41

They found the old bookseller in his sitting room. Cross noticed on the way up that Torquil’s desk seemed to have work piling up on it. Ottey took one look at him and said, ‘Are you eating properly, Torquil?’

‘Why does everyone keep asking me that?’ he replied.

‘Possibly because you look like you’ve lost an unhealthy amount of weight,’ remarked Cross.

‘I have lost my appetite. Has to be said. Not just for food, but for books also. I’ve lost all my passion for books. Who would’ve thought?’ he said mournfully.

‘It’s hardly surprising. But you must try and eat,’ said Ottey. The old man didn’t look up. He was unshaven. The growth on his face looked like an early morning frost had settled on the folds of his jowls.

‘I honestly think Ed’s death will be the end of me. I have no reason to live any longer,’ he moaned.

‘I’m not sure either of your grandchildren would agree with you,’ said Ottey.

‘Well, you say that, but they have their own lives to lead.’ He was definitely in the final stages of descent into full-on self-pity, Ottey decided.

‘It’s time to be honest with us, Torquil,’ she began.

‘I have been nothing but honest,’ he replied.

‘All right then, more forthcoming. You’ve been withholding information which could’ve been very helpful to us had we known it sooner,’ she went on.

‘Not to mention saving us valuable time,’ added Cross. The old man said nothing. ‘Oleg Dimitriev,’ Cross went on.

‘He killed my son,’ replied Torquil, quietly.

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Ottey.

‘Just that. He killed him.’

‘How do you know?’ Ottey asked.

‘Because the man told me he was going to do it.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?’ Ottey asked.

‘Because he threatened my entire family. What was I supposed to do?’ Torquil asked plaintively.

‘When was this?’ asked Cross.

‘Oh, several times. The latest about a month before he went ahead with it.’

‘Let’s track back a little, Mr Squire,’ said Cross. ‘Why did he threaten to kill your son?’

‘You must know all of this, surely? I mean, what have you been up to for the past few weeks?’

‘We want to hear it from you, Torquil,’ said Ottey.

‘He was so like me, Ed, and so unlike me at the same time.’

‘In what way?’ asked Ottey.

‘Dear Ed. He wasn’t really a book man like me. Don’t get me wrong. He enjoyed the business, but it was just the business he enjoyed. I’m sure others have told you the same thing. He wasn’t so much interested in the process of rare book buying and selling. The provenance was relevant to him only in so far as it might increase the price. Well, you both know that from the Tolkien episode. So tawdry. We had quite the row about it. Did I tell you the family have reached out to me?’

‘Who?’ asked Ottey.

‘The de Sourceys. I think it was something you must’ve said to them, DS Cross.’ Cross’s apparent willingness to take the credit for this, and not correct the old man by telling him it was in fact Ottey, earned him a small look of rebuke from her which he didn’t notice. ‘I’m meeting with them next week to go through all the family papers. They’ve held onto them. Not sold them. Something may crop up which might help resolve the situation,’ he said hopefully.

‘How was he like you, Ed?’ said Cross. ‘You’ve told us how he was different. But what did you have in common?’

‘He was too ready to take people on. Fight what he saw as the good fight.’

‘You mean with the price fixing?’ asked Ottey.

‘Well, obviously. That’s where all of this started. If he hadn’t persisted with that, he’d still be alive.’

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Ottey.

‘Because those wretched letters would never have come his way and he would never have sold them to Dimitriev.’

‘Had he been a customer of yours before?’ asked Cross.

‘Only the once. Years ago. But it was a good sale. Complex, but rewarding on both sides. He’d just bought Ashleigh House and was in the process of renovating it. Once he’d completed it he had this beautiful big library. But an empty one, lined with endless, empty shelves.’

‘Did you then supply him with one?’ asked Cross.

‘We did. But it was far from straightforward, which I loved, Ed not so much. When new money buys a stately home they’ll often buy a lot of the furnishing, paintings with it, at the same time, and possibly the existing library. As you can imagine, if someone is selling a stately home and downsizing, they’re unlikely to have room to house the library elsewhere. We’re often talking thousands of books. But if the library has been sold separately, the new owners will want to replace it. So in that instance we might buy an entire library. If that’s not possible, then we’ll buy parts of collections at auction and build it up from there,’ he explained.

‘Do they ever read these books?’ asked Ottey.

He laughed ruefully at this. ‘Of course not. It’s more about the number of books. Getting enough to fill the library. And the look of them. I’ve had buyers more interested in telling me they want a uniform collection of leather-bound volumes across a wall. Uniformly coloured spines, same height. No mention of content. Nothing along the lines of “Oh, I have a passion for natural history or biography”. Just the look of the damn things as they sit on a shelf. To be fair, some of them do want what I call “after dinner” items.’

‘What are those?’ Ottey asked.

‘Normally high value. Rare. So that they can say to the guests, “Have you seen my first edition Paradise Lost?” Or complete set of Dickens first editions. It’s like owning art. The equivalent of people asking if you’d like to see their Chagall,’ Torquil continued.

‘What was so challenging about Dimitriev’s bibliophilic needs?’ asked Cross.

‘When he looked into the history of the house, which he is obsessed with, by the way – has the original deeds, architect’s drawings, garden designs – and discovered that the Denbigh family had lived there for over three hundred years, he wanted to restore their library.’

‘Why was that a problem?’ asked Ottey.

‘Because he wanted to restore their library, not the library. He wanted us to source and repurchase all the books that had been sold. Well, you can imagine. Over the years certain members of the family had tried to index the entire library, but had never completed the task, which would’ve made our job much easier,’ he continued.

‘Was the library not sold as one lot?’ asked Cross.

‘Yes, but it was then dispersed and sold to several different buyers all over the world.’

‘That must’ve taken forever to sort,’ suggested Ottey.

‘Just over five years,’ he said with the pride of someone who’d done a thorough and successful job. ‘I loved it. Tracking down books in all corners of the earth. It was a bit like the old days. I have to admit I was something of an admirer of Dimitriev’s passion to restore the library to its original state. To preserve the integrity of its existence in the house. He is a man of discerning tastes. Which I suppose with his money, he can afford to be. But my opinion changed over the course of my time working for him.’

‘Why?’ asked Ottey.

‘Because he’s a very determined man, when he sets his mind to something, he doesn’t like it when things don’t work out or he doesn’t get his way. What’s strange was that the more difficult something was to acquire, or seemed unattainable, the more fixated he became. It’s common with some inordinately rich collectors. If they’re told definitively that they can’t have something, the more obsessed they become with obtaining it. It’s like the ultimate collector’s addiction,’ he said.

‘An extreme version of that is in the art and jewel world,’ Cross said to Ottey. ‘Certain things won’t be stolen because they are so famous. So instantly recognisable that they can’t be resold. But there are obsessive, secretive collectors in the world willing to pay a price for such things, knowing they will never see a return on their money. For them it’s enough that it will be in their possession for their lifetime. That they can look at it whenever they like and no one else can. It’s the ultimate power play. The most extreme of all status symbols.’

‘Except that often with status symbols comes the need to make possession public, to fully savour it,’ Torquil pointed out. ‘With Dimitriev, there were a couple of rare seventeenth-century manuscripts which had been in the possession of the Denbigh family and then sold. We tracked them down. Both in the Middle East, as it happens. The new owners didn’t want to part with them, despite offers being made way above their market value. However, when faced with this stumbling block, Dimitriev went from making extravagant offers to other alarming methods of forcing the issue. Threats of violence, arson, beatings. It was awful.’

‘You know this how?’

‘Because it was either me or Ed who was dispatched to collect the “spoils of war”, as he once jokingly described them to me. The seller often seemed really shocked. Rattled by what had happened. Frightened even. Appalled that this kind of behaviour could have entered their world. But they weren’t able to tell me much.’

‘Why not?’ asked Cross.

‘Because in those situations we were always accompanied by a couple of Dimitriev’s goons. It was most unpleasant.’

‘Were any of those men around the shop in the last couple of months?’ asked Cross.

‘One of them, Nikolai. I didn’t recognise the other two. Nasty piece of work, Nikolai. I got the impression he was the one who carried out the threats if necessary. You’d never forget him once you’d met him. The man has no neck.’

‘Why didn’t Dimitriev just send these men to collect the books? Why bother with you at all?’ asked Ottey.

‘To verify them. Make sure the real article was being picked up,’ said Cross.

‘Exactly so.’

‘Tell us about the Columbus letters,’ said Cross.

The old man sighed.

‘It was the equivalent of hush money from Carnegie’s. I knew so at the time. But Ed justified it by saying he’d proved his point with the price fixing and it was time to move on. Patrick Gibb had heard about the sale of a genuine set of Columbus letters in Italy and saw an opportunity to appease Ed. I’m assuming you know the history of the letters?’

‘We do.’

‘In reality the sale was offered to Ed just as a way of shutting him up,’ said Squire.

‘He’d upset them that much?’ asked Ottey.

‘It had just gone on too long. There didn’t seem to be an end in sight and I’m not sure what Ed thought he was going to achieve any more. What was his objective? An admission of guilt? An undertaking not to do it anymore? I don’t think even he knew. A sale like Columbus would not only earn Ed and the business a substantial commission, it was also the kudos such a sale would bring with it. It would have enhanced Ed’s reputation as a major dealer in the book world. Or so we thought,’ he said ruefully.

‘So why wouldn’t Gibb want to be at the centre of a deal of that magnitude?’ asked Cross.

‘That is a very good question, to which, if you think about it, there can only be one answer,’ Squire replied.

‘He knew they were stolen,’ suggested Cross.

‘Exactly. How, I don’t know. Ed did all the proper checks. It was definitely a legitimate item. What he didn’t know was that it was stolen.’

‘How would Gibb have known?’ asked Ottey.

‘He must’ve had knowledge of the theft from the university, together with the distinguishing marks on the manuscript which made it unique and identifiable,’ replied Squire.

‘Are you implying he did it deliberately?’ asked Cross.

‘I’m not implying it. I’m saying it.’

‘Do you think Nigel Simpson knew all of this?’ asked Ottey.

‘You’d have to ask him that.’

‘So, what was Gibb’s intention?’ asked Ottey.

‘To ruin Ed and me. Destroy us. He’s a vindictive little man, Gibb. Just like his father. I had a long battle with Peregrine Gibb over the auction ring. Part of me thinks this was a settling of old scores. Not that I’m suggesting for a moment that he knew it would end in murder. Why would he?’

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Ottey.

‘Gibb knew Ed had one customer with the appetite for such a purchase and what’s more, the funds,’ said Squire.

‘Dimitriev?’

‘Exactly.’

‘So the sale is made. Everyone is happy. The campaign ceases. The commission is banked. How did it all go wrong?’ asked Cross.

‘The American university heard about the sale and staked a claim,’ he said.

‘Did they read about it? Even if they did, how would they know it was the one stolen from them?’ asked Cross.

‘They didn’t read about it. Dimitriev had insisted on no publicity. Ever since he moved to the UK, he’s liked to keep a low profile. Ed was a little disappointed. But enough people in the trade knew and the commission, two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, was ample compensation. Added to that, he’d just re-established contact with a valuable customer, who was very pleased with him,’ Squire said.

‘So, how did they find out?’ asked Ottey.

‘Well, that’s just the thing. Patrick Gibb must have told them. It’s the only possible answer. Looking back on it, it’s easy to see it was always his plan. To ridicule Ed in the business. Ruin his reputation. Put us out of business. Dimitriev was horrified, did the decent thing and returned the letters. But he didn’t want it to become news. He didn’t want to be made to look a fool. It soon got round that he’d done the decent thing. He’s averse to drawing any attention to himself, particularly to people in the Kremlin,’ Squire explained.

‘But he remains two million out of pocket,’ Cross pointed out.

‘And he wants recompense. Well, obviously Ed paid him back the commission. It was the least he could do. But that wasn’t enough.’

‘Surely he knew Ed had acted in good faith?’ asked Ottey.

‘Of course, but with certain people good faith means nothing.’

‘How could he expect Ed to pay him back, though?’ asked Cross.

‘He knew Ed couldn’t, so he came after me. He discovered I owned the freehold of this building. Worth around two million. He gave me a choice. Sell the building or remortgage and pay him back with the proceeds,’ he explained.

‘Did you consider it at all or try and negotiate with him?’ asked Cross.

Squire laughed fearfully. ‘You don’t negotiate with people like Oleg Dimitriev. It ended with him saying that if I didn’t do it, Ed was a dead man.’ He shook his head in incredulity. ‘He just came right out and said it. It was quite shocking. He also said it wouldn’t stop there. He sent me Ed’s home address and the addresses of the grandchildren in London and Edinburgh. Which is why I couldn’t tell you. Because this isn’t over and I know what he’s capable of. He even sent flowers to the funeral. Can you believe that?’

‘A floral threat,’ Ottey commented.

‘Was it Dimitriev himself who made these threats?’ asked Cross.

‘Only the once. After that he made do with his goons.’