The Rembrandt Affair

believe it was the victim returning from dinner. After triggering the front-door sensor, he immediately entered the correct code to disarm. Unfortunately, he didn’t reset the system once inside the house. According to the security company, he rarely did. We believe the thief knew this.”
    “Thief?”
    The detective nodded. “We have an initial suspect. It appears he spent at least three days in Glastonbury surveilling both the property and the victim before making his move. In fact, he and Mr. Liddell had dinner together the night of the murder.” Harkness caught himself. “Well, not exactly together. Have a look at these.”
    He produced a pair of CCTV still photos from his coat pocket and handed them over to Gabriel. The first showed Christopher Liddell departing a café called the Hundred Monkeys at 6:32 p.m. on the evening of his murder. The second showed a man with a stubby ponytail, dressed in denim and flannel, leaving the same café just three minutes later.
    “We have a couple more that were shot alongside St. John’s Church and near the preschool. That’s where Liddell’s daughter is a student. A pity. She’s a lovely child.”
    “But none of the killer near the house?”
    “Unfortunately, the area of CCTV coverage ends a few streets from here.” The detective examined Gabriel carefully. “But I suspect you noticed that on the way in, didn’t you, Mr….”
    “Rossi,” said Gabriel. He examined the face of the suspect, then handed the photographs to Chiara.
    “Is he British?” she asked the detective.
    “We don’t think so. He stayed with a group of New Age squatters in an empty field a couple of miles outside town. They say he spoke English with a pronounced French accent and rode a motorcycle. Called himself Lucien. The girls liked him.”
    “And I assume he hasn’t appeared in any more CCTV images since the murder?” she asked.
    “Not so much as a glimmer.” The detective accepted the photographs from Chiara and looked at Gabriel. “Where would you like to start?”
    “His studio.”
    “It’s in the attic.”
    The detective led them up a flight of narrow stairs, then paused on the landing at the foot of the next flight. It was littered with yellow evidence markers and covered by a great deal of dried blood. Gabriel cast a glance at Chiara. Her face was expressionless.
    “This is where Liddell’s body was found,” Harkness said. “The studio is one more flight up.”
    The detective stepped carefully over the evidence markers and started up the stairs. Gabriel entered the studio last and waited patiently for the detective to switch on the halogen work lamps. The harsh white glow was hauntingly familiar, as was everything else about the room. Indeed, with a few minor changes, Gabriel might well have mistaken the studio for his own. In the center stood a tripod with a Nikon camera pointed toward a now-empty easel. To the right of the easel was a small trolley cluttered with bottles of medium, pigment, and Series 7 sable brushes by Winsor & Newton. The Series 7 was Umberto Conti’s favorite. Umberto always said a skilled restorer could do anything with a good Series 7.
    Gabriel picked up one of the bottles of pigment—Alizarin Orange, once manufactured by Britain’s Imperial Chemical Industries, now nearly impossible to find. Mixed with transparent blacks, it produced a glaze unique in its richness. Gabriel’s own supply was running dangerously low. The restorer in him wanted to slip the bottle in his pocket. Instead, he returned the bottle to its place and studied the floor. Scattered around the base of the trolley were several more evidence markers.
    “We found broken glass there along with two small wads of cotton wool. We also found the residue of a liquid chemical mixture of some sort. The lab is still working on the analysis.”
    “Tell your lab it’s a mixture of acetone, methyl proxitol, and mineral spirits.”
    “You sound fairly sure of yourself.”
    “I am.”
    “Anything else I should know?”
    It was Chiara who answered. “In all likelihood, your lab technicians will discover that the proportions of the solution were two parts acetone, one part methyl proxitol, and ten parts mineral spirits.”
    The detective gave her a nod of professional respect. Clearly, he was beginning to wonder about the true identities of the two “art investigators” with friends at MI5 and Downing Street.
    “And the cotton wool?” he asked.
    Gabriel lifted a pencil-sized