Sir Patrick Murphy’s headquarters were based in Hammersmith, west London. Cross wanted to speak to the man himself, but knew it would be quicker initially to speak to Murphy’s spokesman Martin Bates. After all, that was his job. Literally. A Zoom meeting was arranged for the next day, Tuesday, which saved them a long drive up the M4 and back. He would need to see Murphy in person at some point, but experience told him this wasn’t going to be easy to set up.
Martin Bates was everything you’d expect from a man who was the face of a large multimillion-pound corporation. Well spoken, he had a military bearing about him in his choice of clothes and their immaculate presentation. Cross thought that retired military officers were so used to wearing uniform that they’d developed an unofficial uniform for retirement, as a kind of comfort blanket when they left the services. This generally took the form of a blue blazer, sharp shirt with a stiff collar, cufflinks and a tie of regimental stripes which looked like it had been impressively knotted by their personal batman. Bates was all smiles and eagerness to help, although he had no idea how he could. He had the easy deflecting charm of a politician, which in his case had doubtless come from years of batting back questions about the morality of a company making so much money from gambling. Everyone knew the house or the bookie were always the winners. Cross thought online gambling was the most insidious exploitation of people, especially the vulnerable and the poor, desperately trying to find a way out of their situation. People with a gambling habit were easy prey for these companies. The temptation was just too great for them. Gambling was made to seem so innocuous and easy. All you needed was a smartphone and a credit card. This made the reality of betting and losing money seem theoretical and not at all real. Until credit card limits were reached and debts mounted with interest.
Bates stared out of Ottey’s computer screen in the MCU with the Hammersmith flyover in the background of his spacious corner office. He was obviously valued by Murphy. Bates had an open, disarming expression as the two officers appeared on his desktop computer.
‘Thank you for taking this meeting,’ Ottey began.
‘Of course. As soon as I saw it was the Avon and Somerset police, I assumed it had to be about poor Dominic,’ he replied mournfully.
‘Why would you assume that?’ asked Cross.
‘Because I suppose he’s been at the forefront of my mind since the news of his death broke. It’s so shocking. Who would do that to a monk? A man of the cloth? It’s unbelievable.’
‘A man of the cloth indeed, but also a thorn in the side of your employer,’ Cross observed.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Bates replied.
‘Really?’ said Cross.
‘No, Brother Dominic expressed his opinion when asked to do a valuation for Sir Patrick. He’d done several for us before, successfully, but this one was questionable at the very least.’
‘If his opinion was questionable, then why ask him in the first place?’ said Ottey.
‘Because he’s a renowned expert in this field.’
The two police officers let the obvious contradiction just hang in the air.
‘But in this instance, he was mistaken,’ he went on.
‘In your opinion,’ Cross qualified.
‘In our opinion, yes.’
‘Are you an expert in old ecclesiastical works, Mr Bates?’ Cross asked.
‘No, of course not.’
‘And Sir Patrick?’
‘No, but he’s a well-known and respected collector.’
‘It seems to me more likely that your opinions in the matter were more questionable than those of the expert monk,’ Cross pointed out.
‘They are not just ours. We’ve had other opinions,’ said Bates.
‘And what did they conclude?’ asked Ottey.
‘It’s an ongoing process,’ came the reply.
‘One thing maybe you could help me with. Why was Dominic’s opinion of such concern to Murphy?’ Cross asked, having grown tired of using the man’s title.
‘Well, to begin with, it decimated the value of a twenty-million-pound investment,’ answered Bates.
‘If it’s a fake why not sue the auction house who brokered the sale?’ asked Ottey.
‘It was a private sale,’ Bates answered quickly.
‘And you don’t sue that kind of seller,’ Cross inferred.
Bates’s silence seemed to confirm this.
‘It also called into question Sir Patrick’s taste and the value of the rest of his collection. His reputation as a collector,’ Bates went on.
‘I understand the problem with the devaluation, but as for his reputation, why is that so important?’ asked Ottey.
‘Our insurers have now insisted on a complete revaluation of the collection, which is not only enormously inconvenient but, for a better word, quite humiliating for someone of his standing.’
‘I don’t know much about this field, probably less even than you,’ Cross said as a matter of fact, not as a way of scoring points. ‘But when you did that interview with Brother Dominic on the BBC, he came across very authoritatively. He had very specific questions regarding the provenance of the book and some technical observations about the ink and the material. Whereas you simply reasserted, several times it had to be said, that such valuations are a complex field, no matter what question was put to you. It was like listening to a cabinet minister refusing to answer a relevant, awkward question on the Today programme, by just repeating whatever message he or she had been briefed to give. I often find myself thinking, why do they actually bother to come on the show at all? It’s infuriating for the listener and insulting, don’t you think, DS Ottey?’
‘It is a complex field,’ Bates retorted.
‘There you are, at it again,’ said Cross.
‘Perhaps we could cut to the chase, detectives. I do have quite a full day,’ Bates replied, his well-rehearsed PR veneer hastily cast aside. His tone had shifted, making Cross think they might be getting somewhere. ‘What exactly do you want?’
‘Were you in touch with Brother Dominic after the interview?’ asked Cross.
‘We exchanged a few emails, but that was it,’ said Bates.
‘Did you ever visit him at the abbey?’ Cross asked without looking up from where he was making the note.
‘No.’
Cross now looked at Bates. This was where a Zoom meeting was less effective than an in-person meeting. Cross was looking directly at Bates, but of course to Bates he appeared to be looking to one side. Cross was well aware how effective his silent stares could be in an interview. Less so here.
‘Did you have any further contact with him other than the emails?’ asked Cross.
‘I did not.’
‘Why not?’
‘It would have been pointless. His mind was quite made up.’
‘Did he realise the ramifications of his opinion for your employer?’
‘He did and expressed his sorrow for it,’ said Bates as if proving a point.
‘Did you see him again before his death?’ asked Cross.
‘No, I did not.’