red burgundy; the best year, I think,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “It was perfect.”
Jo hadn’t meant to lead a scavenger hunt through Arthur’s memories. She wouldn’t want anyone doing the same tohers. But Arthur had changed, somehow. Gone was the winsome businessman with his sleek hair and impeccable manner. His eyes shone as though misted—and he hadn’t released Jo’s hand, almost as though he feared to walk on his own.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’mnotall right,” Arthur said. “It feels like dreaming. There are things I’d not thought about. Afraid to think about. I’m not sure. I’ve not even been back to the Velmont since Aiden passed.”
“Then it’s time you go again,” Chen said, giving him a sideways squeeze.
Gwilym gave himself a once-over.
“Luxury, you said. I’m not exactly dressed for this.” Heplucked at his blue jeans. Chen merely offered up her arm, as though for him to escort her.
“Tut, the restaurant does lunch—and my art hangs on all the walls. They won’t toss you on your ear, pet.”
Gwilym and Chen headed toward the far door, as though the matter was settled.
Jo bit her lip. “We don’t have to do this,” she said to Arthur.
He just pointed to the Happy Valley and its tiny, fragile inhabitants.
“Wedo, though. I do. And I don’t think I can on my own.”
Chapter 24
Thursday, 10:30
The fourth floor of the Burnhope residence turned out to be a massive solarium with a ceiling of glass. MacAdams really should have predicted as much. The space, almost entirely open-plan, boasted an enormous meeting room, a casing with books and almost as many business trophies as the main office, as well as an extended conference room table. The rest of the house had preserved a kind of warmth, made possible by plants and music stands and the accoutrements of living. The fourth floor had none of this; sleek, modern, it might as well have been a suite of Hammersmith and Company. Burnhope sat at his desk, back to the door.
“Finished with your meeting, I take it,” MacAdams said.
Burnhope turned around in a hurry. It was the first time MacAdams had seen surprise there; it gave him a curious open-eyed look.
“I wasn’t aware you were here,” he said.
“Oh, I think you were,” MacAdams replied. He had to walk a line here; they had nothing—yet—to bring him in over. But foronce he had an advantage, and he was going to make the most of it. “You surely know we would be coming to ask about York.”
“Yes. I already spoke to the Newcastle police about this, and I’ve made a statement for York Central, too,” Burnhope replied easily. “I told them, and I’m happy to tell you: I knewnothingabout this.”
“One of your close colleagues imported millions in stolen goods under your nose, and you... just had no idea at all?” MacAdams asked. “You seem too smart for that kind of con.”
“There would be records of deliveries, shipments, documents to sign, distribution...” Green ticked them off on her long fingers. “Here you are, the boss of it all.”
