‘Can I have a word?’ she asked. Philip winched up his best smile and showed her into his office. Once inside, he slid behind his desk and watched as she took a seat. ‘It’s about the chain,’ she explained.

‘Ah.’

‘Ah?’ she repeated. ‘I think ah is an understatement. My husband was threatened last night at the gallery—’

‘That has nothing to do with me.’

‘Oh, hear me out!’ Judith replied. ‘I haven’t got all day so let’s get down to it. You’re auctioning a chain that belonged to Bosch. And what else?’

‘Should there be something else?’

‘You are a schmuck, Philip,’ she retorted. ‘You and I know there’s a lot more to this than a chain. You knew Thomas Littlejohn, didn’t you?’ He nodded and Judith continued. ‘He knew about the chain’s secret and he’s dead. As are Sabine Monette and Claude Devereux – three people connected to the art world murdered. Why?’

‘The chain’s valuable. It belonged to Bosch—’

‘Bah!’ she said dismissively. ‘Let’s try again, shall we? What do you know? And I suggest you tell me the truth, because if you don’t, my next stop is Gerrit der Keyser. Or maybe Conrad Voygel – I hear he’s back in London—’

Philip put up his hands. How much to tell, how much to keep secret? Judith Kaminski had a big mouth and her husband was a leading authority on the Middle Ages. Perhaps, instead of excluding them, it might be to Philip’s advantage to bring them into the fold.

‘There’s a rumour going around about some papers hidden in the chain—’

‘Have you seen them?’

‘Yes.’

Relieved, Judith blew out her cheeks. ‘Well, that’s a start. So you know about the Bosch secret?’

‘Yes, but how d’you know?’

‘Thomas Littlejohn sent us a letter. He wanted a witness in case anything happened to him.’ She shrugged. ‘Hiram thought that if we said nothing no one would find out what we knew. He was wrong.’ She leaned towards the desk. ‘I love my husband more than you can imagine, and I tell you here and now I will do anything to protect him. He’s a good man, something of a novelty in this business, and I won’t see him hurt. Do I make myself clear?’

‘I don’t intend to hurt your husband,’ Philip said smoothly. ‘You say that he’s been threatened, but it wasn’t by me. Oh, come on, Judith, everyone knows I’m a born coward. If I can’t get what I want by stealth, I back off.’

She knew that much was true.

‘Well, someone tried to break into the gallery last night. Thank God I came home early—’

‘D’you know who it was?’

‘No. Do you?’

Philip paused, thinking. Would Honthorst go after Hiram Kaminski? Did the Dutchman know he was privy to the secret? And if it weren’t Honthorst, who else might it be? Sticky, he thought. It was all getting very sticky indeed.

‘D’you know Nicholas Laverne?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘He was the man who brought the chain to me.’

Judith narrowed her eyes. ‘Why?’

‘He wanted to sell it.’

‘The chain? Or the papers?’

‘Oh, you have seen them,’ Philip said blandly. ‘I’m so glad you weren’t bluffing. There’s already one liar in this room.’

Slowly, Judith began to count on her fingers. ‘So you know the secret, Hiram and I know, this Nicholas Laverne knows, Thomas Littlejohn knew and so did Sabine Monette. Six people at least … For a secret it’s pretty public. What about Gerrit der Keyser?’

‘He wants the chain back, but the secret? I don’t think he knows, but then again, he might. Gerrit isn’t a man to show his hand.’

‘What about Conrad Voygel?’

‘Desperate to buy the chain. Already offered me a fortune—’

‘Which you didn’t take?’

‘I think I can get more at the auction.’

‘If you live long enough … Why risk it?’ she asked, baffled. ‘What’s money worth to you? Isn’t your life worth more?’

‘Not the one I’ve got,’ Philip replied curtly. ‘Anyway, I’ve hired security.’

‘I got to you easily enough.’

‘You’re …’

‘A dumpy old Jewess?’ She pulled a face. ‘Remember, the biggest threat comes from the most unexpected place. Napoleon knew that.’

‘The Russian winter finished his tactics.’

‘And we have a London winter to get through,’ Judith replied deftly. ‘Or in this instance, three days. Have you been threatened?’

‘Why d’you think I got the security?’ Philip replied. ‘Gerrit der Keyser has been throwing his weight around. He has a cohort – a big Dutchman. I know he sent him to talk to Sabine Monette.’

‘You think he killed her?’

‘He could have done, but Honthorst would be too obvious a suspect. And I don’t know if Gerrit’s a killer. A crook, yes. A murderer, even once removed? Unlikely. But then you never know about people, do you?’ Philip changed tack. ‘As for Honthorst, I think he’s just hired muscle. More to intimidate than anything else.’

‘You think he could have been at our gallery last night?’

Philip dodged the question. ‘Did you call the police?’

‘I scared the man off, so why bring the police into it?’

‘Why not?’ Philip countered. ‘But then again, they would ask questions, like why your husband was being threatened, and then you’d have to tell them about Thomas Littlejohn and his confession. Which would interest the police, seeing as how they’re running around trying to find out who put a match to Mr Littlejohn.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t want to get involved, did you?’

‘I want to get my husband out of the mire, not drop him further in it.’

‘So why come and see me?’

‘Strategy.’ She took out a large envelope from her handbag and passed it to him across the desk. ‘That’s what Thomas Littlejohn sent us. Everything about the chain and the secret—’

‘I already know all about it.’

‘Not all of it.’ She pointed to the envelope. ‘There’s something extraordinary in there – a portrait of Hieronymus Bosch.’

‘What?’ Eagerly Philip rummaged through the pages until he came across the image of The Tree Man. Incredulous, he looked at Judith. ‘This is Hieronymus Bosch?’

She nodded.

‘Jesus! Does anyone else know about this?’

‘Apart from us, only Thomas Littlejohn. And he’s dead.’ She tapped the desk with her forefinger. ‘You can do what you like with that. Drum up interest, the price of the flaming Bosch chain – whatever. I don’t want anything. I don’t want the chain. I don’t want to be clever and try to sell what I know about the Bosch conspiracy. And I don’t want to be paid to keep it quiet.’

‘So what do you want?’

‘Safety,’ Judith replied. ‘I don’t care if there was a cover-up, I care about my family.’

Philip was eyeing her suspiciously. ‘You’re a dealer, Judith. Why give away something that’s worth a fortune?’

‘It’s only worth a fortune if you live long enough to enjoy it,’ she replied. ‘I want you to do one thing for me. Tell everyone what you know—’

‘About the deception?’

‘Oh, that part’s up to you! The rumour’s spreading,’ she said dismissively. ‘God knows how many people know already. I mean the painting. The chain. Everything. Tell them about The Tree Man and who it really was – Bosch.’

He was finding it hard to follow her. ‘And how does that help you?’

‘Who’ll come after us for information that’s been made public? Hiram won’t be the only one to know then – he’ll be one of many. Safety in numbers, it’s called. I want the gun pointing at someone else, Philip, not my husband.’

Fifty-Two

Church of St Stephen, Fulham, London

Watching from the back of his car, Conrad Voygel studied the church. As the windows of the car were tinted, no one could see him but he could see everything outside clearly – the church, the entrance porch where the unfortunate Thomas Littlejohn had been torched, the gravel path which led round to the back entrance, and the dark-haired man sitting talking to an old priest.