Page 10 of An Eye for an Eye

‘They regularly want to be re-elected, and if you’re in business and hope to survive in Ohio, you have to learn to live with them.’

‘Which party do you support?’ asked Christina, trying to keep up.

‘Both the Democrats and the Republicans,’ admitted Wilbur. ‘We’re a swing state, so I can never be sure whether the Grand Old Party or the Donkeys will be in power the next time around. But that doesn’t stop them both from knocking on my door looking for a contribution, and if there’s the slightest chance of them being elected, they get one. That way I can’t lose.’

‘That can’t come cheap,’ suggested Christina.

‘It doesn’t. And with nineteen mayors, thirty-one state legislators, countless chiefs of police, not to mention a governor and two state senators, it costs me several milliona year. But our system is so corrupt I’m allowed to claim any political contributions against tax, even when I support both sides.’

‘But who do you vote for on election day?’ teased Christina.

‘Neither and both, according to who I’m talking to at the time. Whenever they ask, I swear blind I’ll be backing them on election day, whereas in truth, I never vote. A piece of advice my grandfather passed on to me and I’ve passed on to both my boys.’

Christina burst out laughing – a genuine laugh. She was surprised how much she was enjoying Wilbur’s company.

‘But enough about me,’ said Wilbur. ‘Why don’t you tell me what a beautiful woman like you is doing all alone?’

•••

Eleven o’clock. Miles had chosen the time carefully, an hour before the library opened, so he was confident they would not be disturbed. Tulip had already left to fetch Billy Mumford from the arts and crafts room, on the flimsy excuse that he needed to collect a catalogue on Rembrandt from the library before he could continue his work. That much was true, as Prison Officer Simpson had collected the appeal brochure from the Fitzmolean the night before and delivered it to Miles’s cell earlier that morning.

When Tulip reappeared with Mumford in tow, Miles ushered his guest towards the only other chair in the room. He waited for him to settle while Tulip made them both a cup of coffee along with a plate of digestive biscuits supplied by the Governor – the equivalent to lunch at the Savoy when you’re in prison.

‘How can I help you, Mr Faulkner?’ asked Billy, well awareno one was invited to join the chief librarian for coffee and biscuits unless he wanted something.

Seven precious minutes had already evaporated before the library would open at twelve, so Miles didn’t waste any more time.

‘First, Billy, I’d like to check if the rumours on the prison grapevine can be relied on?’

‘Which ones?’ asked Billy.

‘That you once forged a Murillo that ended up in the Prado.’

‘Which is how I ended up in the Scrubs,’ admitted Billy, as two cups of steaming black coffee were placed on the table between them.

‘But you managed to fool several experts along the way.’

‘For just over a year,’ said Billy, ‘and it wasn’t the picture that gave me away, but some bastard who shopped me in exchange for a lighter sentence.’

Miles was well aware of inmate 6071’s past record, so moved quickly on to his next question. ‘Are you aware of a preparatory drawing by Rembrandt known asJacob Wrestling with the Angel?’

‘Of course I am, Mr Faulkner. But then the master only did eleven preparatory drawings that are catalogued, and I doubt if that particular sketch took him more than a few minutes to complete, which is why he’s considered a genius, while I am nothing more than a painter and decorator.’ Billy stared at the chief librarian for some time, before he said, ‘But didn’t I read somewhere that the Fitzmolean are trying to buy the original for a million they haven’t got?’

‘In one,’ said Miles, before moving on to his next question. ‘So tell me Billy, would you be capable of reproducing a copy of theAngelthat would fool an expert?’

‘Icould,’ said Billy. ‘But not while I’m locked up in this place.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Miles, as Billy tentatively took a biscuit off the plate.

‘Because I’d need the correct materials, wouldn’t I? And you won’t find them in the art department of Wormwood Scrubs.’

‘Such as?’ asked Miles.

‘The correct paper, circa 1650 – not easy to come across. As well as the kind of pen and ink Rembrandt would have used at the time.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Faulkner, who had begun making a list.

Billy still couldn’t believe he was serious, but played along. ‘Well … the catalogue raisonné, because that will have a full-page photo of the original work.’