Chương 8
“Marcus would never accept that term.”
“He may have if he believed the transaction would close without scrutiny.”
“Who owns the seller?”
“We’re looking.”
Elena glanced at Lydia.
Rachel followed the glance, then pulled the curtain around the bed.
“Your sister knows you were attacked,” Rachel said. “Does she know about the authentication issue?”
“No.”
Lydia’s voice came through the curtain. “Your sister can hear you.”
Rachel opened it again.
Lydia sat with both arms folded.
“Fine,” Rachel said. “Then we speak carefully. Elena, tell me exactly when you first believed the canvas in the preview was not the canvas you examined.”
“Last night at nine seventeen.”
“That precise?”
“I was standing beside the north clock in the gallery. It chimed.”
“What did you notice?”
“The lower tacking edge.”
Rachel waited.
Elena looked toward Lydia, who gave no sign of understanding.
“The original canvas had irregular hand-cut tacks,” Elena explained. “Late nineteenth century, probably French. Two were missing on the lower edge, and one had been replaced with a modern steel tack during a 1970s lining repair. I photographed them during the first examination. Last night, the tacks were uniform and artificially oxidized.”
“Could the canvas have been restretched?”
“Not without documentation, and not without altering the surface tension. The painting looked too flat.”
“What else?”
“The craquelure pattern near the woman’s left shoulder did not match my infrared image. The frame was the same. The labels were the same. The canvas was different.”
Rachel typed.
“When did you tell Marcus?”
“Immediately.”
“In front of whom?”
“Vivienne. Two handlers. Possibly a server.”
“Names?”
“I don’t know the handlers. The server was called Owen or Evan.”
“What did Marcus say?”
“That pregnancy had made me cautious.”
Lydia made a sound under her breath.
Rachel continued, “Then?”
“He asked the handlers to leave. He told Vivienne to close the gallery. I said I would contact Kessler’s representative. Marcus took my phone.”
“How?”
“I reached for it. He caught my wrist.”
“Was that the first physical contact?”
“Yes.”
“What happened after?”
Elena described it in order.
The gallery doors locked. Vivienne stood beside the painting while Marcus demanded a revised statement. Elena refused. Marcus struck her once with an open hand. She fell against a display plinth. He accused her of creating the substitution herself to cover an authentication failure. When she tried to reach the service hall, he caught her by the arm and pushed her into the wall. Her eyebrow split against the edge of a gilt frame.
After that, memory became less exact.
There had been a chair overturned. Vivienne had moved her champagne glass out of its path. Marcus had taken Elena’s watch and thrown it beneath a console. Elena had heard him tell Vivienne that the bedroom had no interior cameras. She had tried to run when he opened the gallery doors, but dizziness and the weight of her pregnancy made speed impossible.
He dragged her the rest of the way.
Rachel’s typing slowed.
“Did Vivienne touch you?”
“No.”
“Did she encourage him?”
“Not directly.”
“Did she tell him to stop?”
“Once, when he raised his hand again. She said not to hit my face.”
Lydia stood and walked to the window.
Rachel asked, “Why was Vivienne present during the inspection?”
“She was listed as an adviser to the seller.”
“An adviser in what capacity?”
“Private collections.”
“Does she have professional qualifications?”
“No.”
“Did she have access to the painting after your first examination?”
“Yes. It was stored at her family’s estate for eleven days before the preview.”
Rachel stopped typing.
“Why?”
“Marcus said Vane House was renovating its secure vault.”
“Was it?”
“One climate-control unit was being replaced. The other vaults were available.”
“Did you question the transfer?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said the seller required privacy.”
Rachel sat back.
Lydia turned from the window. “You knew all of this before last night?”
“I knew the transfer happened,” Elena said. “I didn’t know the canvas had been switched.”
“You suspected something.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six weeks.”
Lydia gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Six weeks.”
Elena looked at Rachel. “There’s a letter in the office drawer.”
Rachel’s expression changed.
“What letter?”
“One I wrote after the storage transfer.”
“To whom?”
“The Vane House board.”
“Did you send it?”
“No.”
Lydia looked between them.
Rachel closed the laptop halfway. “What does it say?”
“That I signed the attribution before the final fiber analysis.”
“How long before?”
“Three days.”
“Did the analysis support the attribution?”
“The fiber was consistent with the period.”
“Then why does the timing matter?”
“Because the contract required all testing to be completed before I issued a final opinion.”
Rachel’s face remained neutral in the disciplined way that meant she was alarmed.
“Why did you sign early?”
Elena’s mouth had gone dry.
Lydia returned to the chair but did not sit.
“Marcus said the seller would withdraw if we missed the catalog deadline. He said preliminary findings were conclusive. He offered me the foundation position.”
No one spoke.
A nurse entered to check the monitor, felt the tension in the room, and concentrated very carefully on the machine. She adjusted one sensor and asked Elena whether she needed water.
“Yes,” Elena said.
The nurse poured a cup, placed it on the tray, and left.
Lydia looked at the water.
“You let him buy your opinion,” she said.
“No.”
“What would you call it?”
“I examined the painting. It was authentic.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Elena reached for the cup. Her hand shook badly enough that water spilled onto the blanket.
Lydia took it from her, set it down, and used a towel to blot the wet fabric. The practical kindness felt worse than anger.
Rachel opened the laptop again.
“Did Marcus ever put the job offer in writing?”
“No.”
“Did you disclose it as a potential conflict?”
“No.”
“Did you alter any findings?”
“No.”
“Did you omit uncertainty?”
Elena hesitated.
May you like
Rachel’s eyes lifted.
“I described the attribution as conclusive,” Elena said. “I should have said strongly supported pending final analysis.”
