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‘Tell me about the painting.’
‘What painting?’ He scratched his head, and giggled again.
‘The one the police took.’
‘Oh, that painting! It’s a nice little painting, don’t you think. Technically, not from the very top drawer, but very pleasant.’
‘I’m not interested in the painting’s aesthetic qualities, you idiot. Is it stolen?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘So where did you get it?’
He looked down, as if embarrassed, though whether a man can be embarrassed while drunk is a moot point. What is certain, however, is that a drunk can very easily put his foot in it, especially with an already angry spouse.
‘Maria brought it back from Venice.’
‘Maria!’ Sarah’s screech lanced inside Dominic’s skull, bouncing around like a ping-pong ball on speed.
‘It was only business,’ he said quickly, but too late. ‘Absolutely only business.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell me. Did she buy it on the last Cornforth trip?’
‘Yes.’ He was sitting down now, his right hand on his forehead, playing the sympathy card. ‘Do we have any paracetamol?’
‘Behind my back. You and her behind my back, laughing at me. You bastard.’
‘It was just business. I swear.’
‘So why keep it a secret from your wife?’
He held up his hand as if this might somehow deflect her ire. ‘I didn’t tell you because it’s safer that way. If you knew, then you would be involved. You’ve got to believe me.’
‘So was the painting stolen?’
‘No. I told you. Maria bought it in Venice. The guy didn’t know what he’d got. No doubt Maria worked her usual charm, and he ended up selling it to her for virtually nothing. She brought it to me, and I made a couple of phone calls, and Bob’s your uncle, we had a deal.’
‘So if Maria bought it legitimately, how come the police were looking for it?’
He didn’t answer immediately. Keeping up with the barrage of questions was proving difficult in his current state. ‘The police found a photograph of it on Jack Smith’s mobile.’
‘You what? How on earth did it get there?’
‘Maybe Maria showed it to him, and he photographed it. I don’t know. Look, I need some water and paracetamol. Please.’
Sarah considered the request, and then walked off to the kitchen, returning shortly afterwards with a large glass of water and two white pills
. He tossed the pills down the back of his throat, and drank deeply. Sarah took the nearly empty glass, placed it carefully on the oak coffee table, and turned back to her husband.
‘Did you kill Maria and Jack?’
Dominic Russell looked up at his wife, incomprehension plastered across his flushed, sweaty face. ‘You what?’
‘Did you kill them?’ she repeated, her voice sharper, louder, almost visceral in its intensity. Even through his drunkenness, Dominic could sense the danger signs.
‘Of course I bloody didn’t. Why would I have done? It was just a business deal, plain and simple. Why should I kill them?’
‘Can’t you think of a reason? Well, let me see if I can help.’ Every word she spoke was infected with sarcasm and disgust, and even her sot of a husband could feel it. ‘Because with both of them dead, you’ve got that nice little painting all to your nasty little self. And maybe others that I know nothing about. So then you could go off and make a sale without your dear little wife knowing, and then you could spend it all on yourself. How about that for a motive?’
