The Art of Murder, page 11
part #2 of Jordan Jenner Mystery Series
Twenty
Jordan left the hotel and drove to Susanne’s home. Every couple of seconds, he checked his mirrors, expecting to see the man with the gun behind the wheel of the car behind him. He slammed his brakes at one point, almost rear-ending another car, and cursed himself for his lack of focus.
Susanne lived on a farm between Newport and Cardiff. Jordan travelled down a lane that needed tarmacking, his car bumping up and down over potholes until he finally arrived to a drive that had been built for Susanne’s beaten-up Land Rover. Jordan could smell manure even before he opened the door. Over in a field to his left, horses grazed. Somewhere on Susanne’s land, cows mooed.
Jordan went to Susanne’s door, a wooden one flecked with dry mud, and rang the bell. He stood back, looking up at the grey sky and the smoke that came from a brick chimney. The door opened. Jordan expected to see Susanne but instead a man stood there.
The man had grey stubble, his hair thinning. He wore a grey woollen jacket, jeans, and green wellington boots.
“Yeah?”
“Uh, Jordan Jenner. Private investigator. I rang Susanne earlier.” Jordan wondered if he had got the wrong house.
“Ah right,” the man said. “Yeah, come in. Go through to the kitchen.”
Jordan stepped into the hallway as the man stepped out walking over flooring that was solid stone, and into a cramped kitchen. Susanne was stood at the back door, looking out into her garden and further towards a field.
Photographs on old wooden cabinets showed Susanne with her family. Jordan’s attention lingered on a photo of Susanne and the grey man, looking younger in this, before turning back to Susanne’s figure in the doorway.
Jordan cleared his throat.
Susanne jumped. “Oh, you gave me a fright. Who let you in?”
“The man,” Jordan said, feeling stupid. “Uh, was it your husband?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Susanne said. “It’s his farm. Not mine. Well, I help out sometimes.”
It was then that Jordan noticed she was wearing wellington boots too. They were fresh with dirt.
“I see.”
“Let me take these off, and then we’ll go to my little respite room.” Susanne took her boots off with effort, leaving them outside. Beyond her, geese honked. Susanne laughed. “That will be Tomos feeding the geese.”
“Who’s Tomos?”
“My son,” Susanne said. “He loves the farm. He’ll be feeding the birds.”
“How many animals do you have here?”
Susanne shut the kitchen door, cutting out the noise of the hungry geese, and walked towards another door at the end of the room. She beckoned for Jordan to follow her. “We have pigs, cows, horses, chickens, geese, and goats. We sell as much as we can. It’s a good little business, but times are tough as you can imagine.”
They walked down a crooked passage that served as a cloakroom, Jordan squeezing past coats and jackets designed for different types of weather. From the narrow tunnel, they stepped out to a small hall, where there was only one door.
“Used to be a pantry,” Susanne explained. “We knocked it through to the garage next door and reinforced it for my own little room.”
Susanne opened the wooden door and they headed inside. It was a small room, one that was warm, plush, and cosy. Jordan could tell Susanne took pride in it. There was a red sofa and two red armchairs, a bookcase on one wall next to a small window overlooking what appeared to be an apple tree, and a TV hung up on the wall. Susanne turned on the lamps and sat on the sofa, indicating the armchair opposite the window. Jordan took a seat, just as they heard the kitchen door open.
“Ah, that will probably be Tomos now,” Susanne said, and for the first time, Jordan wondered if she was talking because she was nervous. “Tomos? Tomos! Can you come here please?”
Footsteps approached, and Tomos appeared at the door. Jordan quickly looked away, the way he did when he noticed somebody handsome. Tomos was young, maybe a year or two younger than him, and tall. He had a striking jawline, his hair a light brown and ruffled back from the weather. He wore a fleece jacket, similar to his dad’s, but it looked better on him. Tomos lingered, his gaze on Jordan before reverting his attention to his mother.
“Yes?”
“I have a guest here. This is Jordan Jenner.”
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Jordan said, managing a smile.
“Could you be a darl and make us a drink?” Susanne asked of her son. “What do you fancy, Jordan?”
“Coffee, if you have it.”
“Milk? Sugar?” Tomos asked him.
“Both, please. Just the one sugar.”
Tomos smiled, and Jordan felt his pulse quicken. Focus, Jordan.
“And you know what I like,” Susanne said. “Then come join us, if you want? You won’t mind that, Jordan, will you?”
“Uh, well, it’s actually about Xander…”
“Oh, Tomos knew Xander. Of course he did,” Susanne said. She looked at her son. “You won’t mind staying whilst he asks his questions, will you?”
“No, of course not,” Tomos said. “Drinks coming up.”
Tomos disappeared.
“It’s a nice place you have here,” Jordan said, trying to find something to say that wasn’t Is your son single and gay?
“That’s nice of you to say,” Susanne said. “I never thought I’d end up on a farm. I’m not interested in it.”
“I was wondering how you ended up working in art.”
“Well, I don’t work in art. Not really,” Susanne said. “Started in PR, before becoming a PA. Personal assistant, that is.”
Jordan knew what PA meant, but he didn’t want to correct Susanne and appear rude. Her nerves made her tongue loose, and Jordan liked that.
“I had many clients but then came across Xander. Tomos, he’s the one interested in art. Told me about an art exhibit at his uni. I went there, and Xander was exhibiting.”
“At university?” Jordan asked.
“That’s right. His final year. Lots of talent scouts there. Tomos was in the same year. Introduced me to the man. Xander said he was looking for a PA, and so I said I was available. I don’t know why. Something I wanted to do, maybe. To be there. There was something about him. He was…charming.”
Susanne’s eyes lit up as she remembered the man that she had worked with.
“Did you know then…?”
“That he would go on to achieve what he did?” Susanne interrupted. “No, of course not. He was young and eager, and I was persuaded to be his PA, but I was convinced I would need to crack out the old PR skills again. By chance, he got scouted at that very show. Tomos didn’t, bless him, but Tomos seems to enjoy the farm. Before I knew it, I was PAing with someone that was actually doing pretty well for himself. I was so proud.”
The door opened, and Tomos came in, carrying a tray with three china mugs on top. He set it down on the table in the middle of the room and handed one to his mother and one to Jordan. Jordan took it, their fingers brushing, and he glanced at Tomos as they touched. Beautiful eyes. Tomos smiled at him, his eyes drifting to Jordan’s fingers.
Tomos took the seat opposite Jordan with his own coffee at hand. “What were you talking about?”
“How I met Xander,” Susanne said.
“I take credit for it,” Tomos told Jordan. “It was my show.”
“That’s right.” Jordan smiled. “She said you were an artist too? Do you still paint?”
“Oh, I didn’t paint at university. That wasn’t my forte,” Tomos said.
“Don’t be silly. You painted! You paint,” Susanne said.
“I sculpted. I was more talented at that. I haven’t done it in a while, though. To be honest, the degree felt pretty useless.”
“Were you close to Xander?”
“Close, yeah,” Tomos said. “I befriended him almost immediately. I was drawn to him.”
“I suspected there was something going on between them.” Susanne smiled at her son.
Tomos glanced at his mother.
Jordan observed Tomos. “Was there?”
Tomos blinked. “No, not at all. He was a good-looking man. But we never…He never…” Tomos stopped, as if he was embarrassed to be talking about such a thing in front of his mother.
“Were you at the show?”
“No, I couldn’t go.” Tomos seemed relieved of the subject change. “I was busy here. Dad was out and Mum was working.”
“They didn’t really keep in touch,” Susanne said. “I think it was because Xander was so busy.”
“Yeah.”
Jordan nodded, understanding how hard it was to keep in touch with people. Any friends he had had in university were long gone. He didn’t know what any of them had got up to since they’d graduated. His abstinence from social media was the main reason.
“Do you mind if I record the interview, Susanne?”
“Just call me Sue,” Susanne said. “Xander used to call me Susie. Knew I hated it. Caught on, though. I had his friends calling me it too. Go ahead and record. I don’t mind.”
Jordan pressed record on his phone and set it on the armchair of the sofa so it was between him and Susanne. Susanne smiled, remembering Xander’s nickname. Her pride was evident, almost motherly.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, Sue, but Xander hired me to find something out for him. This was before he died. Not long before,” Jordan began. “It was why I was at the art exhibit. He wanted me to keep an eye out for people who were illegally buying his work. Did that happen often?”
Susanne sank back in her sofa. “Work was going and not being paid for. Xander was kind. He took people at face value. At his previous shows, people provided a receipt of purchase. The art buyers employed had no grounds to say no. They saw confirmation of purchase and let the work go, but the money never showed up. It meant the work was stolen. His friends had been subjected to this sort of thing in the past. By now, the Dirty Dollys were dreaded at art shows. They usually blackmailed artists for money, that sort of thing. They could ruin a show just like that. Xander, ever the showman, refused to let them do it. But he knew they were after him.”
“Why would they buy the work and do nothing with it?” Jordan asked. “How does that impact Xander?”
“It impacts his profits,” Susanne said. “He earned nothing, and they were stealing very expensive work. He would be down a couple of hundred just like that. It added up. It wasn’t fair. But Xander didn’t know who these people were. It was hard to tell. If they were protesting, they were masked. If they were unmasked, they either went to jail or we never saw them again. But as a group, they were always there. We just didn’t know who.”
“So it’s possible Xander’s friends may have been members,” Jordan said.
Susanne thought for a moment. “Yes, I suppose it is possible. Do you think that’s the case?”
“I’m not saying it is,” Jordan said. “But like we say, it’s a possibility.”
Susanne drank her tea, shaking her head at the thought.
“His work would sometimes appear on the black market,” Tomos said. “They would be sold online, basically. It meant that the people who were buying them were earning the money.”
“Fraud,” Jordan said.
“Yes, that’s what it was,” Susanne interjected. “Fraud. Fraudulent receipts and they illegally sold the work. It was why people didn’t want to be targeted by the Dollys. They seem to exist solely to ruin an artist’s career.”
“Alice Tate has hired me to carry on Xander’s request,” Jordan explained. “She wants me to find out who these people are.”
“And what about the person who killed Xander?”
“I believe it is related.” Jordan sipped at his coffee.
“You do?” Tomos asked.
“I do,” Jordan said. “Almost certainly. The Dollys may have gone a step further this time.”
“It would shock me if they did. They were never dangerous enough to kill. Not in my mind, anyway,” Susanne said. “But I suppose it was only a matter of time before they did.”
“My question is, why did Xander not deal with it, if he knew he was a target?”
“Hiring you was his way of dealing with it,” Susanne said. “He’d seen your name in the papers during the murder of that writer. You caught his interest. For a little while, he thought the Dollys had got bored of him, but at the show before last, one of his paintings went missing, and he knew they were back. This next show was going to be his biggest yet, and so he wanted them out of the picture. He knew he was rising. He couldn’t have those…those leeches sucking the life out of him much longer.”
“You seem like you knew Xander quite well.”
“I did.”
“Quite close.”
“Yeah.” Susanne smiled wistfully. “We were very close. We had to be, working so much together.”
There was a brief silence, except for all three of them drinking from their mugs. Tomos settled his, a spoon inside clinking against the china.
“He wasn’t to know that he would be killed,” Tomos said.
“Quite right,” Jordan said. “Sue, that night, I went to speak to him. He gave me two works of art. He gave them away for free.”
“He was generous,” Susanne said.
“How could he afford to give away art, when his other work was being stolen?”
Susanne put her empty mug of tea on the table. “Xander was scouted at his final-year exhibit in university. To be scouted meant there was serious talent. He went to the best art school in London. He had a talent anyway. These people, they’re a big deal. They don’t just invest in anybody. Xander was never going to be poor because of paintings not being paid for. But that isn’t the point. The point is there was money missing. It was the principles of such a thing. You understand that?”
“I understand that, yes,” Jordan said. He swilled the liquid in his own mug. “So you’re telling me Xander was rich?”
“Very rich,” Susanne said. “A twenty-something employing me? I wasn’t on a pittance. I never knew how much he earned, but these scouts invested in him, and he was selling art regularly. He was rich.”
“Who are these scouts?”
“I don’t know,” Susanne said. “The men who met with him and bought his work and signed him to their art agency never met him again. But his work was always being auctioned off, which earned Xander and his investors the money. He was dealing with a company, more than actual members. Xander wouldn’t have recognised them on the street if he walked past him. They bought his work, and he earned the money. It was a partnership.”
“It was illegal,” Tomos said.
Jordan was shocked. “Explain?”
Tomos swallowed. “Well, that’s what I think, anyway. These people, this company, well, they would go around and buy work from unknown artists. New talent, hoping to live off their art. They bought the work for say a grand. I’m talking hypothetically now. The artist they bought off would have a grand paid to them by this company, these investors. Then, that art would be sold at double, maybe triple the price. Do that a few more times, and the artist gets a reputation. The artist gets a name. They earn money from both sales.”
“Is that illegal?” Jordan questioned.
“Of course not,” Susanne replied.
“Where did that first sum of money come from?” Tomos countered. “Doubling it just like that. You have dirty money, and then it becomes clean.”
“Are you talking money laundering?” Jordan asked.
“That’s what I think happened with these new artists,” Tomos said. “Their work was bought with illegal money. Sold on at double the price. The illegal money debt cleared. More profit for the artist and company. A risky game, but the art world is rife with money-laundering schemes. I’m convinced that was what it was.”
Jordan drank from his mug. Xander had been the pawn in a corrupt game. Dirty money. Dirty Dollys.
He turned his attention back to Susanne. “Did Xander know it was illegal?”
“Xander never questioned the money,” Susanne said, her cheery attitude faltering. “I’m not convinced it was illegal money.”
Tomos held out his hands. “It’s just what I thought. And a lot of others thought the same too.”
“Were you ever scouted?”
“I was in talks,” Tomos said. “But the deal sounded all wrong.”
“You suspected foul play?”
Tomos smiled. “I suppose I did.”
It was beginning to dawn on Jordan why the Dirty Dollys had targeted Xander. A man that had graduated from art school and become a leading artist without much work was bound to have annoyed people. If the scheme was illegal and Xander had made his wealth off dirty money, it made sense that a group had formed to target these people. Was it just a coincidence that dirty money related to Dirty Dollys?
He thought of Alice. Jordan had realised her wealth when she had hired him. Her house in Llandaff, if rented, would have been a grand a month. She had a studio in her basement, work that would be sold. She had been a target of the Dirty Dollys and had paid them off. Had she also made her profits off dirty money?
“Who was the company?” Jordan asked.
“Oh.” Susanne scrunched her eyes as if trying to think. “I think they were called Jewel.”
“And Xander never met anybody after those two men?”
“No,” Susanne said. “Like I say, they seemed to be there just to sign and buy new talent. He never saw anybody again, but he was always earning from them. They overworked him. He was tired. But he never stopped.”
“Overworked?”
“He had to have an art show every two months,” Susanne explained. “And he had to provide enough content to meet a threshold. I never asked what the threshold was.”
“Money threshold?”
“That’s right,” Susanne said. “To Jewel, Xander was a money-making machine. I suspect it was the same for everyone else they signed.”
“Do you know who they signed?”
“I don’t,” Susanne said. “I was only there to work with Xander. What’s important here is the murder at the art show, Xander’s murder, and who was responsible.”
