Provenance_ How a Con Man and a Forger Rewrote the History of Modern Art - Laney Salisbury [115]
Volpe asked Adam Craske at Forensics to analyze each of the 260 labels in the Hanover photo albums. Over time, because of damage and wear, typewriters develop faults and misalignments that render their typescript unique. By analyzing the typescript on the Hanover labels Craske determined that some 250 of them had been typed on a single typewriter. Another seven had been typed on a separate machine, one with damaged serifs on the lowercase l, w, and i. The top of the number 3 was flat rather than curved, as in the large group of labels, and certain other keys were slightly out of line, so that the characters showed up on the page as heavy on one side and light on the other.
Craske also analyzed the paper on which the labels were typed. Modern paper contains chemical brighteners that glow under ultraviolet light. Forensic specialists can tell whether a page has been added or replaced in a multipage document, and can reconstruct whole sheets of paper from shreds based on the differing luminescent intensities. Craske used luminosity as a gauge to compare the age of the labels and discovered that the group of seven glowed intensely, whereas the bulk of the others were dull. When Volpe read Craske’s report, he noted that those seven labels corresponded to paintings Scotland Yard had identified as Drewe’s forgeries.
Volpe wanted to establish an even more solid connection, proof that Drewe himself had typed the labels. He asked Craske to look at the four confiscated typewriters. Craske examined the typescript of each and found that the cream-colored Olympia typewriter from Drewe’s mother’s house matched the typescript on the seven labels.
Volpe drove to Burgess Hill to pay a call on Drewe’s mother and stepfather. When the stepfather confirmed that Drewe had used the typewriter several times, Volpe had his link between Drewe and the fake provenances at the Tate.
After five weeks of sifting through evidence, scanning forensic reports, and hauling in Drewe’s runners, Volpe and Searle had cornered him. Now they had to get him in the cage.
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A few days before Drewe was scheduled to report at the police station for a second interrogation, someone rear-ended his car by accident. The next day Searle and Volpe received a note from Drewe’s doctor stating that he had seriously injured his back and needed bed rest. The formal interrogation was postponed.
A few weeks later they received a similar note: The professor had a herniated disc and could barely move. Soon after, a third doctor’s note announced that Drewe was suffering from muscle spasms in his back. In mid-June, nearly three months after the raid, the police received two more notes, which made for a total of five separate notes from four different doctors.
On June 20, an officer happened to spot a healthy-looking Drewe nimbly rooting through a trash bin outside his old house on Rotherwick Road. Goudsmid had thrown out a pile of his old books and asked him to come by for them. The officer watched Drewe hop effortlessly into his car and drive off.
The doctors’ notes continued to come in, but Drewe’s recovery appeared to be total. He was seen going about his business as if nothing was wrong: putting air in his tires at a garage; kissing an unidentified woman in his car; pacing up and down the platform at the train station.
In mid-July, a judge ordered him to return to the Reigate police station for questioning. On the day of the interview, Searle was on his way to the precinct when he spotted Drewe walking briskly up the hill toward the station, twirling a pair of walking sticks and whistling. A few minutes later Drewe walked into the station in an altered state. He appeared to be in considerable pain. He was leaning heavily on his sticks and seemed years older