A Case of
Identity
The bar was settled by the side of the canal, as the
boats moved slowly up and down, as the car pulled into the car park.
“Interesting place,” the woman said as she stepped out
of the car, “What is the name of the bar? “
She was in her late fifties, with long dark hair that was streaked with
grey, and stood about five foot five tall, with a slightly plump body. A long black coat covered a grey denim skirt,
and a grey checked blouse over a white roll neck sweater, while a pair of black
baggy leather boots covered her feet.
“It’s called the Ropanga,”
the man said as he locked the car, “and it has a very select clientele.” He was about six foot tall,
broad shouldered, and wore a blue blazer over a mustard coloured
jumper and light grey trousers. “Come in
– I’ll introduce you to the landlady.”
The couple walked into the bar, the man holding the
door open for the woman, as the barmaid looked over and stared.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that John Jacobs
crossing my threshold?”
“Good to see you as well, Jean – it’s been a while.”
“Years – but you look well.”
“So do you – Jean, this is Daphne Porterhouse. Jean is the owner of this fine
establishment.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Daphne said as she shook
Jean’s hand. “So what is so special
about this place?”
“It’s all right, Jean,” John said quietly, “she is as
much a part of the circle as I am these days.”
“Well, this fine establishment caters mostly to a
professional clientele,” Jean said, Daphne nodding as she realized what they
were saying.
“And you?”
“In her day, Jean was known as The Vixen,” John said
quietly. “We’re meeting someone, Jean.”
“Yeah – she’s in a room in the back. When I saw her, I realized this was going to
be a different day.”
“Time change Jean, times change,” John said as he
escorted Daphne through the bar, and into a private room.
Daphne saw two women sitting there at a table. One she recognized – a red haired woman,
dressed in a red jumper and knee length skirt with black leather boots. The other woman was a stranger to her – tall,
thin, with long dark hair, wearing a designer trouser suit with high heeled
shoes and a white collarless blouse underneath.
“Hello Penny,” she said as John closed the door, “I
didn’t know you would be here for this meeting.”
“Well, I was asked to arrange it,” Penny said with a
smile, “on behalf of my employer.”
“Daphne,” John said, “I have the honour
to introduce you to Shirley Xavier.”
“Charmed,” Daphne said as she held her hand out.
“The pleasure is all mine Dr Porterhouse,” Shirley
said, Daphne taken aback by the depth and richness of her voice, “you were a
great help to us in the matter of the Robinson painting and the Krakas family.”
“How on earth did – oh my,” Daphne said as she looked
at the woman, “you’re the mysterious Madame X?”
“On a professional basis,” Shirley said as she
inclined her head, “but I would like to hope we may meet as friends on this
occasion.”
“Recent events in the United States have led to
Shirley becoming a little more public,” John said as he held a seat out for
Daphne, “but on this particular occasion, I am as much in the dark as you are.”
“Then I will endavour to
enlighten you,” Shirley said as the door opened and Jean brought in a tray of
drinks. “Thank you,” Shirley said as
Jean laid the tray down, smiled and closed the door.
“So how can we – and particularly Daphne – be of
assistance to you today,” John said as he sipped his beer.
“Well, my American friends recently came across a most
perplexing situation, which affected me, so they asked if I would make some
enquiries here and convey the information back to them. I’ve asked both of you here to consult on the
issue, as you each have expertise to bring to the matter.”
“And the matter is,” Daphne said as she took a Martini
and soda, wondering for a moment how this woman knew her favourite
drink.”
“Art fraud,” Penny said, “on a particularly large
scale.”
“How large,” John said as he raised an eyebrow.
“A Mondrian, a Chagali, a Meuser, and a Modigliani,” Shirley said as she sipped her
wine.
Daphne and John looked at each other, before Daphne
said “I think you had better start at the beginning.”
“I will not go into the full details,” Shirley said
quietly, “but my friends in America are planning to raid an art show in the
very near future, some items of which will join my collection. Before they do so, however, they very
prudently wished to address some concerns of the authenticity of some items, so
they conducted tests – and they showed these four items in particular were
fakes.”
“Not the first time it has happened,” Daphne said,
“although finding so many in one place is somewhat rare. Which show are we talking about?”
Penny took a catalogue out and passed it to John, who
flipped through it and then looked at Shirley.
“That Mondrian?” he said as he showed Shirley a
picture, then handed it to Daphne who read the
accompanying text.
“Ye gods,” she whispered, “that’s an expensive
fake. I’d heard about this show – so
forgive me if I ask no further about the actual plan.”
“I would not know even if you asked,” Shirley
said. “My question is,
why would someone do this?”
“Forgive me,” Daphne said, “but what would have raised
suspicions in the mind of your contact?”
“In that particular case, I believe she was unhappy
with the shade of yellow used.”
Daphne nodded, and said “Whoever they are, they’re
good.”
“The forger?”
“Your contact,” Daphne said with a smile. “John?”
“In my experience, when something like this has
happened in the antiques world it’s for one of two reasons – insurance fraud or
theft. As was the case with the work did
for you, the forgery is sold, then an expert declares it a fake, and the vendor
takes the money and runs.”
“And the insurance fraud?”
“More prevalent in my world than John’s,” Daphne
said. “The idea is someone makes a copy
of the painting, loans it to a gallery or a collector, and then a robbery is
staged, during which the fake is destroyed or damaged. The insurance company has to pay up, and the
original stays safely hidden.”
“For the antiques world it’s a home invasion that is
staged, but it does happen,” John says. “But usually only one, maybe two. Four in a show, Daphne?”
“Speaks of a coordinated effort to defraud. Also speaks of a very sophisticated operation
– you need to forge provenance, sales catalogues, and the painting itself.”
“John Drewe?”
Daphne looked at John and nodded. “That was the name that came to mind as well,
but that was years ago, and I do not believe he is active anymore.”
“He’s not,” Penny said, “we checked. There is a name our friend uncovered however,
that is associated with all four paintings in the past.”
“Oh,” John said, “and the name is?”
“Geraint Watkins.”
Shirley watched as John and Daphne looked at each
other. “Now that’s a name you don’t hear
too often – but it would fit,” John said as he rubbed his chin.
“So you are familiar with the name?”
“As a matter of history yes – have you heard of him
Daphne?”
“Oh yes – I studied some of the papers where he
outlined the techniques used, but I had to sign the Official Secrets Act to do
it.”
“History? The Official Secrets Act?” Penny looked at both of them and said “Who is
he?”
“Tell me, have you heard of Operation Bernhard,” John
said as he sipped his drink.
“Indeed – the Nazi plan to flood the UK economy with
forged bank notes towards the end of World War Two,” Shirley said.
“That’s right,” Daphne said, “at about the same time,
Han van Meegeren in Amsterdam was producing his
forgeries of the Dutch masters, one of which ended up in Goering’s private
collection.”
“So how does Watkins tie in with this?” Shirley looked to them for an explanation.
“As I heard the story, someone in British Intelligence
heard about van Meegeren, and recruited a number of
young artists to create forgeries of British artists that could then be slipped
into auction houses behind enemy lines.
The idea was they would sell for top dollar, and the funds be used to
fund the resistance movement in those countries.”
“And if they ended up in the hands of Hitler’s inner
circle, then they would be worthless as a way of liquidating capital,” Shirley
said quietly. “A truly
ingenious plan. So Watkins was
one of that group?”
“Indeed,” Daphne said, “in many ways the premier
member of the group. His skills were
legendary – aging the canvas, mixing the pigments, mimicking the strokes. In fact, there is some speculation amongst
those who know this that the reason the truth has never been revealed is he was
too good – and some of his work hangs under the original artist’s names in our
top galleries.”
“My god,” Penny said, “a forger so good he still fools
people today. So what happened to him?”
“A nice fat pension and the thanks of a grateful
government,” John said. “The last I
heard he had an art restoration practice in the West Country, but that was over
twenty years ago. Do you know any
different Daphne?”
“No,” Daphne said as she shook her head, “except he
was in his twenties during the second world war. So he must be in his nineties now – could he
still be active?”
“Well, the records my friend has seen puts him in Penarth, but what you say confirms the thinking in my mind
he might be involved in this. It may be
a coincidence – do you know if he had a family?”
“He might have, but I can’t say for certain,” Daphne
said.
“Very well then,” Shirley said, “it would appear we
need to investigate further, but your insight has been invaluable. May I call on you again if the need arises?”
“In a professional or a private capacity,” Daphne
said.
“Either.”
She looked at John and then nodded. “Excellent – well, we can do no more at this
stage, so let us talk of other matters…”
“An art forger still active in his nineties? Is that likely – and on this scale?”
“I grant you, it sounds unlikely,” Madame said as she
sat with Penny and Lily in her penthouse.
“But we cannot rule out the possibility – Lily, I need you to track down
Mister Watkins and visit him.”
“Already got someone working on tracking his
whereabouts in Penrath,” Lily said, “as soon as I
have an address, I’ll set off.”
“Be gentle with him – this is a courtesy call after
all.”
“I’ll sneak in and out like a mouse,” Lily said with a
smile as the door opened and one of the girls handed Lily a sheet of
paper. As she looked at it, she said
“well, maybe not quite like a mouse.”
Rhoda Jones was not having a good morning. The previous evening her boyfriend had
politely informed her that he was leaving her in favour
of her best friend, and this morning she had been rudely woken up by a masked
blonde woman, who had used the best part of a roll of duct tape to bind her
arms to her body and her legs together, as well as keeping a flannel in her
mouth as she wound it round her head.
“I truly apologise for the
inconvenience,” the blonde said as she finished fastening her white tunic and
looked at Rhoda, “but I need to pay a little visit to your place of work, and I
prefer to do it unannounced. Say good
night now.”
“Gddnhttmmnnnnnnnnnnn” Rhoda
said as the chloroform soaked rag went over her nose and taped mouth, and her
eyes closed, the blonde checking her pulse before she put on Rhoda’s coat and
left her on her side on the bed.
As she left the house, Lily looked at the faded
photograph on the identity badge and smiled.
It wasn’t a very close match, but she was banking on the close physical
resemblance she noticed yesterday, as well as the fact nobody really looks at
identity badges in these places, to get her through this visit.
When the assistant had told her Geraint Watkins was in
a place called Lllanwit Major Rest Home, something
had told her having a chat with him might be difficult – and a circumspect
approach might be best.
The drive was short, and she arrived in front of the
old manor house fairly easily. She
walked in and smiled at the receptionist, hung her coat in the staff room, and
walked round the building until she found one with “Watkins, G” on the door.
As she opened it, she saw a frail old man sitting in a
large chair by the window, staring into the sky outside. Lily walked over and looked at his face, the
eyes that seemed to be looking at nothing, the arms trembling as they lay on
the arm rests.
“My god,” she whispered to herself before she heard a
voice behind her say “New girl?”
“Yeah,” Lily said as she turned round, “first
day. They said to take Mr Watkins to the day room?”
“Typical, tell two of us to do the same thing,” the
brunette said as she brought the wheelchair in.
“Can you help me lift him in?
It’s easier with two.”
Lily nodded as they lifted the frail old man into the
chair. “Poor guy,” the other woman said,
“the Alzheimer’s really started to hit six months ago. Before that he was at least painting, but now
all he does is sit and watch.”
“Does his family visit?”
“He only has a granddaughter left – she comes most
weekends, but the rest of the time, he’s in his own little world, like so many
of them.”
Lily nodded as they wheeled him into the day room,
looking at the faces of the other people already there. She made no comment as they locked the brakes
of the wheelchair where Geraint could look out onto the red and yellow trees in
the garden, and left the room, slipping into the ladies toilets for a moment.
When she came back out, she blinked to try and reduce
the redness in her eyes, and made her way quietly to the office, waiting until it
was empty before she made her way to a terminal and brought up the records for
Geraint Watkins. Taking a stick from her
pocket, she downloaded a copy of the information, and then carefully retraced
her steps, before the secretary returned.
Smiling, Lily left the room, and slipped out of the
home, getting into her car and heading back to London.
“You are sure of this Lillian?”
“I saw him with my own eyes, Madame – there is no way
he could hold a paintbrush, much less have taken any
active part in these forgeries. Accept
my judgement on this.”
“I do,” Madame said as she sat back at her desk, “but
it makes the situation all the more perplexing.
You say he has a granddaughter?”
“Penny?”
Penny looked at a printout on her desk. “Annabeth Watkins
Stone. 49 years old, married, one
daughter living at home while studying at UCL.
She works as an archivist at the V&A Museum.”
“Does she now?
According to Heather, part of the fraud may involve the falsifying of records
at that establishment. Will it be
possible to pay Mrs Stone a visit, Lillian?”
“I have already secured the plans for the house,
Madame – I will report in two days time.”
The house stood in a leafy avenue in Wimbledon, and on
this particular day the street itself was quiet as the Prius
drove into the driveway.
The driver was a woman in her late forties, with long
ash blonde hair held back in a ponytail, wearing a black coat dress with a wide
leather belt around her waist, and short black felt boots. As she got out of the car, she said “Fancy a
cup of coffee Geri?”
The tall, thin girl nodded as she said “Sure
mum.” She wore a green padded sleeveless
jerkin over a candy striped shirt with a granddad collar, a brown belt around
her waist, black leggings and knee length straight leather boots.
“All right then,” her mother said as she unlocked the
door, “let’s make the coffee, and then we can discuss what to do when…”
She stopped in the hallway as she and Geri were
confronted by a woman coming out of the front room, dressed from head to toe in
black – including the balaclava that only showed her eyes and lips.
“Mrs Stone I take it,” she
said as she pointed a .45 at both women.
“Please, nice and naturally, close the front door, and then I want you
both to come into the room, hands in the air.”
“What the hell…”
“Mrs Stone,” the woman said,
“please inform your daughter of what you see happening if she does not
cooperate.”
“Geri, please – she has a gun…”
The younger woman nodded as her mother closed the
door, and they walked with their hands raised into the front room.
“You strike me as a young woman who enjoys all the
latest gadgets,” the masked woman said as they stood in the centre of the room,
“Do you have music installed on your player or phone?”
“Yes, why,” Gerri asked.
“Put your earbuds into your
ears, and turn it on, then turn round and put your hands behind your back.”
“Why?”
“Do as I say,” the masked woman replied as she held up
a roll of white tape, “no reason why you should be bored.”
“Oh my god, you’re not going to tape me up, are you?”
“No,” the woman replied, “your mother is. Now, please, do as I say or we forego the
music part.”
Slowly, Geri put the earbuds
in, the music playing as her mother was told by the intruder to put her hands
together behind her, palm to palm, and then she felt the tape forcing her
wrists together, before it was taken down to cover her hands.
The intruder then forced her mother to wrap more tape
around her waist, to secure her hands against her back, before bands are
wrapped around her arms and body above and below her chest.
“You’re doing very well,” was all the masked woman
said as Geri was forced to sit on the long leather couch, and watch as her
mother taped her ankles, calves and thighs, the bands of white forcing her legs
to be locked together.
“Open your mouth,” she vaguely heard the masked woman
say, and as she felt the gun against her head she nodded and allowed her mother
to push a sponge ball in, then wrap the tape tightly round her head to cover
her mouth.
“Close your eyes.”
Geri did as she had been ordered and felt something
like cotton wool placed on her eyelids, before the tape went round her head
again, this time covering her eyes and ears as the earbuds
were held in place.
The older woman watched as the masked intruder made
Geri lie on her side on the couch, and turned up the volume on her phone. The intruder then took her by the arm,
marching her into the kitchen and making her sit down. She saw the canvas bag on the kitchen table,
and said nothing as her own wrists were pulled behind her back, and secured
tightly together, the rope going around and between her arms.
“All right,” the masked woman then said as she sat
down, leaving the gun where they could both see it, “we can talk without being
disturbed. You are Annabeth
Watkins Stone, correct?”
“That’s right,” Annabeth
said as she tried to move her hands.
“Please, if this is a robbery, just take what you want and leave us.”
“Well, I will be robbing you,” the woman said as she
looked at Annabeth, “but that’s not the main reason I
am here.”
Annabeth suddenly looked
round at the masked woman. “It’s
not? Then why are… Oh god, no…”
“No,” Lily said as she removed her mask and shook her
hair out, before saying “there – less frightening now?”
“I don’t understand,” Annabeth
said, “what is this about?”
“It’s about your grandfather, Annabeth,
and why his name has turned up in association with an attempt to defraud the
art world.”
“My grand…” Annabeth stared at the young woman, before she started
sobbing and saying “oh sweet God what has he done…”
“I know you’re not talking about Geraint – I saw him
the other day, and I am sorry this has happened to him. And yet, my employer has found his name
associated with this matter – and she wishes to know why.”
Lily stood up and walked behind Annabeth,
putting her hands on her shoulders. “I
brought you in here, with your daughter unable to hear or interfere, so that
you can feel free to tell me everything.
Only then can my employer decide what course of action to take.”
She waited as Annabeth
collected herself, and then said “What attempt?
What happened?”
“I cannot go into the full details,” Lily said
quietly, “but my employer wished to obtain certain works of art that were part
of an exhibition in New York. She is a
cautious woman, however, as were those obtaining the art, so they tested
certain paintings, and discovered them to be fakes.
“Upon further investigation, your grandfather’s name
was discovered as being associated with their history, especially in past sale
catalogues. Normally, my employer…”
“Who is she?”
“I’m sorry,” Lily said as she looked at Annabeth.
“Your employer – who are they?”
“She is a person of some power and influence.”
Annabeth nodded as Lily
continued “normally, she would let such matters pass, but on this occasion
others were disappointed as well as her, so she asked me to investigate
further.”
She sat down to face Annabeth
again, and said “I know something of his history, and of his service. My question however is, given his current
illness, how did this happen? Given your
current occupation and role as well…”
Annabeth looked at Lily,
and then said “If I tell you, I need some reassurances – how powerful and influential
is your employer?”
“Very – why do you ask?”
“Can I trust her to protect me and my family?”
Lily looked at Annabeth, and
then said “Tell me what happened, and I give my word we will do what we can.”
Annabeth threw her head
back, looked round and said “About five years ago, I was at a reception at the
V&A when I met a man. He was
charming, erudite, and paid attention to me which, at the time, I was not
getting at home.”
“I see,” Lily said, “forgive an impertinent question,
but…”
“No – I am still married, but my husband was having an
affair at the time. That has ended, and
we are stronger now than before.
“But then, I was hurt and vulnerable, he was attentive
and charming, one thing led to another, and…”
Annabeth gave a weak
smile as Lily nodded. “I believe I
understand what happened next. You would
not be the first, or the last, to face that situation.”
“Even so, would I be the first or last to be
deliberately targeted?”
“Again, sadly no,” Lily said. “What happened next?”
“Nothing until my grandfather fell ill and had to be
placed in the home. A few weeks later,
the man approached me in the museum, and said he needed my help. He wanted to – borrow certain items from the
archives, and return them a few days later.
“Naturally, I refused, but then… Then……”
She started crying, great loud cries of shame and
despair as Lily came over and held her.
“You need not explain anymore,” she said “he presented some sort of
evidence and used it to blackmail you, correct?”
Annabeth nodded as she looked
up. “Since then, I’ve had to allow him
access at certain times. I had no idea
why until now – he must have been using my grandfather’s name to cover his own
tracks.”
“Very well – what can you tell me of this man?”
“He is tall, thin, black hair, wears wire rimmed
glasses.”
“And his name?”
“Stevens – StJohn Stevens. He works for Lloyds – that’s all I know.”
Lily looked at the woman, and then said “He threatened
to expose you to your husband, correct?”
Annabeth nodded as Lily
dried her eyes.
“It is an old story, but I think we can help you
resolve this. Will you place yourself in
the hands of my employer and I on this matter?”
“Will you end this?”
“We will – but you must trust us and do as we
say. In return, we will protect you and
keep what happened hidden.”
“I don’t really have a choice do I?”
“You could tell your husband.”
“NO – no, I cannot.
We are working on rebuilding our relationship – this would destroy it.”
Lily nodded as she said “Where is your purse?”
“In the front room.”
“Do not move,” Lily said as she walked out, returning
with Annabeth’s handbag. She withdrew her purse, and then took a
business card from her own bag.
“This had a contact number for me. If he contacts you again, call – and do as he
and we say for now. We will watch, we
will observe. And we will end this for
you and your grandfather.”
She slipped the card into Annabeth’s
purse, and then replaced it in the bag.
“And now, with deep regret,” Lily then said as she produced more rope,
and started to secure Annabeth to the chair back, “I
must rob you. It will be easier, and
less disruptive, if you tell me where your jewellery
is, and any items with sentimental value – those will remain here.”
“You really can protect us?”
“I will consult with my employer, but I believe we
can,” Lily said as she tugged the rope tight.
“Now, tell me an answer to my question, before I bind your legs and gag
you as well.”
“You did well, Lily,” Madame said as she sat with Lily
and Penny, “and I approve the course of action you have taken. Heather is here next week – can we get a full
profile on this Stevens character by then.”
“I have already ordered it Madame,” Penny said.
“Good – then we can do no more at this stage. What is next?”