The Gilded Seal Read Online Free PDF Page B

that
    arrangement now, something that involved Tom and this place
    and whatever was waiting for him on the other side of that
    doorway. The easy option, Tom knew, would have been to re-
    fuse to take the bait, to walk away and simply ignore whatever
    lay in the next room. But the easy option was rarely the right
    one. Besides, Tom preferred to know what he was up against.
    Seeing Dorling, the constable lifted the tape for them both
    to stoop under. To Tom’s right, some forensic offi cers in
    white evidence suits were huddled next to the wall where
    Tom assumed the painting had been hanging.
    “There’s nothing here.” Tom almost sounded relieved as
    he glanced around. Knowing Milo as he did, he’d feared the
    worst.
    Dorling shrugged and then motioned toward two men who
    were standing at the foot of the staircase. One of them was
    speaking to the other in a gratingly nasal whine, a shapeless
    gray raincoat covering his curved shoulders. The corners of
    Tom’s mouth twitched as he recognized his voice.
    2 8 j a m e s
    t w i n i n g
    “It was opportunistic,” the man pronounced. “They walked
    in, saw their chance and took it.”
    “What about the little souvenir they left behind?” the other
    man queried in a soft Edinburgh burr. “They must have
    planned that.”
    “Probably smuggled it in with them under a coat,” Dorling
    agreed. “Look. I’m not saying they didn’t plan to come here
    and steal something, just that they weren’t that bothered what
    they took. Probably wouldn’t know who da Vinci was if he
    jumped up and gave them a haircut.”
    “Would you?” Tom interrupted, unable to stop himself,
    despite Dorling’s earlier warning.
    The man swiveled around to face him.
    “Kirk!” He spat the name through clenched teeth, yellow-
    ing eyes bulging above the dark shadows that nestled in his
    long, sunken cheeks. His skin was like marble, cold and
    white and flecked with a delicate spider’s web of tiny veins
    that pulsed red just below the surface.
    “Sergeant Clarke!” Tom exclaimed, his eyes twinkling
    mischievously. “What a nice surprise.”
    Tom could no longer remember quite why Clarke had
    made it his personal mission to see him behind bars. It was a
    pursuit that had at times verged on the obsessive, Clarke’s
    anger mounting as Tom had managed again and again to slip
    from his grasp. Even now, he refused to believe that Tom had
    gone straight, convinced that his newly acquired respectabil-
    ity was all part of some elaborate con. Still, Tom didn’t mind.
    If anything he found Clarke mildly amusing, which seemed
    to make him even angrier.
    “It’s Detective Sergeant Clarke, as well you know,” Clarke
    seethed, the sharp outline of his Adam’s apple bobbing un-
    controllably. “What the hell are you doing here?”
    “I invited him,” Dorling volunteered.
    “This is a criminal investigation.” Clarke rounded on him.
    “Not a bloody cocktail party.”
    “If Tom’s here, it’s because I think he can help,” Dorling
    replied tersely.
    “For all you know, he nicked it himself,” Clarke sneered.
    “Ever think of that?”
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    2 9
    The man standing next to Clarke turned to Tom with in-
    terest.
    “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He was about fifty years old,
    tall, with wind- tanned cheeks, moss green eyes and a wild
    thatch of muddy brown hair that was thinning from the crown
    outward.
    “Bruce Ritchie,” Dorling introduced him to Tom. “The
    estate manager. Bruce, this is Tom Kirk.”
    Tom shook Ritchie’s outstretched hand, noting the nico-
    tine stains around the tips of his fingers and the empty shot-
    gun cartridges in his waxed jacket that rattled as he moved
    his arm.
    “I take it you have some direct . . . experience of this type
    of crime?” He hesitated fractionally over the right choice of
    words.
    “Too bloody right he does,” Clarke muttered darkly.
    “Can I ask where from?”
    “He’s a thief,” Clarke snapped before Tom