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“As well you should. But in this case, I think there is a compelling reason to make an exception.”
“Your pro bono restoration of the Van Gogh, you mean?”
Gabriel smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of resorting to such a cheap tactic.”
“Of course you would.” Holland’s forefinger was now tapping a staccato rhythm on the surface of his desk. “And you’re certain that Professor Blake was here on the day in question?”
“She arrived at four twelve and left shortly before the museum closed. If I had to guess, she spent the entire time in the café.”
“That’s hardly unusual. Many of our regular patrons find the café a wonderful place to while away an afternoon.”
“But Charlotte Blake was no ordinary patron. She was a world-renowned provenance researcher who was looking for a Picasso worth more than a hundred million pounds.”
“Do you really think the video will help you find it?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Holland considered Gabriel’s answer at length. “All right, I’ll make an exception. But it’s going to cost you.”
“How much?”
“My Florigerio needs a good cleaning.”
“The Virgin and Child with the infant Saint John? Who’s resorting to cheap tactics now, Geoffrey?”
“Do you want to see the video or not?”
“I’d love to.”
Holland lifted the receiver of his phone and dialed an internal number. “Hello, Simon. Geoffrey calling. Pull up the video from four o’clock on the afternoon of December fifteenth. I need to have a look at something straight away.”
***
“Four twelve, you say?”
“On the dot.”
“Do you mind if I ask how you know that, Mr. Allon?”
“I would, actually.”
Simon Eastwood, a former Metropolitan Police detective who now served as the Courtauld’s chief of security, rattled the keyboard of a computer in his office, and a still image of the museum’s lobby appeared on the screen.
“Do you see her?”
“Not yet.”
Eastwood set the scene in motion with the click of his mouse. When the time stamp in the lower right corner of the screen read 4:12:38, Gabriel asked the security chief to pause the recording. Then he pointed toward the woman coming through the doorway, wearing a Burberry overcoat and scarf against the December cold.
“There she is.”
Eastwood resumed the playback. As Gabriel predicted, Professor Charlotte Blake headed directly to the Courtauld’s café and placed her order at the crimson counter. The table she selected was in a deserted corner of the room. After shedding her coat, she pulled a book from her bag and began to read.
It was 4:25 p.m.
“You see,” said Geoffrey Holland. “She merely popped into the café for a cup of tea and a scone.”
“On the same afternoon that you were meeting with the museum’s board of trustees.”
