Chapter 6 June

Slade hadn't lost his mind as much as he had pretended.Someone has done a lot of damage to the Darcy Mansion.He ponders motives.Profit?But there was nothing to gain from it, except that the Colt was now going to another auction house.But will competitors do such a thing? If there is no gain, it is revenge.Who hated him enough and knew enough to guess that van den Bosch's agents would come to the auction hall with huge checks and raise the price of Colt's work to an absurd figure? He had suspected Benny Evans.This kid has both a grudge and an expertise.But the "Martin Getty" he'd seen wasn't Benny Evans.But the man understood the situation and just sat quietly until the painting was hammered down.So... an accomplice.Just a hired help, or another enemy?

On June 2, Slade arrived at Lincoln's Inn, one of the most prestigious law firms in England.In the reception room, Sir Sidney Avery, the solicitor, put down the indictment and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your question is, has this person violated the criminal law?" "Exactly." "He's pretending to be someone who doesn't exist?" "yes." "However, it is not illegal to do so, unless it is to defraud money." "This disguise also used an apparently forged letter of introduction." "To be exact, it's a tip-off, but it's indeed a forgery."

Sir Sidney privately found the deceit ridiculous.Such matters were often brought up at the canteen tables of the London Law Society, but his expression was as if a massacre was taking place before his eyes. "Did he — at any time — claim to be a member of the deep-pocketed Getty family?" "Exactly, no." "So that's what you thought?" "I think so." "Is he going to take the famous Dutch painting, or any other painting?" "No." "You have no idea who he is?" "have no idea." "Can you recall any disgruntled ex-employee who would use such a bad idea?"

"There's only one, but it's not him in the hall." "You fired that employee?" "yes." "what reason?" The last thing Slade wanted to talk about was the Sassetta scam. "Not capable enough." "Is he a computer genius?" "No. He doesn't even know how to use it, but for a painting master, he is a living dictionary." Sir Sidney sighed. "I'm sorry to pour cold water on you, but I don't think the police will care about it at all. The prosecutor's office won't file a case. It's the evidence, you know? Your actor guy just had a goatee and gray hair. Shabby-dressed Kentuckians with American accents who morph into crisp-tongued, military-born businessmen in striped suits. Whoever you're after, can you prove who he is? Were there fingerprints left, or a clear signature?"

"A scribbled signature." "That's right. He can deny it completely, and the police can't do anything about it. As long as he claims that he doesn't know what you're talking about, that living dictionary that was removed from your name...then you still can't do anything. There is no evidence. And, behind his scenes There appears to be a computer whiz. I'm sorry, but I can't help you." He stood up and held out his hand. "If I were you, just forget about it." But Slade didn't want to forget.As he entered the courtyard of one of London's four law colleges, a word that Sir Sidney Avery had used came to mind.Where had he seen or heard the word "actor" before?

Back in the office, he consulted the seller of the Sassetta painting.The answer is found: occupation, actor.He hired a team of detectives from London's most hidden private investigation agency.The team consisted of two individuals, both former inspectors from the Metropolitan Police Service.In order to speed up the pursuit, Slade gave them double pay.They came to report a week later, but found nothing. "We followed the suspect Ivans for five days, but he seemed to be leading a quiet life. He was humbly looking for work. A young colleague of ours picked up a conversation with him in a pub. He was clearly interested in No knowledge of the Dutch oil painting incident."

"He's living at the old place with Punk Van's girlfriend. She's got freaky dyed hair and enough makeup on her face to sink a cruiser. It's hard to hook up with what you call a computer guy." "As for the actor, he seems to have evaporated." "It's the year 2000," Slade objected. "It's impossible for people to evaporate at will." "We think so too," said the private investigator. "We can trace any bank account, credit card, car-related records, driver's license, insurance policy, social security number—you name it, and we can find the owner's address." .But this guy can’t. He’s broke and has nothing.”

"Nothing?" "Well, he received unemployment benefits, or rather, he used to receive them, but then he didn't receive them. The social security office registered his address, which is the same as the one you provided us. He has a screen actor's union membership card, and the address is the same. As for the rest, everyone's identities are now computerized, but this Mr. Trupington Gore is not. He has slipped through a crack in the system and disappeared." "The address I gave you. Have you been there?" "Of course I did, sir. It was our first stop. We posed as city servants and asked about tax arrears. He's moved out. The one-room apartment is now occupied by a renter." car Pakistanis."

Thus ended Slade's costly pursuit.He surmised that, after pocketing five thousand pounds, the unknown actor had gone abroad, and that was the detail which the private detective had found, or had not been able to find. In fact, at the moment Trupington Gore was with Benny and Susie in a café on Portobello Road, two miles away.All three are worried.They come to understand the extent of vengeful actions a rich and powerful angry man can take. "Slade must be after us," Benny said.They had three glasses of cheap house wine. "A man came up to me in a pub a few days ago. He was about my age, but he was a full-on private eye. He was trying to get a handle on what happened at Darcy's auction hall. I pretended I had nothing to say. You know, it’s a lie.”

"I was followed by two people too," Susie said. "They alternated and I had to miss work for two days. I think they had left." "How do you know you got rid of them?" Truby asked. "Finally I turned to the younger one and offered to blow him a dick for twenty pounds. He ran faster than a rabbit and was gone in no time. I thought it would convince them I wasn't a computer guy at all. Computer people rarely do that kind of business.” "I'm afraid something like that happened to me," murmured Trupington Gore. "Two private detectives came to my crappy house and said it belonged to the city. I acted as a taxi driver. Pakistani in the car. But I figured I'd better move."

"Besides, we're running out of money, Truby. My savings is gone, rent is due, and we can't spend any more of your money." "Boy, we've had fun, got a good vengeance, and maybe we should call it a day." "Yeah," said Benny, "but the hell Slade's still out there, sitting my career and your million pounds under my ass. Listen, it's kind of hard, but I have an idea... ..."