The Bronze Lady (Woodford Antiques Mystery Book 2) (20 page)

Chapter 50

Saturday 27
th
February, 7.28am

‘Erm Mum, there’s a queue of men outside the door!’ Caroline called through to Lisa, who was in the kitchen of the Woodford Tearooms making the final preparations for the morning’s breakfast trade. The first hour and a half on a Saturday was usually a fairly steady stream of ones and twos wanting bacon rolls and cups of tea.

‘Is there? How many?’

‘I can see seven.’

‘Better let them in then!’

‘Hi Lisa.’

‘Robin! What a lovely surprise. I thought you weren’t going to be back from Aberdeen until Wednesday? Don’t tell me you have been there and back in a day! Sorry darling, I’m a bit busy. We seem to be very popular this morning, no idea why.’

‘I know why,’ he said quietly. ‘Can I have a private word with you please?’

Lisa suddenly felt very cold as an unwelcome thought popped into her head.

‘It will have to wait,’ she said shortly. ‘I have a business to run, customers to serve.’ She turned her back on him.

It soon became clear, as Lisa suspected, that Robin was a part of the group of men who had been waiting for the tearoom doors to open. Between them Caroline and Lisa efficiently prepared, cooked and served a number of breakfasts consisting of bacon, eggs and toast, with tea and coffee on permanent demand.

‘Lisa, Lisa, have you heard, Tony Cookson has been arrested! The police have been searching his house and taken loads of stuff away.’ Gemma appeared in the kitchen, in her Woodford Tearooms uniform and ready to work even though she wasn’t due in until half past eleven that morning. She washed her hands, read the order pad, saw that Lisa was cooking bacon and eggs and sausages, and started to take toast out and put bread into the toaster. ‘Daniel came in and told me. The police told Paul, who phoned Rebecca, who called Daniel. Apparently he was seen by an antiques dealer over in Kent yesterday who contacted the police. He is not a popular man in the antiques community by all accounts. Hey, isn’t that your Robin sitting over there with those other men? I thought you said you couldn’t see him until Wednesday?’

‘It is, and I did.’

‘So what’s...oh my god, you don’t think they are police and he is one of them do you?’

‘Yes, and yes.’ Lisa hadn’t really thought much of the mystery about the man who may or may not have been Robin sitting with a group of men she suspected were policemen a few days before, but today she was sure it had been him, and she didn’t like what this suggested.

‘Lisa! What is going on?’

‘Other than yet again I have been deceived by a man you mean?’ Lisa voice was shaking, and Gemma could see tears coursing down her face.

‘Oh sis,’ she said as she went over to Lisa and held her tight.

Caroline walked in with a tray of dirty plates and cutlery to find her aunt and her mum in silent embrace.

‘What’s happened Gem? Are you OK? Is Peter alright?’

‘Yes, yes, we’re all fine. Your mum has had a bit of a shock,’ and Gemma nodded through the serving window in the direction of where Robin was sitting.

‘Oh it
is
him!’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘I’ve only met him briefly as we passed on the doorstep. What’s he doing here? I thought you said he was back on Wednesday?’

‘Well now that your aunt is here I think it is time I found out the answers to some questions I have.’ Lisa pulled herself away from her sister’s embrace, found a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose thoroughly, before beckoning Robin in from the tearoom.

It was too cold to sit outside, so Lisa and Robin ended up standing very close together in the larder. It was a difficult conversation for both of them. Robin explained that he had been on an assignment for eighteen months, with a team of other police officers tracing and following a number of people, including Tony Cookson, who they suspected were involved in money laundering which included selling brass statues as bronze. He apologised over and over again for lying to Lisa about his true career and the reasons for his absences, and tried to assure her that his time spent with her was real. That he did like her very much, when he was with her she was with the real Robin Morton, that their love-making was genuine, and that if she could bear to trust him again he wanted to continue their relationship.

Lisa listened to him, believed him. And said no.

Chapter 51

Saturday 27
th
February, 9.30am

Rebecca and Cliff were having a cup of coffee upstairs in his flat above the antiques centre. Cliff was overjoyed that his wife had finally accepted his invitation to drop in any time, even if it was just so she could pass on a message from Paul Black.

‘All I can tell you is what he told me, Cliff. He just said that the police have told him they raided Tony’s property late last night and found a tank full of silver nitrate solution and enough brass figures and onyx clock bits and pieces to be able to add them to the case they are building against him. Why are the clocks significant?’

‘The bases they are on are used to fix the brass statues onto. How on earth did he get mixed up in faking bronze figures? I can’t believe the man I called a friend could have been deceiving Paul like that for years, and worse putting both Paul’s liberty and business in jeopardy like that. He would have gone to prison if this had carried on.’

‘So you do believe Paul is innocent?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Of course!’ said Cliff vehemently.

‘Good. So do I. He has been uncharacteristically quiet and introverted for the last few weeks. I just feel bad for believing that he and Tony had fallen out over a failed seduction attempt.’

‘Oh I don’t feel bad about that!’ laughed Cliff. ‘I do feel bad about not believing him when he first tried to explain though. I’ll go up and see him again later today. Did he say if he has been given a release date yet?’

‘No, but it probably won’t be until the middle of next week at the earliest. He still has some swelling around his eye where Tony hit him with the baseball bat, so until that reduces significantly they can’t be sure that his brain hasn’t been affected. Christine is going up later today with the children, maybe she can give you a lift?’

‘Good idea, I’ll give her a ring. Shouldn’t you be in work by now?’

‘Yes, I should. The phone will probably be ringing off the hook. I’ll go now, thanks for the coffee. See you later Cliff.’

Cliff washed up the cups and teaspoons and walked down the stairs to open the antiques centre, all the time with a soppy smile on his face.

‘Morning Cliff, was that Rebecca I saw leaving here just now?’

‘Hi Nicola, yes it was, she came to give me an update on Paul. Oh, and Tony Cookson has been arrested.’

‘Yes I know, I have just been into the tearooms for breakfast where some of the police officers involved were also eating. You’ll never guess who Lisa Bartlett’s boyfriend has turned out to be! Only Rowland Mitchell in disguise! Or do I mean disguised as Rowland Mitchell. He was an undercover policeman.’

‘No!’ said Cliff, genuinely surprised. ‘That smelly old dealer was Lisa’s good-looking chap?’

‘Yes, and that explains why he kept selling his rubbish when no one else could, doesn’t it. He had to have buyers so he could keep up his stand in here. We must have been selling to undercover policemen almost every day of the week.’

‘Oh, really? And I suppose that may also go some way to explaining how he knew John Robson? Although I can’t see John being a grass, can you?’

Next through the door was Hazel Wilkinson.

‘Goodness, what on earth is going on! The place is swarming with police. Their vehicles have been filling up Farnham Road all along the side of The Green since yesterday afternoon. Apparently Tony Cookson has been caught, at last. How is Paul Black, have you seen him?’

‘It’s all to do with these fake bronzes,’ Nicola explained briefly.

‘And Paul is feeling much more comfortable now,’ Cliff reassured her. ‘I am going back up to the hospital this afternoon.’

‘Oh that’s good. Poor man, what a shock! Please do pass on my regards to him. I just popped in to say that I am dragging Alastair away from the veterinary practice for a few days, and we are going to spend some time on the water.’

‘In your barge!’ exclaimed Nicola. ‘Won’t it be freezing on there at this time of year?’

Hazel laughed, ‘no! We have a wood burner and electric heaters. The place is so toasty and cosy I swear it is warmer than our draughty old house. I’ll have my mobile with me, so on the off chance anyone wants to buy my entire stall and needs a good price you can contact me,’ she laughed.

‘Such a nice lady,’ commented Nicola after Hazel had gone.

Next through the door was Sarah Handley. ‘Hello you two, I thought I would grab a few minutes to find out what is going on before the pub opens for the day and the Chinese Whispers start. What is going on?’

Nicola and Cliff looked at each other, before Cliff said ‘That is what we would like to know.’

His timing was excellent, because just at that moment Robin Morton walked in through the door. ‘Ah, by the look on your faces I can see the news about Rowland Mitchell has reached you already. Please let me introduce myself properly,’ he said, reaching out to shake hands with Nicola and Cliff. ‘My name is Robin, and yes, I am sorry for deceiving you, and for stinking the place out. I find it stops people looking too closely at me. Someone will be in early next week to clear the stand, but of course the rent will be paid until the end of next month as agreed.’

‘Well I never would have recognised that you and Rowland were the same man,’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘But now you are here, I am sure we can all forgive you if you tell us what on earth has been going on.’

‘I’ll tell you what I can,’ said Robin.

‘Wait! Before you get started, I need another coffee,’ said Cliff. ‘Who else wants one?’

By the time Cliff came back down the stairs with a tray of drinks they had been joined by several other people, all eager to hear from Robin why events had escalated to such a violent state. A variety of chairs had been pulled from the surrounding stands, so the predominantly jean-clad bottoms in numerous shapes and sizes were seated on a selection of Victorian upholstered insert seats, arts and crafts high backed dining chairs with William Morris reproduction material seat coverings, one person was sat on a nursing chair, and two people were sitting on a conversation seat which they had positioned sideways into the circle. Cliff reflected that this was probably the largest number of antiques dealers to be present in his antiques centre since it had opened, but none of them looked in the mood for spending any money.

Robin began to speak. ‘I will tell you as much as I can. I feel I owe you all that much.

‘Seventeen years ago an auctioneer in Northumberland was imprisoned for mis-describing a brass figurine as bronze. During our investigations which led successfully to his prosecution it came to light that he had probably been selling up to eight of these brass statues a year for at least three years, and cataloguing them as bronze. He tried to implicate several other people in an effort to prove his own innocence, mainly antiques dealers who were on the shady edge of the trade, but his evidence proved to be worthless and we believe he was attempting to send us in the opposite direction to those who were genuinely involved. As a direct result of his behaviour a number of those dealers he attempted to bring down with him offered to work with us on future cases.’

Robin paused as various members of his audience nodded and muttered that they remembered the case. The antiques world is tight-knit and the rogue dealers are usually well-known and remembered. In addition no one wants to be accused of something they haven’t done, and everyone avoids dealing with those in the trade who are likely to make ill-founded accusations. Trouble-makers are never popular in any business.

‘For a while nothing seemed to be happening. The trade in fake bronzes appeared to have come to an end, the people we suspected of being involved looked as if they were no longer interested in that business, and the investigation was put to one side. Until last year. One of our friendly dealers let us know that a number of these brass fakes were popping up here in the south-west. They were too few and being sold too far apart geographically and the time-frames were too sparse for us to pinpoint if any one person was deliberately dealing in this way.  Based on our intelligence the auctioneers and antiques dealers involved were innocently describing and selling these brass items as bronze.’

Cliff looked at the faces of the people in the room. Everyone was listening with rapt attention whether their eyes were on Robin, or sightlessly looking around the room, or focused on the floor in front of them.

‘We tried to keep track of all the auction catalogues available online, but the items for sale in the car boot markets, flea markets, and antiques markets were impossible to police, there are too many of them. Eight months ago another of our dealers knocked on the door and pointed in the direction of Mark Kenyon. Some of you will know him, may have even dealt with him, legitimately.’

There were a few shifting of bottoms and clearing of throats at this point, and eye contact was sparse.

‘Mark was a well-established antiques dealer of militaria. He had a long history of dealing, with no anomalies that we could see, nothing remotely dodgy, a good honest reputable dealer. But our informant told us that relatives of his were selling bronze figures at their local market, in amongst old china tea sets and tomato plants and books. The quality of the figures was superb, and their explanation that they were collectors who were selling up didn’t hold water for long for several reasons. Collectors who want to get rid of their collections usually sell them privately or put the whole lot into a specialist auction, for a much better return on their investment than selling them in dribs and drabs for less than they are worth at a local market. We started to take note of what they were selling, and how frequently, and once we could record the pattern of them taking orders and then producing the requested items within a month or so we knew their cover story was as fake as the ‘bronzes’ they were purportedly selling.’

‘Surely you are not seriously standing there telling us that a load of antiques dealers have been happily trotting off to police stations around the country for years, tittle-tattling about what the chap on the stall next door is selling?’ asked Sarah impatiently, and was rewarded with a general murmur of agreement by the antiques dealers present. ‘And what has any of this got do with why Tony Cookson suddenly turned from being one of the lovely Regulars in my pub to a homicidal maniac?’

‘Ah, Sarah,’ smiled Robin, holding his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Hold on, I’m getting to him. You are very knowledgeable about the antiques business, for a member of the public. You had me worried. I thought you were going to blow the case wide open before we could completely find and record all of our evidence to make a conviction stick. For a while there I wondered if you were a part of it too.’

Aha, thought Cliff, the physical shift he sensed in the pub earlier that week must have come from Robin.

‘About the people who keep us abreast of what is going on in the antiques trade,’ he continued, quelling the rising sound of dissension in the room with a sweeping look. ‘No, I don’t want to give you the impression that we have a stream of people knocking on the door reporting on every slightly dodgy transaction. But we do have contact with people who are interested in keeping this business clean. Long gone are the days where Market Overt was not only legal but gleefully embraced by areas of the trade. The glory days of tens of thousands of pounds openly exchanging hands day after day are over. Money is tight. People are working extremely hard just to keep their heads above water.’

‘I’m hanging on by my fingernails, but the trouble is they keep breaking!’ laughed Chris Moses, successfully breaking the tension built up by the increasing wall of animosity which had been building up between the dealers and Robin.

‘What is Market Overt?’ asked Sarah.

‘It used to be legal to sell stolen goods on certain markets during the hours of darkness, called Market Overt,’ explained Cliff. ‘Everyone in the trade knew that there were certain dealers’ stands to avoid at Bermondsey market, or make a beeline for if you were that way inclined. It was only made illegal in the early 1990s.’

Robin nodded and smiled his appreciation and carried on. ‘As Chris says, antiques dealing can be a daily struggle, and there are enough people who don’t like to see their legally hard earned income being swamped by flash dealers who treat them with contempt, and effectively put them out of business by selling low quality, stolen, or fake goods at cheaper prices than their own quality items bought with integrity and with years of accumulated knowledge behind them. Times are hard in the antiques trade’ he paused as another murmur swelled into a general chorus of agreement, and allowed himself a small smile, relieved the audience were back on his side.

‘Rumour has it that the original moulds from the nineteenth century Vienna bronze factories were stolen when the factories were closed down, and that the recipe for the paint used in the cold-painting process has been lost with the dying out of the craftsmen who used it. We cannot prove it, but we believe Tony Cookson’s grandfather bought those moulds a long time ago and used them for his own purposes. We think that Tony has spent all of his working life continuing the family tradition, and slowly building his business in faking cold-painted Vienna bronzes by operating on a three year programme of recruiting people to cast and paint the figures, while he concentrates on the network for retailing the finished products. From the information we have gathered we estimate he has made hundreds and thousands of pounds with each new project, each one an improvement and therefore a bigger earner than the one before. He invests almost all of the profits from the previous project into the next one, which is a big gamble. This latest project was started less than a year ago. We are still collating the evidence, but it does look as though his investment into it with his accumulated earnings would be in the region of three million pounds.’