Chapter Twenty-Three
Devon took the steps of the police station two at a time. He’d crossed town in record speed, abandoning James in the restaurant. How did someone like Ella get arrested?
And there she was huddled into a seat, clutching a framed picture to her chest as if her life depended on it, with a mutinous expression on her face, looking ready to punch anyone who came too close. As he came through the double doors, she jumped to her feet.
‘Devon. Oh, thank you.’ She crossed the floor, bumping into plastic chairs, completely ignoring the bumps and bangs to her legs in her haste. ‘Did you bring your car with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ She grabbed his arm, in an uncharacteristic show of bossiness, and shepherded him back the way he’d just come, so he had to walk backwards. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ She shuddered.
Devon looked back uncertainly at the uniformed desk sergeant, who was half-heartedly keeping an eye on proceedings in between looking at a computer screen on his desk. ‘Are you free to go? I thought you’d been arrested.’
She gave a contemptuous pout, which shouldn’t have amused him but it did. Grumpy primadonna was a side to Ella he’d not seen before. ‘I was. And then they realised,’ she raised her voice, shouting the last few words and shooting a pointed look at the officer, ‘they’d got it wrong.’
All heads turned their way. ‘Right.’ Probably best to get her out of there quickly before they decided to arrest her again for disturbing the peace. Her body language suggested she was spoiling for a fight.
‘So are you going to tell me what the hell has happened?’
‘As soon as we get out of here.’ She pushed him again, clearly keen to get away.
‘So what happened? Did you see him at the gallery?’
‘No, I flipping didn’t. He wasn’t there. But this was.’ She held out the painting of Cuthbert in a black hat with a fancy purple feather. It looked familiar and he realised he’d seen it on her drawing board not that long ago.
‘Nice price tag,’ he said, squinting at the white label in the corner of the picture.
With a frown she spun the painting around to take a better look. ‘How much! I don’t believe it. I’m going to kill him. I am absolutely going to kill him.’ She bounced on the balls of her feet, with the pent-up angry energy of a lightweight boxer pumped for action.
‘So what happened?’
He’d never seen her like this. Energy fairly buzzed from her as she fizzed with manic agitation, emotion spilling out with tangible movement. What had happened to reserved, restrained Ella who even when pouring her heart out, kept a tight rein on her emotions?
‘I went to the gallery. Patrick wasn’t there.
’ Her voice vibrated with suppressed fury.
‘I would have probably walked out but the new manageress, who didn’t know me, was so snotty.
’ She pulled a disgusted face. ‘Seriously snotty. She made a song and dance about not knowing where Patrick was. Cowbag had no intention of telling me when Patrick would be back. I didn’t want to look stupid and there was no way I was going to give her the satisfaction of walking out, so I stayed to have a look round.
’ She screwed her face up in an expression which might have been comical if she hadn’t been so cross.
‘Not because I particularly wanted to but just because I could. I should have realised something was up.’
She looked at him as if he was supposed to say something but he wasn’t falling into that trap, not with her in this manic, agitated mood.
‘There were more people there than usual. And Patrick doesn’t run that sort of gallery.
Empty is more his style. Dead is normal operating procedure.
He wouldn’t want the masses in there anyway.
I thought it was intriguing. So I went into the other room to see what they were all looking at.
’ She paused and he felt her shoulders rise in tension before she burst out, ‘Only an exhibition of my flipping pictures.’ She clutched it tighter to her chest, her elbows winging out like an indignant penguin.
Devon didn’t quite follow. ‘I thought having an exhibition was a good thing.’
From the icy glare she gave him, it didn’t take Einstein to surmise he’d said something exceptionally stupid.
‘It is if the pictures haven’t been stolen,’ she spat the word, ‘from you.’ She stopped in the street and turned to face him, her face full of irate indignation.
‘Patrick took them. From the lock-up. All my mice pictures. They were mine. He stole them. After all he said.’ Her eyes widened with every sentence.
Her mouth opened and shut for a couple of seconds, her cheeks reddening. ‘I didn’t know anything about it. I can’t believe . . . I just . . . how dare he?’
‘Ah.’ Devon floundered for a minute. In the face of her anger, it would be as easy to say the wrong thing as it was to take a wrong step in a minefield.
‘Not just that.’ Her eyes widened, flashing with fury. ‘This,’ she stabbed at the image of Cuthbert with venom, ‘is a new one.’ With clenched teeth, she made a noise pretty close to a growl. ‘It wasn’t in the lock-up. No! Not even my publisher has seen it.’
It took a minute for Devon to work out what the implications of that were.
‘So how did he get hold of it?’ he asked cautiously, still aware of his precarious position.
‘As to the exact process, your guess is as good as mine, but it wasn’t legit.
He’s never been to the cottage. So who has?
’ Her eyes burned with a sheen, suggesting she was close to tears.
‘He must have phoned a friend. A mutual friend. Britta.’ She slowed down and he could see the weariness settle heavy on her shoulders as her posture sagged. Betrayal did that to you.
‘I’m sorry. That’s shit.’
‘I think that’s what tipped me over. I don’t care that he’s selling the pictures. It’s that he’s such a hypocrite. And that she came and pretended to be my friend. I lost it. Just took it off the wall and walked out with it.’
‘Ah,’ he could picture it, the sense of injustice powering her, ‘and that’s when you were arrested.’
Ella’s face fell with chagrin. ‘Yeah. It never occurred to me that they’d set the alarm off. I didn’t really think that far ahead. I don’t know what I thought they’d do. Or what I’d do. I didn’t think at all, just acted.’
She suddenly looked so woebegone as she stared down at the picture, holding it out at arm’s length.
He stopped and they looked at it together.
He smiled – it was Cuthbert at his finest. The mouse had an imperious look on his face as he posed paw on furry hip, the feather of his hat tickling him under the chin.
Devon slid an arm along her shoulder and pulled her closer to him.
‘You’re very talented. This is brilliant.’
‘It’s not brilliant.’ She wrinkled her nose and then her mouth softened. ‘Although, I like it.’ Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘Yeah, I really like it.’
‘You should. It’s clever. Witty. Warm. You can almost imagine what Cuthbert is thinking.’
She shot him a quick grin. ‘I know what he’s thinking.’
‘I’m the bee’s knees and isn’t this just the best hat you’ve ever seen?’ said Devon. ‘But you love me despite my vanity.’
He felt Ella’s shoulders lift and she turned her head towards him, delight showing on her face. ‘Ten out of ten, Mr Vet.’
‘And I’d say achieving that takes real talent and a certain skill.’
‘Thank you. That means a lot. I’d not really seen it like that before. Too wrapped up in worrying about the pictures not being meaningful.’
‘I’d say that’s in the eye of beholder and you. Cuthbert looks like he means to get up to plenty of mischief.’
Ella nodded. ‘He does that all right.’
Devon was pleased to see he’d put a smile back on her face – she had to be feeling pretty crappy at the moment. Being let down by people you loved and trusted ranked up there as being officially shit.
‘So, now that you’re a master art thief . . . Were you charged? What happens next?’ He slowed down; the car was in sight now.
‘They arrested me. Took all my stuff away, so I couldn’t even phone you. I had to wait for a duty solicitor except there wasn’t anyone.’ Her mouth trembled and he could tell she was getting upset again. Of course she was, it had to have been quite a traumatic experience.
‘Hey, it’s OK. You’re out now. So what did the solicitor say?’ He gave her another squeeze and she responded by nudging up to his body which wasn’t that easy when she was still hanging onto the picture.
‘It didn’t get that far. The custody sergeant came in and told me they’d received fresh information and I was free to go.’
‘Ella!’
‘Oh shit.’ The colour leached from her face. ‘It’s Patrick. I do not want to talk to him.’
‘Ella, wait!’ The shouted cry came from down the street.
Although taller than Devon had expected, Patrick looked exactly as he’d thought he would. Seriously, outside of films and Sunday supplements, who wore a wanky, cream-coloured linen suit? They were in downtown East London, not the bloody Tropics.
It was a personal prejudice, Devon knew that, but seriously, this man had a hairstyle. Shaved at the back, long at the front. Real men did not have hairstyles, at least not in his book.
Ella prodded Devon in the back, as if to hurry him along.
‘I don’t think you’ve got much choice. He’s clearly seen you.’ As soon as he added, ‘And it’s better to get it over with,’ he regretted it when she shot him a very dirty look. She slipped from underneath his arm and turned to face the man striding down the street towards them.
‘Ella, my God, are you all right? I am so sorry. I nearly fired Sandra for having you arrested. A complete overreaction.’ He put both hands out in a dramatic grasp of her upper arms.