CHAPTER 20
THE TORN EDGE
“Monday morning. Marcus was to surrender the real provenance documents before publication.”
Ruth Mallory’s words had changed the shape of the case.
By nine the next morning, Ellis had warrants.
Romy learned that before she had finished opening Pattern House. One hand rested on the alarm panel. The other held a paper bag containing two croissants when her phone rang.
“You sound awake,” Ellis said.
“That is an accusation.”
“We have authority to search Marcus’s van, Fenn Found’s office, and the storage units associated with Asterleigh.”
Romy stopped entering the alarm code.
“When?”
“Now.”
“And you are calling me because?”
“We may need you to identify the felt roll you saw before the preview.”
The rest of her tiredness disappeared.
“Where?”
“Asterleigh.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Romy.”
“Yes?”
“You are identifying. Not searching.”
“I understand.”
“Say it.”
“I am not conducting a police search.”
“Good.”
“You have become controlling.”
“I have become experienced.”
He ended the call.
Romy stood inside Pattern House with the croissants still in her hand.
Leo came through the door thirty seconds later carrying coffee.
“What happened?”
“Warrants.”
He stopped.
“Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Van?”
“Yes.”
“Office?”
“Yes.”
“Storage?”
“Yes.”
Leo looked at the croissant bag.
“Can we eat first?”
Romy stared.
He raised his coffee.
“Evidence is easier with breakfast.”
He was right.
Annoyingly.
They sat at the worktable for seven minutes and ate croissants over brown paper to catch the flakes.
Leo poured coffee into Romy’s mug.
“You are becoming alarmingly competent.”
“I have been competent for weeks.”
“Confidence is good. Historical revision is not.”
He smiled.
Romy opened the 6:52 photograph on her laptop.
Marcus.
Plate-warmer.
Burgundy felt.
Gold woven edge.
That felt had existed in the case almost from the beginning.
Marcus himself had made it memorable.
Proper wool felt, he had said. Used under brass, bronze, stone. Burgundy with a gold selvedge meant Fenn Found. He ordered it in quantity because he liked recognizable handling materials.
At the time it had sounded like branding.
A flourish.
Now pieces of that material had been packed into a transfer gap to help create a lethal room.
Leo looked at the photograph.
“If they find the roll.”
“If.”
“And it’s torn.”
“If.”
“And the tear matches.”
“Do not build the result before Anika sees it.”
“I know.”
Romy pointed at him with half a croissant.
“Good.”
“You trained me to say things properly.”
“I know.”
“You cannot punish me for doing it.”
“I can refine.”
“That is a nicer word for punish.”
They finished breakfast and went to Asterleigh.
Two police vehicles stood near the service entrance. Marcus’s black van had been moved from the overflow parking area to a secure section of the drive.
FENN FOUND lettering ran along the side in restrained gold.
Now it looked like an evidence container on wheels.
Ellis met them outside.
“You brought Leo.”
“He is my assistant.”
“Placement,” Leo said.
Romy looked at him.
“Choose one.”
“Assistant today.”
Ellis almost smiled.
“The van has been photographed before opening.”
“Marcus present?”
“At his office with another team.”
“Solicitor?”
“Yes.”
“Did he object?”
“Extensively.”
Romy looked toward the van.
“Who had keys?”
“Marcus says several staff. We are checking vehicle logs, remote-lock records, site access footage, and staff statements.”
The rear doors opened under police control.
Romy stayed where Ellis told her.
For once.
An officer removed items one at a time.
Packing blankets.
Tool case.
Two framed mirrors.
A wooden crate containing lighting parts.
Straps.
Protective corners.
A stack of folded cloths.
Then a dark burgundy roll.
Romy stopped breathing properly.
The officer placed it on a clean evidence sheet.
Ellis looked at her.
“Identification only.”
“That is the same type.”
“Same type as?”
“The Fenn Found felt Marcus showed me during installation. Burgundy wool. Narrow gold woven edge.”
“Can you say it is the same roll?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The officer rotated it.
One end was factory straight.
The other was not.
A section appeared to have been pulled away rather than cut. Fibres stretched unevenly. A jagged bite ran across part of the width.
Leo leaned forward.
“That’s fresh.”
Romy looked at him.
He corrected himself.
“It appears relatively fresh compared with the older compression marks.”
Better.
Anika arrived ten minutes later.
She wore gloves before reaching the evidence sheet.
Romy showed her the 6:52 photograph.
“Felt carried by Marcus.”
Anika looked from the image to the roll.
“Visually consistent.”
“The torn end?”
“Interesting.”
“That is an Anika word for important.”
“It is an Anika word for interesting.”
Ellis said, “Can you compare it here?”
“Basic dimensions, yes. Physical correspondence needs controlled examination.”
The obstruction felt recovered from the Blue Study was already sealed in evidence packaging. Anika requested the relevant pieces.
They arrived in clear sleeves.
Burgundy.
Dense wool.
Gold edge on one section.
Folded and compressed where they had been forced into the panel return.
Laid near the larger roll without contact, they looked less like random scraps.
They looked removed.
Anika measured the roll width.
Then one recovered piece.
Same.
She measured the gold edge.
Same.
“Do not say same source yet,” she said without looking at Romy.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You inhaled.”
“That is not legally significant.”
Ellis folded his arms.
“It often is with you.”
Anika ignored them.
She examined the weave under portable magnification.
Then the selvedge.
Then the torn boundary.
One recovered piece had a rough edge where fibres had separated unevenly. The remaining roll had a corresponding irregular section.
Anika stopped talking.
That was when Romy became most interested.
“What?”
“Nothing until I have it in the lab.”
“That was not nothing.”
“It was restraint.”
Leo looked at Romy.
“She enjoys this.”
“She does.”
Anika looked up.
“I enjoy not making claims I have to retract later.”
Fair.
The van search continued.
More handling materials.
A crate of antique metalwork.
A small locked drawer under the side bench.
Police opened it.
Inside were tools, gloves, cleaning cloths, and three slim cardboard packets.
One officer read the label.
“Beech charcoal warming cartridges.”
Romy looked at Ellis.
He did not move.
The officer placed the packets separately.
They were unopened.
Specialist heritage catering supply.
For use in reproduction or historic-style warming equipment.
Romy remembered Marcus’s statement from days earlier.
Fenn Found occasionally demonstrated historic warming equipment.
No fuel had been brought to Asterleigh.
No fuel.
Except three unopened packets in the van parked at the event.
“He lied,” Romy said.
Ellis looked at her.
“He gave a false account if these packets were in the van during the preview.”
“Which you can establish.”
“Possibly.”
Anika picked up one packet after clearance.
“Natural beech charcoal.”
“The plate-warmer residue was natural beech.”
“Yes.”
“Same supplier?”
Anika checked the label, then her notes.
“Same specialist manufacturer as a component indicated by the residue analysis.”
Romy frowned.
“Indicated how?”
“Trace mineral and preparation characteristics. The residue was not intact enough for packet identification, but the charcoal is consistent with this supplier’s beech product.”
“Not unique.”
“No.”
“But much closer than Celeste’s coconut-shell briquettes.”
“Completely different class of fuel.”
Ellis looked at the packets.
“Marcus told us no fuel came to Asterleigh.”
“Yes,” Romy said.
“He may say the cartridges lived in the van permanently.”
“He probably will.”
“That still makes his answer false.”
“If he knew they were there.”
Romy stared at him.
“You are determined to be fair until it hurts.”
“Yes.”
Good.
She meant it this time.
By noon, the van had produced exactly the kind of evidence Romy wanted and exactly the kind she had learned to distrust until specialists finished with it.
The felt looked right.
The torn end looked promising.
The charcoal looked relevant.
None of it yet completed the chain.
Ellis left for the Fenn Found office search.
Romy and Leo returned to Pattern House.
Nina waited outside with a takeaway bag.
“You people are impossible to feed conventionally.”
Romy unlocked the door.
“How did you know we were coming back?”
“Leo texted.”
Romy looked at him.
“Operational betrayal.”
“Lunch.”
Inside, Nina unpacked tomato soup, cheese sandwiches, and a slice of lemon cake large enough for three.
Romy sat.
Nina watched her take the first spoonful.
“So?”
“Police found the felt roll.”
Nina stopped.
“And?”
“One end is irregularly torn.”
“The pieces from the vent?”
“Potentially correspond.”
“Potentially.”
“Anika will compare them properly.”
Nina leaned forward.
“Charcoal?”
“How do you know about charcoal?”
“Because the entire case now contains charcoal.”
“Fair.”
“Did they find any?”
“Unopened beech-charcoal warming cartridges in Marcus’s van.”
Leo added, “Same specialist supplier type as the residue is consistent with.”
Nina looked at him.
“That sentence came from training.”
“Yes.”
Romy almost smiled.
“So Marcus had fuel,” Nina said.
“Yes.”
“And said he didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“And had the felt.”
“Yes.”
“And carried the warmer.”
“Yes.”
“And Sebastian was about to wreck his business.”
“Yes.”
“And expected him in the Blue Study.”
“Yes.”
Nina stared.
“Why are we still sitting here?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Call him.”
“No.”
Nina looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Ask him why he lied about the fuel.”
“No.”
“Ask him about the felt.”
“No.”
“Tell him Ruth gave him up.”
“Nina.”
“What?”
Romy put down her spoon.
“I am not confronting Marcus.”
The room quieted.
Leo looked at her.
Nina did too.
“You confronted people in Marchmont.”
“I know.”
“Frequently.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes stupidly.”
“I know.”
Nina’s expression changed.
“Oh.”
Romy looked toward the evidence board.