• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

When Father Bernard Barlow walked into the interview room to examine Nahum’s piece, Searle asked him if he recognized it.

“Never seen it,” said the friar.

Searle said he had documents indicating that St. Philip’s Priory had sold this Crucifixion scene and several other artworks to Fisher & Sperr as part of a lot of books.

Barlow conceded that he had had a hand in the sale, but he couldn’t recall any paintings or drawings.

Searle turned the Crucifixion panel over and showed him a handwritten inscription: “Father Bernard F. Barlow, Graham Sutherland, Crucifixion of our Lord—study in oil—loaned Jan 1972 to Oxford University Bod Library reference R203.”

“That isn’t my handwriting,” Barlow said. “I wasn’t even in the country at the time.” He pointed out that when friars entered the O.S.M., they adopted the middle name “Mary” and used it for church-related business. Thus, Barlow always signed himself “Bernard M. Barlow.” The forger, unaware of this, had used Barlow’s original middle initial, F for “Francis.”

It was clear to Searle that Drewe had used intimidation and coercion to con the friars, and that they would make good witnesses. Drewe had duped a religious order that depended on charity, and that would not sit well with a jury.

Meanwhile, Volpe had a chat with Sperr. The bookstore owner categorically denied that there had been works of art among the books he’d bought from St. Philip’s. He led the detective upstairs and showed him some of the volumes Drewe had been interested in. As they leafed through them, Sperr noticed that one of the title pages was missing. Volpe suspected that Drewe had torn out the page, which contained an impression of the O.S.M. stamp, and used it to make a counterfeit stamp.

“This is good evidence,” Volpe told Searle when he got back to the Yard.

Although they could now establish Drewe’s connection to the Crucifixion fakes, they wanted a bigger bang, proof that the professor had pocketed hundreds of thousands of pounds and bilked innocent victims not only in Britain, but all over the world, from Canada to the Philippines. Searle suggested that they rein in the fake Giacomettis supposedly authenticated by documents in the Tate Gallery archives. Giacometti was a well-known figure, and even his minor works sold for six figures. A jury would be impressed with the amount of money Drewe must have made. With the right evidence, the detectives could also link him to the corruption of the archives.

Searle told Volpe about his visit with Jennifer Booth. She had mentioned that there was a Giacometti expert in Paris who could help him crack the case.

It was time to call in Mary Lisa Palmer.

For the early bird the Chunnel train from London to Paris is a silent dream of a commute, an aerodynamic wonder. This morning, as she slid past the French countryside at 180 miles an hour, Palmer was grateful for the two-and-a-half-hour ride ahead. She wanted to organize her thoughts before her meeting with Detective Searle.

Gradually she had come to appreciate the enormous scope of the con and the audacity of its mastermind. Since her conversation with Searle, she had a sense that the tide was turning in her favor. The association was no longer alone in the fight against her formidable opponent, a man who appeared to have a natural talent for manipulation.

A large overnight bag at her feet was crammed near to bursting with evidence of a new genre of art fraud. The association had expended a great deal of time, money, and effort to piece together the paper trail that documented Drewe’s unprecedented scheme. She was not about to let the bag out of her sight until it was safely inside Scotland Yard.

The train pulled into Waterloo Station, and Palmer caught a taxi. As it crossed the Thames, she felt a sense of relief. Searle had told her that the forger was under arrest and that he was cooperating with the police. That was a start, she thought.

Searle and Volpe had left word for Palmer to be escorted up to the fifth floor, where Searle had set up his Giacometti