The Watcher and the Mask (Pt 4)

Eight

When Maddy's car pulled up outside Ripley Mill less than an hour later, Jonathan was standing by the open door waiting for her. Every mile of her journey had been spent trying to work out exactly how it was that he had managed to predict so accurately Neltson's plight, or the circumstances under which the mask had been found. But she had drawn an irritating succession of blanks. Now as he ushered her into the kitchen and offered her a seat at the table, Maddy asked again how he had known those details.
"Just by taking the facts forward to their logical conclusion," came the reply. "Once I realised just what we were dealing with, the rest fell into place."
"Right," Maddy sat down and folded her arms, still non the wiser. 
Jonathan sat opposite her, resting his hands neatly on top of the newspaper which lay on the table in front of him. 
"Well now I'm here you may as well do your little bit of cleverness...although I have to say it's got me stumped," she admitted. "I mean, how could an intruder possibly steal a mask from a hi-tech security case, which is sealed in a safe in a locked house protected by a burglar alarm...and then put it back in the house, covered in Simon's finger prints? I'm sorry Jonathan, but even you have got to admit it's fairly conclusive! Simon Neltson must have done it."
"Except of course he didn't," Jonathan said adamantly. "Unfortunately we've been fed enough convincing evidence to make him look guilty, even though when you consider the facts in any detail they don't make sense. What's especially infuriating is that the truth has been staring us in the face from the word go, and we didn't even realise." 
Maddy looked puzzled. 
"Let's start with that security tape of the intruder," suggested Creek. "Everyone's been tearing their hair out trying to square it with the fact the burglar alarm was on all night, and that no-one could have moved in the house without triggering it. We know the two can't fit together, and that one of them has to be wrong. And, as I said before, we know it's not the burglar alarm. So it has to be the video."
"Hang on, are you saying the tape was made at a different time?" Maddy asked. "Because I'm sure you said that was impossible because of the weather..."
"No, the tape was recorded exactly when it says it was."
"Well how can it be wrong then?" Maddy was now completely confused.
"Because it fools us into thinking we're watching something we're not," Jonathan elucidated. "What's that old adage; 'the camera never lies'? In relation to what happened here, it's absolutely true. What we see on that tape is exactly what happened that night. There were no clever tricks with the date or the time. Someone simply walks up to the house, empty-handed, at four in the morning, disappears into the porch, then leaves twenty minutes later carrying the mask. It's bona fide. Therefore what's wrong with the tape isn't the tape itself, but our interpretation of what's happening on it."
"No. Sorry. Lost you completely on that one, Jonathan."
"We take for granted that it shows the intruder stealing the mask from the house," he explained.
"Which it does," Maddy said, but Jonathan shook his head.
"Think about it," he said. "If the mask was locked in that safe at four in the morning, there's no way anyone could have walked away with it at four twenty. And that means there is only one possible way the intruder could've left Ravenscroft with the mask. Unlikely as it sounds, they already had it with them when they arrived!" 
The blank look from across the table was replaced by sheer incredulity. "They already had it with them?" Maddy echoed. "Jonathan, have you taken complete leave of your senses..?"
"It's the only way you can reconcile the timing of both the tape and the alarm system." Jonathan persisted. "The reason they managed to by-pass all that security is that they never went into the house in the first place."
This did not ease Maddy's scepticism. "But you just said the tape shows they arrived empty handed," she protested. 
"That doesn't mean they didn't have the mask." He leaned forward on his chair. "Remember that that photograph in Neltson's study - of his great, great grandfather? There was something very significant about the way he was holding the artefact."
Maddy cast her mind back. "He had it in front of him, didn't he? With his wife standing by his side."
"Exactly. He was holding it in front of his chest. Now Charles Neltson didn't look like a particularly big bloke to me, but even so, you could tell from that picture that his chest was slightly broader than the width of the mask."
Now Maddy started to realise what Jonathan was saying. "Go on," she said.
"The mask is a flat, disk shaped object about the size of a large plate, but smaller than a person's torso," he continued. "When I realised it wasn't actually that big, it struck me how easy would it be to hide it under a coat or jumper. Which is exactly what the intruder did for the benefit of the security camera. Dressed in black, on a security tape, it would be practically impossible to tell the mask was under their clothes. Plus, of course, no-one's going to be looking for it in the first place...as far as everybody knew it was still sealed in the safe. And that's how the whole thing worked. Who's going to suspect in a million years that the intruder already has the artefact, when all the facts suggests it's locked inside the Neltsons' house?"
Maddy deliberated for a moment. "So you're saying...what? That the intruder walked up to the house with the thing up his coat, hid in the porch for twenty minutes, whipped it out and buggered off down the drive?" She was still far from convinced by this theory, which as far as she could see raised more questions than it answered. "So how the hell did they get the mask? Someone was with it from the moment it went into the case until the moment the case went into the safe! And what about the fibres the police found in the house the next day?" She paused before thinking of an even more salient question. "Plus if they already had the mask, why would they bother going to Ravenscroft and doing all that in the first place? Why pretend to steal something that you've already stolen?"
Jonathan listened to her questions patiently. Then he picked up the newspaper in front of him, opened it at the relevant page and pushed it across the table for Maddy to look at. 
"That's where our mysterious friend Karen Talsoi comes into it," he said. 

*

It was later that day and Maddy was at the museum to visit Rebecca Neltson. An earlier call to Robert revealed that the woman had arrived at work at lunchtime, and had asked the PA to deal with any messages before disappearing into her office to bury herself in her duties.
"I'm sure she will want to see you though," Robert had assured Maddy. "I know how much she's appreciated your support recently."
Maddy was greeted by an awkward, muted atmosphere when she arrived at the museum, and she got the impression that people were talking about recent events with almost feverish excitement. Walking through the lobby she encountered several groups of staff, huddled together in conspiratorial groups, who would suddenly stop talking, and turn to watch her suspiciously as she passed. Robert, however, had welcomed her with a smile, but before announcing her arrival to Rebecca had taken Maddy aside. He had then asked quietly whether Neltson's arrest had been as a result of the snippet of conversation he had reported to the police.
"Absolutely not," Maddy had replied reassuringly. "In actual fact, what you heard had nothing to do with the burglary at all."
The relief on the young man's face had been obvious.
Now Maddy stood in the open doorway to Neltson's office as Rebecca walked over to meet her. "Mrs Neltson, I am so sorry," she commiserated. "I can't tell you what a shock your phone call was this morning..."
The dark haired woman smiled wanly. Events had left her dishevelled and pale, and as she closed the office door, Maddy noticed her eyes seemed a telltale red. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I couldn't believe it when they arrived last night and turned the place over...and I can't tell you what a shock it was when they actually found the mask. Then when they told me his finger prints were all over it...I can't bring myself to even think about it!" She lowered herself into the chair behind the desk and indicated Maddy should also take a seat. 
"Yes, I've been thinking about that," Maddy said. "Surely he would have touched the mask when he put it in the security case that evening? Wouldn't that explain the prints?" 
Rebecca shook her head. "That's what I thought at first...but then I remembered he put cotton gloves on - to protect the metal, he said. And previous to that it was sealed in display casing which took John the best part of an hour to dismantle, so I can't see that Simon could have touched it before then." She shrugged in despair. "Maybe I have to accept the fact that he did it. I mean surely there's no way Professor Vurt could have managed all this..?" 
Maddy sucked air through her teeth and looked sympathetically at the other woman. "I really can't see how, not on his own," she sighed. "Our only hope is that Karen can offer some sort of explanation...but we still haven't managed to contact her. Look, I know it's a long shot, but are you sure you didn't make a note of her telephone number, or address...anything else?"
Rebecca considered this for a minute, and then shook her head again. "I'm sorry, but the only thing I wrote was her name. God, I wish I'd thought about it at the time!"
"Never mind, I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it." Seeing how depressed Rebecca looked, Maddy added supportively; "Actually, Jonathan's got this theory about the burglary. He thinks that Karen is perhaps one of Vurt's relatives...some sort of technical specialist. He was telling me this morning that she could have engineered this whole thing with Vurt to frame Simon. I'm positive we'll find her soon."
"Let's hope so. The people from Greece were on the phone earlier...they'd heard about Simon's arrest and I'm fairly sure they're going to sue." Rebecca sighed and rubbed her eyes, but then seemed to brighten a little. "Truly, I appreciate your help and support, Maddy. It really was a blessing, Robert calling you the way he did."
"Anytime," Maddy said modestly. "Well, I'd better get going," she added, glancing at her watch. "I left Jonathan in the car...he's bound to get fractious if I'm not back soon!" She stood, and before leaving the office added; "Mrs Neltson...we both know Vurt's responsible for this mess, and sooner or later we'll catch him out. Just keep your chin up, OK?"
And with that she left the room.

Minutes later Maddy was back in the museum lobby and pressing the call-button to summon one of the two lifts. It took only seconds to arrive, but rather than being empty, the doors slid smoothly apart to reveal Jonathan standing within. He was leaning against one of the lift walls wearing a satisfied smile which blossomed into a beam when he saw Maddy waiting in the lobby.
"Well. How did you get on?" he asked.
"Pretty much as expected," she replied stepping into the lift, completely unfazed by his presence. "Apparently Simon wore gloves to handle the mask before it was stolen, and Rebecca said it was unlikely he would have touched it earlier than then. I also asked her about Karen again, but she said she definitely didn't take any details other than her name. How about you?"
"Productive," said Jonathan concisely. He pushed the lift button to take them down to level two where the car was parked. "It's good to see they cater for wheelchair users," he commented pointing at the floor-display in the lift. The readout was just below chest height, low enough for someone sitting in a wheelchair to see clearly, and it flashed numbers at them as they descended into the car park. 
"So, what do we do now then?" Maddy asked. "Time to visit the police, do you think? Try and have another talk with Mr Neltson?"
Jonathan nodded. 
"Right," said Maddy as the lift doors opened into the parking bay. "Come on then. I'm personally looking forward to meeting that DI again."

*

Detective Inspector Flint was a puzzled woman. For the best part a day she had sat in the interview room, trying to draw the truth from Simon Neltson. She had been positive that presenting the museum owner with the recovered mask, daubed in his finger prints, would result in a speedy admission. Conversely, however, he had fallen completely silent and although this meant the fiery denials had abated, it fell far short of Flint's expectations for a neatly concluded case. Even when his legal representative arrived, Neltson had barely acknowledged the man, but sat motionless at the table his expression unreadable, a haunted look deep in his eyes. 
Finally, after several hours going nowhere fast, Flint and Livingston had admitted temporary defeat, and postponed the interview. Although it was now a certainty that charges would be pressed, Flint was determined to take the case forward with a tidy confession, rather than have to face the extended charade of Neltson protesting his innocence in court when he was so very obviously culpable.
Now she sat at the desk in her office above the cells, staring thoughtfully out of the window and trying to establish in her own mind why it was that Neltson was being so obdurate. The slow, persistent beating of her finger on the desk was the only sound in her orderly room, and for a long time nothing interrupted her musings. It was only when Livingston appeared at the office door wearing an expression of confusion on his thick-set features, that her tapping ceased and she looked away from the window.
"Yes?" There was no attempt to disguise her irritation.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," he apologised as he neared her desk. "But apparently Ms Magellan and Mr Creek have just arrived downstairs. They say they've got some new evidence about the theft."
"Well I think they're somewhat late, don't you?" Flint scoffed. "What do they think this is, for god's sake? Miss Marple? Amateurs! They should never be allowed near a criminal investigation..."
"No, I don't think you understand," Livingston dared to interrupt. "They say we've got the wrong person. And they can prove it."
A look of stifled amusement crossed the DI's face, and she laughed scornfully. "Really!" she exclaimed. "Well in that case I think we should listen to them. This is one treat I don't want to miss! Ask the front desk to send them up, I think we could both use a laugh after today's farce!"
When Livingston ushered Maddy and Jonathan into Flint's office several minutes later, the DI welcomed them with obviously false sincerity. Chairs were hastily gathered so that the two visitors, and Livingston, could sit opposite the DI at her desk. 
Once they were settled Flint looked at her guests with a sickly smile. "The hack and the magician," she grated cynically. "What a pleasure."
"Oh, the pleasure's all ours, Detective Inspector." Maddy beamed back. "And can I just say how delightful it is not being followed everywhere, for a change!" She turned and raised an eyebrow at Livingston, who cringed visibly.
"Please, Ms Magellan." Flint implored hollowly, "DS Livingston wasn't following you, as well you know. He was doing his job and keeping an eye on Professor Vurt for me. As he was at the time a suspect, I thought it might be a good idea. I am after all - as you so accurately observed when we last met - as 'sharp as a whistle'!"
"Nice to see you can remember the important things," Maddy retorted, her voice hardening. "You know, I may quite possible make a formal complaint about you. There was absolutely no reason why you couldn't have told us about your 'activities' when you found out Vurt was following me. Instead you let me think I had a stalker! I find that extraordinarily unprofessional!"
"I think you're being a little sensational," Flint replied without missing a beat. "Nice to see you live up to your books."
Jonathan and Livingston shuffled uncomfortably in their seats, and both turned to Maddy to gage her reaction.
"Oh, very good," she smiled dryly. "I wouldn't be so smug, if I were you. As soon as the press find out you've dropped a major clanger and arrested a well respected museum owner by mistake, you're going to have to do some pretty hasty explaining to your superiors."
"Yes, I was told you had some trite, convoluted notion that we had the wrong person," sneered Flint from across the desk. "I find it remarkably difficult to buy that hypothesis, Ms Magellan. You see, Neltson had the motive and the access. Plus, as you are undoubtedly aware, we have found the mask covered in his finger prints! Now, I suggest you entertain me with your 'theory', and then go back to writing drivel...and stuffing doves up your sleeves!" This was followed by a withering glance in Jonathan's direction.
Maddy leaned forward on the desk, her eyes narrow. "OK then, if you not interested in our crackpot, hair-brained, crazy ideas, why don't you just turf us out of the station? I think the truth is you're not entirely happy with your own theory, Detective, and despite your 'rock-solid' evidence and glib remarks, you still can't quite figure out how he did it!"
"Not at all," Flint rested the tips of her fingers together. "He's a very clever man, Mr Neltson. He tried to frame Vurt for the theft of the mask by staging a burglary, knowing that he had evidence - in the form of Vurt's letters - to link the Professor to the crime. Although he hasn't admitted it, it's fairly obvious that he altered the clocks in his house, drugged his wife with a sleeping pill so she thought she was going to bed at midnight, and then staged the burglary for the camera before switching the alarm on for real..." Flint broke off, Maddy was smiling and shaking her head. "Can I ask you what it so amusing, Ms Magellan?"
Maddy nudged Jonathan. "Do you want to tell her, or shall I?" she asked.
Jonathan coughed, uneasy at the prospect of being drawn into the Clash of the Titans. "The video tape was definitely recorded at four o'clock in the morning...it's not obvious but you can tell because of the shadows on the tape," he explained hesitantly. "Actually, the timing wasn't faked at all... which is why it's all so convincing."
The two police officers exchanged glances. Clearly their analysis of the tape had focused on the intruder rather than the surroundings.
 "But the burglar alarm was on at four. No-one could've avoided it," Livingston rumbled eventually.
"They didn't need to," replied Jonathan. "You see, the person on that tape did more than just walk away with the mask...they arrived with it as well. The whole thing was a deliberate red-herring, carefully executed to divert attention away from how it was really stolen that night - and just as importantly, to frame Simon Neltson."
"How else could anybody get into the house, or the safe, or the case?" Maddy continued. "We all knew it was impossible, but somehow seeing it on tape meant there had to be a way someone took it from the house. And of course the only person that could have engineered that was Simon Neltson. So naturally everybody starts to think of ways he could have faked the tape...and sooner or later they come to the conclusion you did!" She smiled politely at Flint.
Flint peered at the duo from across the desk, like a scientist examining something unpleasant in a test tube. "Outstanding," she said wryly, after a long moment's consideration. "You have, of course, got evidence to support this fascinating premise?"
 Maddy reached into her cavernous bag and after the habitual delve, fished out a clipping from the newspaper Jonathan had shown her earlier. "Well," she said passing the paper to Flint, "you can start by phoning this gentleman. Then I suggest you contact your colleagues at New Scotland Yard...I had a chat with them earlier, and they were extremely polite and helpful!" 
Flint's face sagged visibly around her sneer.
"Unlike you, Detective Inspector." Maddy added victoriously. 

*

Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto number two in C minor rolled loudly around the small flat as evening descended on the city outside. Justus Vurt sat in the darkening room, balanced on the edge of an armchair, back rigid, eyes closed and with the merest suggestion of a smile on his thin lips as he absorbed the music. In his hand he held a glass of malt whiskey, ice long melted, and as the third movement swept to an exulted end, he raised it reverentially to his mouth and swallowed the contents in one, barely wincing as the liquor blazed down his throat.
Finally he opened his eyes, mildly surprised that the day had moved on and the room was now in shadow, and rising from his perch crossed the room to remove the vinyl disk from where it now revolved silently on the record player. 
Suddenly the entry phone buzzed, signifying that he had a guest at the front door downstairs. Riled at the interruption he returned the record to the turntable and with an angry sigh paced across the room to the small unit mounted on the wall. Stabbing at a button with a bony finger, he spoke into the microphone. 
"Yes?" he snapped at the unseen visitor. "I presume this is important!"
"Professor Vurt," Livingston's voice crackled deeply from the speaker. "I wonder if I might have a word?"

*

The rattle of keys in the lock of the heavy cell door did little to stir Simon Neltson. Only a momentary flick of his eyelids signified he had registered the sound before he resumed his deathly stare at the wall before him. Sitting on his bed, he had not moved for what felt like several hours. Motionless he had tried to spend the time contemplating his fate now that the evidence, by some means, had proven him guilty. But the discovery of the mask inexplicably covered in his prints had finally snarled his mind into a rusty tangle, and the image of the sanguine DI placing it on the table in front of him flipped over and over in his head. Thinking straight was subsequently impossible, and vindication of his innocence now seemed so totally out of the question that he had actually started to wonder whether he had stolen the mask and blotted the act from his memory.
It was Flint who now appeared in the cell as the door creaked open, and she said something to him which at first he did not hear. For a moment he considered not responding, but there had been something in the tone of her voice that puzzled him. The sharp derision that had cut its way though the interview was now gone, and it had been replaced by something unfamiliar. In fact, when she had spoken to him just now, she had actually sounded apologetic.
He turned to look up at her, and seeing he had not heard the first time she repeated her line.
"Mr Neltson, you're free to go. It appears we've made a serious error."
Confused, Simon was unable to muster a response so the DI continued.
"It appears, Mr Neltson, that you've been the victim of a set up that's fooled us all." The words were spoken with a gentleness that seemed completely out of character. "If you'd like to come this way Mr Creek and Ms Magellan would like to talk to you."
Later Simon would realise that he could not remember the journey from the cells up to Flint's office where the two friends sat waiting. Although somehow his legs had carried him there, his first memory was being handed a hot cup of tea and sitting down on a chair to allow the reality of the situation to catch up with him. Two faces peered across at him from the other side of the small office, evidently concerned by his worn appearance. "Mr Creek...Ms Magellan...." He managed a smile. "Do...do I have you to thank for this?"
"Well, it was Jonathan really," Maddy acquiesced. "Had one of his last minute blasts of insight."
"We're just glad to get to the bottom of it, finally." Jonathan told Simon. 
Flint had now sat down behind her desk, her temperate attitude still intact. "Mr Neltson, she said. "We now know for certain that you had nothing to do with the theft. Thanks to your friends here, we have now arrested one of the people responsible."
Neltson blinked in surprise. "You mean Vurt?"
"My colleague is talking to him as we speak," came the reply.
Something between a laugh and a gasp of relief escaped the museum owner's mouth. "I knew it," he cried euphorically, "I knew that man was capable of anything." But then he paused. "You said 'one' of those responsible...do you mean he was working with someone else?"
Flint did not reply, but instead indicated that Maddy and Jonathan should take over.
Maddy glanced at Jonathan. "Well! Where to begin?" she asked no-one in particular, before clearing her throat and turning to Simon. "Mr Neltson, you remember I asked you about a woman called Karen?"
Simon nodded and sat back in his chair to listen as the revelation began, still unable to quite take in this monumental reversal of fortune.

*

Robert Farrow was in the process of shutting down his computer after a long and awkward afternoon. Telephone calls from a range of individuals prying into Simon's arrest had not abated since he walked into work that morning, and the phrase 'we are unable to comment' was etched into his brain from overuse. Even now as he waited patiently for his monitor to tell him it was now safe to switch of his computer, the answer-phone on his desk whirred slowly as the calls kept coming. With a sigh he wondered what the future now held. His opinion of Simon, his trusted employer, was now irrevocably soured, and sympathy for Rebecca made the gossip flying between other staff difficult to cope with. Nonetheless, he resigned himself to dealing with the predicament as professionally as possible. Quitting in a crisis was not his style.
Pulling on his coat he was preparing to leave when Rebecca appeared out of the main office. The PA had almost forgotten she was in there, as he had not spoken to her since Maddy's visit earlier that day. 
"Just off Robert?" she asked him, and he nodded. "Thanks for you help with those calls today," she said. "I've been on the phone myself all afternoon. Solicitors, insurance reps...you name it. The Greek museum are still absolutely livid. They think Simon was trying to deprive them of the mask permanently and are threatening all kinds of legal action..." Breaking off she rubbed her eyes. "It's a bloody mess!"
"If there's anything I can do to help..." Robert offered.
"You've already done so much," came the reply. "Actually I'm just going to talk to John. I want him to look into the technical side of the burglary again...Ms Magellan seemed so close to proving Vurt's involvement this morning, I want to do all I can to make sure she does."
"Do you want me to call him?" Robert lifted his phone and started to dial the internal number.
"I've already tried. He's not in his office." Rebecca said. "He's probably in the museum somewhere, I'll go and find him...I could do with stretching my legs." Gently taking the phone from the PA she put it back on the desk with a smile. "You get off," she said. "Go home and relax and I'll see you tomorrow."
Rebecca's first port of call was Webb's office. With a knock she pushed the door open and looked inside. Although the light was on, the untidy room was empty and its usual occupant nowhere to be seen, although a half empty mug of coffee on the desk seemed to suggest he had recently been there. Putting her hand against the side of the mug however, Rebecca felt it was stone cold. With a frown she left the room again and considered her options. Webb must be in the museum somewhere, although the lateness of the day meant the building would be virtually empty and the prospect of a solitary journey through the darkening corridors was not appealing. Yet she wanted to speak with Webb as soon as possible, and if she took a tour of the building then their paths were bound to cross.
Footsteps clicked and echoed as Rebecca paced her way through the resting museum. Only a handful of staff now remained, scattered among the rooms and halls cleaning around the exhibits and preparing for the next days visitors, and they paused from their work to watch the lone figure as she passed. Rebecca was not surprised by their awkward smiles or cagey glances. People had seemed unsure how to react in her presence since the theft the previous week, but she had learned how to deal with it and strode quickly past her employees ignoring their morbid curiosity. What concerned her now was the missing security manager who was still nowhere to be seen.
She eventually found herself walking down the long 'L' shaped display corridor and past the side room which had previously been home to the Face of the Unknown King. Breaking her stride she paused for a moment outside the room and contemplated the locked double-door. 
The corner of her mouth twitched slightly.
And then she started walking again, passing the room and heading towards the bend in the wide corridor.
"Mrs Neltson!"
The sudden shout bounced around the walls, making her jump. It had come from around the corner ahead of her and it sounded like Robert. Picking up speed she neared the crook in the corridor, but before she could reach it the PA appeared from around the bend. He saw her at once and broke into a broad smile as he neared. 
"Robert!" she exclaimed. "What's the matter...I thought you'd gone home!"
"I'm glad I found you," he replied slightly breathless and through a barely suppressed grin. "I was just on the way out...but you've got some visitors!"
Glancing at her watch, Rebecca gave a puzzled frown. "At this time of day?" she said. "Who is it?"
Before he had a chance to reply Rebecca became aware of the cluttered clicking of several pairs of feet approaching the bend in the corridor. With a frown she watched as a group of four people rounded the corner, one in front three behind. 
At the appearance of the leader her eyes widened in shocked surprise.
"Hello Rebecca," Simon Neltson's warm voice filled the corridor, and he held out his hands to her as he approached. 
For a moment Rebecca was frozen to the spot, a look of utter amazement fixed on her face. Eventually she blinked herself back to reality and hurried to embrace her husband. "Simon," she choked. "I don't believe it. You're out! This...this is wonderful!" 
"I know," he replied delightedly, "and we've got the mask back."
Behind him the three other visitors stood and silently watched the reunion. After spending the last few hours carefully reviewing the evening of the theft with Simon, Maddy, Jonathan and Detective Inspector Flint had accompanied him from the police station, arriving in the museum lobby to find Robert waiting for the lift. Now the group watched the private moment between the couple, with mixed reactions. Robert seemed pleased, but mildly uncomfortable by the display of emotion, while Jonathan and Maddy exchanged an impassive glance. Flint, however looked on coolly with one eyebrow slightly arched. Eventually Simon broke off the embrace, and holding Rebecca by the arms beamed at her delightedly.
"Why didn't you call?" she asked, her voice now back to normal. 
"The lines were busy. Besides, I wanted to surprise you," came the reply. "But what are you doing here?" he said looking around the display corridor. "Robert said you were in the museum, and I know how much you hate this place after dark..."
Rebecca gave a small shrug. "I was just looking for John," she said dismissively. "I thought he could perhaps shed some new light on the situation...but now there's no need!" She smiled again and kissed Simon on the cheek.
Flint gave a single, staccato cough.
"But anyway, tell me, what are you doing here?" Rebecca continued enthusiastically before beaming at the other visitors. "What on earth happened?"
It was Neltson who answered. "I'm still struggling to take it all in myself," he said, unable to stop smiling. "This afternoon Mr Creek and Maddy arrived at the police station with new evidence," he enthused. "And as a result the police have arrested Vurt! It seems he was much cleverer that we imagined, and evidently he was working with someone all the time!"
"Really," asked Rebecca. "Who?"
"Well, apparently you took a call from a woman called Karen Talsoi?"
Rebecca blinked. "Erm...yes. It was quite a while ago..." 
Nodding enthusiastically Simon rushed on. "Well, Mr Creek did some investigating and found out that she's actually Vurt's niece, and not only that she's a security specialist!" He paused to rub his eyes, even now struggling to digest what he had been told earlier. "I know it sounds incredible, but she broke in using some high-tech gadgetry which jammed the alarm and case, then took the mask. She planted it back there when we were out, lifting my fingerprints from the around the house and applying them to the mask...it's astonishing what technology can do these days!" With a laugh he blinked at Rebecca. "It seems that truth is stranger than fiction!"
"That's...incredible," she said with a peculiar, strained smile. 
"Indeed it is, Mrs Neltson." Caroline Flint spoke for the first time. "I'd just like to obtain some details from you regarding Ms Talsoi, then I'll leave you good people to celebrate your husband's innocence!" Reaching into her coat pocket she removed her note book, and flipping it open looked expectantly at Rebecca, pen poised over paper.
"Right. OK." Rebecca nodded, narrowing her eyes as if trying to recall the incident. "Well...as I told Maddy, I was alone in the office one day...erm...and the phone rang. I answered. A woman asked to speak with my husband. I said he wasn't available...so she said; 'Tell him Karen Talsoi phoned', and hung up." Noticing Flint's enquiring stare had not abated, Rebecca shrugged again. "I'm afraid that's all," she said.
The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Flint flicked her book closed and returned it to her pocket. She had not written one word. "Why would Vurt's niece want to speak with your husband if she was in the process of setting him up?" she asked.
"Yes, I wondered that too," admitted Simon. "I assumed she must have perhaps wanted to warn me about what was going to happen." He turned and looked at Jonathan for confirmation, but for the time being Creek remained silent, hands thrust deep in his coat pockets. 
"Well, I suppose the main thing is that it's all sorted out," Rebecca chirped breezily, resting her hand on Simon's shoulder. "Vurt's been arrested..."
It was Maddy who interrupted her enthusing. "I'm sorry, Mrs Neltson, but I'm afraid he hasn't," she said. Rebecca closed her mouth and stared speechlessly at the other woman.
"He hasn't?" Simon repeated, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "You mean Vurt hasn't been arrested." As Maddy nodded slowly Neltson turned to face Flint. "Is this true?" he asked.
"Yes, Mr Neltson. It is true," the reply was unambiguous. 
"But you said..."
"I only said we were talking to him," said Flint. "You concluded he'd been arrested!"
Anger had now replaced Simon's confusion. "Then why the hell did you let me think that?" he barked at the detective.
"Blatant dishonesty, I'm afraid Mr Neltson...a lie!" Flint replied. "And not the only one that's been told recently!"
Panic now supplanted anger. Wide eyed Simon glanced from face to face. "I haven't lied," he protested. "I haven't lied about anything!"
"No-one said you had," Maddy gently interrupted. "In fact, you've been honest from the word go. I'm really sorry, but it was us who suggested Detective Flint let you think Vurt had been arrested...and I'm sorry we had to feed you that rubbish about his niece back at the station. Vurt's been as much a victim as you in all of this, and the police were just letting him know we'd finally discovered the truth."
Rebecca was now looking strangely pallid while her husband, who was now averaging a new emotion a minute, seemed dazed by the revelation. "Why tell me all that if it's not true," he implored. "For god's sake...what is the truth then?" 
"We had to mislead you so the police could ascertain the reality for themselves." Maddy said sombrely. "As for the truth itself..." she added turning to Creek, "Well, it was Jonathan who worked it out...as usual!"
As if on cue, all eyes in the group fixed on the previously silent Jonathan, who suddenly felt like an empty can on a firing range. Taking a deep breath he began to speak, addressing each of the five people as he did so.
"Looking at this in retrospect, it's not difficult to see how we were all drawn in. Ignoring the theft for a moment, when you start to consider the motivation behind it everything quickly boils down to two people...Simon Neltson and Justus Vurt. Two lifelong rivals, both  -on the face of it - with a reason to steal the mask and set the other up, and both able to provide evidence...in the form of newspaper clippings or letters...which they think will tip the balance in their favour. In other words, it's exactly the sort of situation that someone clever enough could quite easily exploit to their advantage. All they needed to do is take the mask, make sure there's enough evidence to convict one of the two men, and let the rest sort itself out.
"And that's exactly what happened. The mask was taken in such a way that it raised questions about the authenticity of the burglary. The police subsequently realised that the only person with access to mask, once it was locked in that case and sealed in the safe, was Simon. Conclusion, he was trying to set up Vurt and hold onto the mask himself. Even if it's not watertight, it's convincing enough for them to get suspicious, and despite problems resolving the timing with the burglar alarm they make an arrest. Once the mask turns up with your finger prints on it, Mr Neltson, then the case is as good as closed, and the real culprit gets away with it.
"But that still leaves this mysterious woman who called your office, and those incongruous details surrounding the timing of the burglary. The annoying thing is, that the solution hinges on the answer to one simple question...a question so obvious that no-one thought to ask in the first place." Now Jonathan addressed Simon directly. "Mr Neltson. On the night of the burglary, when was the last time you saw the mask?"
Confused by what he had heard so far, Simon shrugged. "When I put it in the safe, of course."
But Jonathan shook his head. "No, that's not what I mean. When did you last actually see the mask itself?"
"Well...I suppose it was in that room," replied Simon pointing down the corridor to the closed double doors, "when I shut it in the case..."
"And the reason you didn't open the case when you got home that night...?" Jonathan left the question hanging.
"It was late...I was tired," replied Neltson, still bemused. "But I...I suppose the real reason was the insurance requirements...they stipulated the mask should be sealed in the GPS case until the photo shoot."
"It's a shame you decided to follow those requirements so rigidly, Mr Nelson." Jonathan said. "Because if you had decided to take one last look at the mask that evening, you'd have had quite a shock. You see, by the time you got home that night it had already been stolen. The case you put into the safe was empty!"
A moment of silence passed before Neltson could muster a response. "But...that's ridiculous... the tape clearly shows..."
"The tape was nothing more than a carefully staged red-herring," explained Jonathan. "Think about it. Without that security tape there would be no solid evidence to show the mask had been stolen from the house. The police would start to look elsewhere...or, more probably, suspect you straight away. But if you were going to steal the mask you'd try and hide the fact...so the police eventually conclude you staged the tape...and suspect you anyway!"
Neltson shook his head dismissively. "No. I'm sorry but there's no way that mask could've been taken before we got home...it's quite obviously impossible!"
Jonathan's reply was calm and measured. "It was done so skilfully that you would never have realised it had been taken, so skilfully that there were no real clues as to how it was done...except for two apparently disparate facts, namely the mysterious Ms Talsoi...and a birthday present." 
It took several seconds for Neltson to digest what Jonathan had just said, and he looked at those standing around him as if vainly seeking clarification from the group. Elucidation was not to be found with Robert, who looked just as confused as he did. Flint returned his gaze with what he assumed passed for sympathy while Maddy's expression confirmed what her friend had been saying was true. Rebecca's eyes, however, were fixed on the floor and she seemed to be avoiding her husbands stare.
"A birthday present..." he echoed eventually, turning to face Jonathan once again. "Do you mean the vase?"
"The vase, or more precisely the vase receipt," came the reply. 
"I told Jonathan exactly what you told me, about the night of the burglary," Maddy explained to Simon. "Every little detail...including that business with the receipt."
"When I got home from the grocers last night I put my receipt straight in the bin. I suppose that's when I finally noticed the weak link in the story," continued Jonathan. "The receipt for an expensive vase that has to be replaced...surely most people would either leave it in the shopping bag or put it in a wallet or purse...the point is, if you had to return the vase to the shop to be exchanged you'd put the receipt somewhere safe. So how come it ended up on a pile of papers for Rebecca to drop in the reception area?"
All Simon managed was a shrug in response.
"Suddenly everything started to make sense about how the mask was really taken," Jonathan continued, "and more importantly, who took it. You see, the person who dreamed this whole thing up not only had to be clever, creative and resourceful...they had to be an extremely good actor. Above everything else, we had to believe they were completely innocent of anything to do with the theft, while at the same time being shocked by the mask's disappearance and concerned when the police started suspecting your involvement. It's not everyone that can feign such convincing emotions at will, and to help the plan work that's exactly what the culprit needed to do." Now Jonathan focused his attention on the woman standing beside Simon. "Desdemona in 'Othello'. A fairly emotive role, if I remember correctly," he said to Rebecca, "for which you received glowing reviews. It might have been a while ago, but I think it's fair to say that your talents haven't faded."
Everyone now turned and looked at Rebecca who stared back aghast. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out.
"It was a brilliant performance," agreed Maddy. "All those tears, emotion and distress made you look like the archetypal 'loyal and supporting wife'. And as far as creativeness and resourcefulness go, well...we know that you redesigned the museum and saved it from financial collapse virtually single-handedly...which makes you a pretty clever person, really. Quite capable of engineering this whole fiasco!" 
"You're not serious?" Simon was appalled. "How can you suspect Rebecca!" 
"I'm sorry, Mr Neltson. This isn't going to be easy." Maddy said sympathetically. "But we've got proof. Rebecca's been lying to us and to you...and that she tried to set you up."
Simon stared at Rebecca with mounting disbelief. "This...this isn't true, is it?" he implored.
There was silence in the museum as her audience awaited a response. Jonathan, Maddy and Flint looked on expectantly while Robert could only blink in surprise at what he was hearing. Rebecca stared back at them, a picture of shocked virtue. "Of course it isn't true," she replied quietly.
Maddy sighed. "OK, Rebecca, where do you want us to start then?" she asked. "Karen Talsoi perhaps..?"
As if on cue, Jonathan produced the torn post-stick note from his coat pocket. 
"You had me completely fooled on that one," Maddy continued, indicating the note with a nod of her head. "A woman calls and asks to speak to Simon without leaving a contact number. That suggests he already knew who she was...but of course he didn't. So you let us go off on a wild goose chase trying to discover her identity, when you knew full well that no amount of searching on our part would unearth her - because she doesn't exist, does she Rebecca?"
"This is ridiculous!" Contempt had started to creep into Rebecca's voice. "Are you saying I made her up, and planted that under the desk for you to find!" 
It was Jonathan who answered. "No, you wrote that name down for a purpose never thinking for a minute that it would be seen by anyone else. Except that what you wrote wasn't Karen Talsoi," he said, passing the torn note to Simon. The museum owner took it with a trembling hand and stared at it blankly. 
"Even when I visited you earlier today you stuck to your story," Maddy said to Rebecca, "despite the fact your husband was in police custody and facing all those charges. You must have been delighted by your own cleverness...knowing we had the answer written down in front of us and that we still couldn't see it!"
Rebecca glared at her through narrowing, angry eyes.
"Two things stuck me as odd about this note," Jonathan said. "First of all, the way it had been written. Looking at that scrap, it seemed strange that you'd started writing the name right at the edge of the paper. If the name was the only thing you'd written, why not write it across the middle? I think that's what most people would do without even thinking about it. It suggested that you must have written something else...on the half that did reach the bin. But the question was what, and why weren't you telling us?
"Then there's the second point. The fact I'd seen that name before and couldn't work out where," he continued. "And the reason I was confused, is that I hadn't actually seen the name at all. What I had seen is that same combination of letters, and once I remembered where, the reason it seemed so wrong fell into place."
"Earlier today I had a chat with a very helpful gentleman called Mr Andrews," Maddy told Rebecca. "He owns a successful business leasing executive cars...the sort of thing you'd usually find advertised in the classified section of a newspaper..."
"Which is where I eventually remembered I'd seen this," Jonathan added, again pointing at the note in Simon's hand. "You see, it's not a person's name at all. The way the capital letters are squashed together it's not immediately obvious that what's written on that paper isn't 'Karen Talsoi', but K A Rentals and the first two digits of a telephone number, zero and one."
"Short for 'Ken Andrews Rentals'. Right Rebecca?" asked Maddy, again without response.
 Reaching into his pocket once more, Jonathan removed the newspaper clipping he had shown Maddy earlier in the day and held it alongside the torn scrap in Simon's hand. Across the top of the half page advert was written; 'K. A. RENTALS 01865 404 909', and beneath; 'Ken Andrews Rentals - specialists in executive car hire.' Although seeing it only momentarily the week before as he flicked through the paper looking for page fifty seven, it had somehow lodged at the back of his mind. So when it appeared on the note Maddy had found he vaguely recognised the pattern of letters and numbers, without immediately associating it with the advert.
"That's what was written on the other half of the paper...the rest of the telephone number." Jonathan told Rebecca. "You made a note to call K A Rentals, then tore it up when they couldn't help you. Only one half missed the bin when you threw it away, and got stuck under the desk." 
"No wonder you looked so shocked when I found it there." Maddy said. "You must have thought the game was up. But then I went and mis-read it and you suddenly saw a way out. You concocted that story about 'Karen Talsoi' phoning your husband, realising he would deny knowing her, making him look suspicious. For someone on the spot, that was pretty quick thinking!"
Rebecca Neltson stared at Maddy and Jonathan with searing ferocity. "It's obviously pure coincidence," she spat, resting one hand affectionately on Simon's arm and snatching the torn note from him with the other. Wafting it at Flint she scoffed, "Detective, you can't believe this, surely?"
"In fact I do," Flint replied simply.
Simon had been listening to the unfolding story with increasing disbelief. "I'm sorry, but none of this makes any sense," he said placing a shaking but supportive hand over Rebecca's. "Why would she hide the fact she'd rented a car...and what's any of this got to do with the mask being stolen?"
"Ah, but it wasn't just any car you were after, was it Mrs Neltson?" Maddy confronted Rebecca again. "You had very specific requirements. When I spoke to Mr Andrews he remembered you quite clearly. He said he wasn't able to help you because he didn't have the type of car you wanted in his fleet."
"What...what was the type of car?" Simon asked through dry lips.
It was Jonathan who replied. "A blue, 600 series Rover," he said
"But...that's exactly the same as ours," spluttered Neltson. "Why hire an exact double for God's sake?" Again he looked at Rebecca searchingly, his expression entreating her to say something to invalidate, or at least explain, what he was hearing. "Rebecca?" 
Without returning his gaze the dark haired woman removed her hand from his arm, crumpled the yellow scrap of paper into a tiny ball and flung it to the floor. "This is preposterous," she said though gritted teeth. "I'm going to call our solicitor." 
She started to walk away from the group, but Simon suddenly grabbed her arm stopping her in her tracks. "Wait a minute," he exclaimed. "I've just remembered something." Rebecca whirred around angrily, and was about to castigate his interference when he continued. "Detective, when we were at the police station you categorically stated you had arrested someone. You can't have meant Karen Talsoi...and clearly you weren't talking about Rebecca because she's here now. Now I don't want to hear anymore idiocy about receipts or rented cars, I just want a plain answer. If you didn't arrest Vurt, who the hell were you talking about?" 
As he spoke Maddy and Jonathan watched Rebecca's expression change from one of anger to one of horror as if struck by a sudden realisation. Flint had noticed this too and watched her new quarry's reaction with interest. Silence took hold and the tension in the corridor boiled quietly away for a good few seconds before Maddy took pity on Neltson.
"She was talking about John Webb," she said as kindly as possible. 
"John!" Simon almost choked on the name before giving a sceptical laugh. "Oh, now I know you've got to be joking!" But his amusement was short lived and faded quickly as he saw the seriousness on the faces around him.
"We picked him up this afternoon," added Flint matter-of-factly. "Of course he hasn't admitted anything yet, but we've searched his flat and found all the evidence we need...exactly as Mr Creek predicted we would."
"I think you'd better come down to the car-park, Mr Neltson," said Maddy to the shell-shocked museum owner. "There's something we need to show you." 
Flint sauntered casually over to stand next to Rebecca. "Care to join us, Mrs Neltson," she asked with a characteristic smattering of derision.

The lift doors opened on to level three of the car park, releasing its six occupants after the short but uneasy journey from the museum above. The parking bay was empty apart from the police car Flint and her three companions had recently arrived in, and a uniformed police officer who stood dutifully next to the vehicle.
"Open the boot please, constable," Flint called over to the man and the officer obliged. "We found this lot at Webb's flat," Flint explained to Simon as they approached the car. "Personally I'd have thought he would've been more cautious and disposed of it...but then I doubt he expected be discovered."
Simon had endured the journey into the bowels of the car-park in silence, primarily because he had too many questions to know where to start asking. Rebecca had continued to resolutely avoid his gaze, but her own silence and sickly appearance said more than words ever could. Still unable to digest the reality of the situation in which he now found himself, he could not imagine what the open boot would reveal, and reaching the police car he peered inside. The first thing he saw was the instantly recognisable bulk of the grey, metallic security case wrapped in a clear evidence bag
"The GPS case," he said in a small, puzzled voice.
"Actually, it's not." Jonathan replied. "It's a very well made replica...minus the tracking equipment, of course...but put it next to the genuine article and you can't tell them apart. The only difference is the real case can only be opened with the swipe card...whereas this one can be opened using any card." 
"Phone card, supermarket reward card, credit card...you name it," added Maddy. 
Simon shook his head vacantly and looked at Jonathan for clarification.
"This was the case John Webb gave you the night before the burglary," explained Creek. "You see, there's no way Rebecca could have taken the mask on her own. Webb had to be in on it to help deceive you, and more importantly, to provide all this."
Neltson looked at the two smaller evidence bags that sat alongside the case. As he saw what they contained he clutched his forehead with his hand, and Jonathan could almost see the older man's recollection of the infamous evening's events start to rearrange themselves in his head.
"Oh my God," he breathed. "But how the bloody hell did John get this stuff?"
It was Flint who provided an answer, pacing around the car as she replied. "Mr John Webb," the name was drawn out deliberately. "Formerly a Detective Inspector with the Met...where he was especially adept at investigating fraud and deception. In fact I'm told he was an expert." Her footsteps echoed around the empty car park. "Did you ever wonder why he left so prematurely, Mr Neltson?" 
Simon stumbled for an answer. "Early retirement...that's what he told us..."
"Ah yes, 'early retirement'," Flint interrupted with a nod, "that old chestnut. You see, he took his work to heart did DI Webb. According to my colleagues at New Scotland Yard, a little too much to heart. Interestingly, his decision to retire coincided with his discovery that an internal investigation was exploring his conduct. Although never verified, it was common knowledge that Webb used some of his contacts in the criminal fraternity...'to his own advantage' shall we say."
"I phoned Scotland Yard earlier today and found out the basics," added Maddy. "Once we realised he was involved, we knew he had to have some dodgy connections."
Robert, who until now had listened quietly, finally found the courage to speak. "I thought John Webb had flawless credentials!" 
Simon agreed. "I wouldn't have employed him in the first place otherwise."
"Yes, but with all due respect it's not difficult to fake your own credentials when you're an expert in fraud and deception!" Flint explained with the merest hint of condescension. Her protracted circuit of car had brought her back to the group where she stopped abruptly next to Rebecca and fixed her with a steely glare. "Obviously his contact with the less desirable members of society didn't abate when he came here, and when you found out...well, then it was you who used it to your advantage." 
"Know the right kind of people and it's not difficult to get this sort of thing rigged up," said Jonathan looking at the contents of the car boot. "It would have cost, but money wasn't really a problem, especially had the plan paid off."
Simon could feel nothing other than sunken despair as he glanced once again at the two evidence bags that lay next to the case. The first contained two thin rectangular strips, one yellow, one white, both bearing a series of numbers and letters. Number plates, bearing the exact registration of his car. The second bag contained four large, square signs, orange in colour and each imprinted with the number 'three'. Slowly Neltson raised his head and looked at the wall of the car park where a square sign, orange in colour, informed them they were on level three.
"Of course the one thing Webb couldn't get a copy of was the car...not without having one stolen which would be a huge risk." Jonathan said. "So instead Rebecca just rented one."
Simon shook his head in numb incredulity. 
"Are you perhaps starting to see now, Mr Neltson, how this whole thing was done?" Maddy asked the grey faced man.
"I...I think so...I'm not sure," came the quiet reply.
And so Jonathan began to explain.
"For the plan to work successfully the museum had to be empty, but that's exactly what you wanted anyway," he said to Simon. "You waited for everyone to leave before you took the mask home, during which time John was busy setting things up. So when the time came for you to go everything was in place, and you had no way of knowing you were about to become the victim of some carefully planned trickery which turned your own precautions against you..."
(...Neltson produced the security card from his wallet and fed it into the case. Obediently the light changed hue and the lid clicked open. Next he fished a pair of cotton gloves from his coat pocket, slipping them onto his hands. "To protect the metal from the oils in my skin," he explained. 
Carefully he lifted the mask from the plinth, pausing for a minute to savour the moment. Then he placed the Face of the Unknown King into the well padded security case.
"Right," he said, closing the case and returning the card to his wallet, "shall we go?")
"You couldn't possibly have realised that the case you'd sealed the mask in wasn't a real GPS case, but that replica," Jonathan continued, pointing to the case in the boot. "But that was just the tip of the iceberg, because the most complex trick was yet to come..."
 (Simon, Rebecca and Webb walked back through the empty rooms and corridors, making polite conversation as they headed for the foyer and the lift that would take them down into the car park. As they did so Webb periodically stopped to shut doors, check locks and turn off lights. 
For the museum owner in his melodramatic state of mind, it felt as if this mundane routine symbolised the building dying behind him as he left with the heart of the collection in his hands, and he was too wrapped up in his own dark thoughts to notice Rebecca and Webb exchange glances, or the almost imperceptible nod that passed between them.
He did not even notice Rebecca surreptitiously remove the vase receipt from her pile of paperwork and conceal it in her hand. 
They reached the lift and waited a short while for it to arrive. Unseen by her husband, Rebecca carefully let the receipt fall from her fingers and onto the floor.)
"Dropping the receipt was one of just two real gambles that evening, because you might have noticed her do it." Jonathan told Simon. "The second gamble was the lift itself, or more specifically the floor-level display." 
Now Jonathan turned to address Rebecca who looked back blankly, resigned to what he was saying. "The key to the whole plan was to make sure Simon didn't see that display, but with three of you in the lift it was easy for you or John to stand in front of it...after all it's only chest high. Plus, as you were the last one to use your car, Simon would've left it for you to press the button to take you down into the car park. 
"Now the clever bit. When the doors opened, Simon would have seen the wall signs telling him he was standing on level three, but in actual fact you were a level lower, on level four. There would be no way of telling - all the levels in this car park look identical apart from the signs, and John had already changed them for the fakes he'd had made..."
(The lift doors opened directly into the parking bay, revealing it to be completely empty apart from the blue 600 series Rover.) 
"As for the car...well it was the one you'd hired, identical to yours in every way, especially as Webb had fitted it with those false number plates. Again, Simon's got no reason to suspect anything's awry. Even the car keys aren't a problem...you've got both sets in your bag, and with some careful handiwork you could quite easily swap them when you needed to..."
(After a quick rummage in her bag Rebecca produced the car keys, pressing the remote to disable the alarm before opening the boot. While her husband gently set the security case down in the trunk, she noticed the white plastic bags on the back seat of the car and started rummaging through the paperwork she had brought with her from the office upstairs, as if searching for something.
"Damn," she said, not for the first time that day, "I can't find the receipt."
Webb responded to the prompt. "Receipt?" he asked.
"I bought something from town today that I've got to exchange," she explained, indicating to the bags on the back seat. "Have you got it Simon?"
"No," said Neltson, "surely it was amongst that paper work you picked up."
"Well it's not, is it! I must've left it in the office or something."
Webb was ready for the second cue. Digging a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket he interrupted the couple. "Tell you what," he said, "you go and look for it. I'll stay by the car and have a fag. I've been dying for one for ages. You will insist on no smoking in the museum!" He chuckled before extracting both cigarette and lighter from the nearly empty packet. 
"Right then," Simon shut the boot.) 
"Now Simon's shut the mask in the back of the hire car, and you've engineered the perfect excuse to go back up in the lift," Jonathan said to Rebecca. "You'd previously agreed with John that he would offer to stay by the car while you go searching for the 'lost' receipt, while of course in reality it's all part of the set up."
"Again, a clever bit of thinking on your part Rebecca," Maddy opined. "The only opportunity to replace the vase before your mother's birthday was the next day, so it was important that you went looking for the receipt there and then. Quite a neat little diversion!"
(As soon as the boot was closed, Rebecca reached into her bag switching the alarm back on with the keys to the hire car which were hidden there. Then, as Simon turned to face her, she passed him the keys to their real car.  
"We'll try not to be too long!" Neltson added, glancing at Rebecca angrily.
"You look for it then," she snapped thrusting the paperwork at him as they disappeared into the lift. He immediately started shuffling through the paper.
Webb was left by the car, smoking his cigarette.)
"Like everything else giving Simon the paperwork was a meticulously planned distraction, because while he's looking for the receipt, you can once again make sure he doesn't see the lift display." Jonathan said, still looking at Rebecca.
"So, up you go to the foyer," said Maddy, "and surprise, surprise when the lift doors open in the reception area, the receipt's right there on the floor. You can pick it up and return to the car park in less than a minute..."
"Which was all you needed for the plan to work," Jonathan continued. "In so short-a-time no-one's ever going to believe anything could happen to the mask, when in actual fact once Simon was safely out of the way, everything was ready for the switch..."
(Webb was left by the car smoking his cigarette, but as soon as the lift doors closed he burst into action, sprinting for the stairwell and up the stairs to the genuine level three. There, in the empty bay, parked in exactly the same location as the rented Rover on the floor below, stood the Neltson's real car. Webb ran over to it, slightly out of breath, and started smoking his cigarette again as if nothing had ever happened.)
"It's as simple as that," Jonathan told Rebecca. "Two parking bays and two cars, both dressed up so they are indistinguishable even down to the white carrier bags on the back seat. You've tricked Simon into putting the mask into the rented vehicle so Webb can take it later, and you've already stashed the real, but empty GPS case in the back of your car so it's there when you get home."
"They even made the false case slightly lighter," added Flint, "so that your husband wouldn't notice the real one was empty...very clever indeed."
But Rebecca said nothing.
Jonathan continued. "Meanwhile up in the foyer you can just let the rest take care of itself. You can even let Simon press the lift button because this time you're going to the real level three. The fact the journey doesn't take quite as long, he's hardly going to notice, especially as everything around him seems so normal..." 
(Less than a minute later the lift doors opened and Neltson emerged brandishing the offending receipt.
"God, that was quick!" said Webb looking at his barely smoked cigarette.
"It was on the floor in the foyer," said Neltson tersely wafting the slip of paper and looking pointedly at his wife.
"It must have slipped out of my paperwork when we were waiting for the lift," retorted Rebecca.)
"From Simon's point of view everything still looks the same as it was fifty seconds earlier...Webb is standing where he was when you disappeared into the lift, and the car and the car-park look normal," Jonathan said to Rebecca. "The one thing left to do is pass the hire-car keys to John. But again that's extremely easy..."
(Webb exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Married life! I'm glad I'm not sharing the car with you pair this evening!" He laughed again, leaning back on the car and drawing on his cigarette. 
Hell suddenly broke loose. 
The car burst into life, slicing the air with an ear-splitting, oscillating shriek. Rebecca dropped her papers to cover her ears. Webb flew into the air wearing the expression of a man who had unexpectedly sat on something very sharp. "What the..?" he spluttered, spitting his cigarette a good six feet across the car park.
Neltson silenced the deafening car alarm with a deft flick of the remote as behind him Rebecca quickly passed Webb the keys to the hire car. Nerve shredding but rapidly fading echoes discordantly bounced around the empty car park. Now it was his turn to chuckle.
"They're nothing if not sensitive these days" he smiled, "are you alright John?")
 "Using the car alarm to distract your husband while you swapped keys was a stroke of genius," said Jonathan. "Not only did it hide the fact John was slightly out of breath from his run, but it had the added bonus of fixing in Simon's mind that the car alarm was in perfect working order. So from his point of view, even if John hadn't been there, no-one could have got to the mask without triggering the car alarm. How could he possibly know that the mask's actually in a different car, and that he's just been the victim of an intricate set up?"
"And that's more or less it," Maddy told Simon. "When you got home you took the real GPS case out of the boot and put it straight into the safe without even thinking about it. But it wasn't the same case, and the mask had already gone...all thanks to your wife here!"
Shocked by the true extent of Rebecca's subterfuge, Simon leaned against the police car for support, closed his eyes and massaged the lids with his fingers. "So the person on the security tape...it...it must have been John," he said quietly.
Jonathan nodded. "All he had to do was take the mask from the false case in the hire car, change his clothes, and drive over to Ravenscroft. Arriving at four, he hid the mask under his coat then simply walked up the drive and into the porch. Twenty minutes later he removed the mask and walked away, making sure the artefact was visible to the camera. Like I said...if it seemed to have been stolen from the house, no-one would suspect that it was actually stolen from the museum...especially as from your point of view nothing even remotely suspicious happened the previous evening, a fact which Rebecca and Webb would confirm if asked.
"Finally, for added value, Rebecca snagged a couple of old threads on the study doorframe so the police would find something which seemed to place the burglar in the house. Again, this could quite easily be pinned on you when the police thought you were trying to frame Vurt."
Neltson listened to this revelation quietly, his sanity buckling as the madness of the past week was replaced by a deeper, darker turmoil. "There's still one thing I can't understand, Mr Creek," he said unevenly. "Even if Rebecca did this, the fingerprints on the mask...they were mine, and I've never touched it with without wearing gloves! How in the name of god did they get there?"
"Once I realised your wife was responsible I knew she would make sure the mask was found somewhere compromising. At a guess, she retrieved it from John and hid it under the floorboards in the house, probably just hoping to leave it there until the police put two and two together. But then I remembered something else, something which she could have used to seal your fate once and for all." Once more Jonathan confronted Rebecca. "The other day, when we visited the museum to talk to John, you more or less told us how you did it..."
("Simon's exhausted. He took a sleeping tablet and I've left him at home resting...")
"It's another golden opportunity," Maddy said to the silent woman. "Simon's worn out by all the excitement, and pops a sleeping pill early one afternoon. Now he's out for the count, and there's no way he's going to wake up."
"You removed the mask from it's hiding place, wearing gloves of course," continued Jonathan, "and pressed Simon's fingers against it in several places so it looked like he'd handled it. His conviction is now a certainty...no jury's going to believe that he's innocent, especially as there are two willing witnesses waiting to explain that when they saw him touch the mask, he was wearing gloves. The conclusion would be that Simon touched it after it'd been stolen!"
With a resentful laugh Simon opened his eyes and looked at Flint. "And you accused me of misusing those bloody tablets," he said bitterly. 
"We've all been duped, Mr Neltson, myself included, " the DI replied equably. "It's only thanks to your friends here that the truth was finally unearthed." 
Maddy smiled at the strangled commendation before turning her attention to the taciturn Rebecca. "There's one thing we still don't know," she said. "Just what was your relationship with John...I mean obviously you're art-thief wannabes, but we weren't quite sure how far it went. Were you just partners in crime, or does that ugly old cliché 'extramarital affair' apply here I wonder? Come on Rebecca, I think your husband's entitled to an explanation, even if we're not...don't you?"
Throughout Jonathan's revealing oration there had been little reaction from Rebecca, who appeared to consent to his version of events without any attempt to defend herself. The shock of hearing about Webb's arrest had cut away the belligerence she had exhibited in the museum corridor, and her protestations had ceased while the truth seeped out to damn her. But with Maddy's question she finally reacted, and blinking as if coming out of a trance she abandoned her dazed silence. "If that's how you want to describe it then yes, it's that 'ugly old cliché,'" she said calmly. "I wonder if you can understand why though, Maddy?"
"Oh let's see," replied Maddy sarcastically. "'With Simon out of the way you and John could live happily ever after...' Something along those lines, perhaps?"  
"Don't patronise me," Rebecca's words sounded more like a polite request than a threat. "You want to know why I would do something so...radical? The reason's in right front of you!" At first no-one seemed to understand this comment, and she looked around the group of people watching her, shaking her head at their confused expressions. 
Finally, significantly, she fixed her eyes on her husband.
Neltson stared back astounded, unsure how to react. Almost subconsciously he ran his fingers through his hair and was surprised to find himself thinking how oily it felt. Looking down at the residue on his hand, he realised that he had taken neither a bath or a shower since the morning of the previous day. His cell, after all, had not been en-suite. It was this small detail that helped him collect his thoughts. He had spent a night in police custody, hours defending himself and days worrying about the consequences of the theft while all along the cause of his ordeal had stood silently by his side, feigning support and innocence. Now, incredibly, she was blaming him for what she had done, and he felt anger swelling inside him. Furiously he rounded on Rebecca. "What the hell are you insinuating?" he snarled. 
"You really can't see it, can you?" she sighed, and Maddy detected sadness in her voice. "Simon, you've just listened to what I've done. I set you up...tried to have you jailed...and you haven't even asked me why I did it! You...you just don't care, for god's sake." Resentment bubbled under the surface, but she continued with restrained eloquence. "All you care about...all you care about is the mask and Ancient Greece! I mean, for god's sake...what was the first thing you said to me when you got out of prison? Certainly not 'I'm pleased to see you.' Of course it wasn't! It was; 'we've got the mask back.'" She shook her head again. 
Simon baulked visibly. This was no seismic eruption of rage he was hearing, but a controlled and considered release of anger. He opened his mouth to respond but Rebecca went on. "For fifteen years you've taken me for granted! Your obsession with that twisted piece of metal...your pathetic, infantile squabbling with Vurt...that was your life. I was just a convenient business partner!" 
"That's not fair," Neltson seethed back. "You know how important those things are to me, they're my heritage, my history..."
But Rebecca ignored this and turned to Maddy. "When have you ever heard him talk about anything else?" she asked. "Every subject you discuss with him always ends up being pushed aside or belittled and supplanted by Ancient Greece. And yes, Ms Magellan, you were right. The irony is I saved the museum from ruin...worked like mad while he sat reading his texts and writing about bloody pottery." She laughed at the absurdity of what she was saying. "At the time I didn't even think about it, then one day I woke up and realised that I'd sacrificed my life to this stale, tedious place without even noticing. The things I enjoyed...my job as a marketing consultant, drama, the theatre...were gone, lost to a building full of archaic junk and a man who talked about nothing else! He may as well have been having the affair, he spent more time here than with me...For god's sake, he'd even get up in the middle of the night, drive here and just look at things. We didn't have a marriage...it was a farce!"
"Still," said Maddy dryly. "Don't you think there were less drastic ways of sorting it out?"
Rebecca smiled scornfully. "Of course I tried talking to him about it, year after year, but it was either treated as a joke or ignored. 'Clumsy, forgetful Rebecca' what did I know about anything?" Shaking her head she looked disdainfully at Simon, before dropping her gaze to the floor. When she spoke again her voice had softened. "Then John arrived," she said. "Someone who talked about ordinary things, made me laugh...he had a personality! We became friends, and then eventually more than friends...but of course, Simon didn't notice! He was too preoccupied with Vurt and that wretched mask!"
"I suppose you found yourself in a bit of a dilemma," said Jonathan. "Divorce Simon and you would probably lose the museum. Even though you hated the sight of it you weren't going to forfeit your share of the income...not after all that time you'd invested in it!"
"Why should I walk away from a business I created?" came the reply. "A divorce settlement would've given me just a proportion of the profits. I'd have wasted all those years of my life for nothing more than a handout. So, eventually I started to think of other ways to get out. By this time I knew about John's 'connections', and when Simon decided to take the mask back to Ravenscroft for that ludicrous photo shoot, well the opportunity was finally there. OK, so the insurance requirements were fairly strict...like insisting we use that special case, but in fact that just made it easier for us.
"We'd take the mask in such a way that Simon would never know it had gone, and then fake the tape so it looked as though it had been stolen from the house. When the police realised that the only person with access to that safe was Simon, and that no-one could get past that alarm...well, I knew they'd start to get suspicious. And I knew Simon would immediately blame Vurt...which just made it look as if he was trying to frame him."
"With Simon out of the way in jail, you'd be free to do what you wanted with this place - more or less," Maddy said. "You probably would have got away with it too, if it hadn't been for your resourceful PA noticing my advert in the paper!"
Standing unnoticed at the back group, Robert had been listening with quiet dismay as the truth about his employer's machinations was gradually revealed. But at the mention of his name, five pairs of eyes suddenly turned to look at him, and feeling his face flush he shuffled uncomfortably. 
"It all went so well," Rebecca said looking at the young man. "John told me he watched a report about the burglary on the news the night after...he was convinced we'd got away with it. But then you called Maddy!" she smiled sadly at Robert and closed her eyes. "Even then John wasn't worried, he thought we'd been so careful. When I told him you were coming to visit he just shrugged. 'Just turn on the charm,' he said. I suppose we just weren't counting on you being so astute, Mr Creek."
The accolade provoked a shrug from Jonathan. "Once I'd figured the basics, it was just a case of filling in the gaps," he said. "But I suppose the real clue was always here, in this building. I don't suppose there's a car owner in the country who hasn't got lost in a multi-storey car park. Floor after identical floor of concrete and cars...forget which level you've parked on and you could be lost for hours. I suppose you saw the potential quite a while ago", he said to Rebecca, "how that mildly irritating fact could be exploited for something far more ominous. And of course this car park has the added bonus of being underground which makes it even more difficult to distinguish one level from the next."
Detective Flint was still standing next to Rebecca, who in contrast to her pale, shaken husband remained calm and collected. "All very clever," the DI told her coldly, "but no doubt your justification for this mess is as well rehearsed as the rest of it. In any case, nothing I've heard excuses what you've done. Being dissatisfied with your life...having an affair even...is one thing, but going to that much trouble to frame the person you married... I'm afraid that's little other than iniquitous greed, Mrs Neltson."
Rebecca shrugged the comment away. "We'll let the court decide that," she said.
"Indeed we will," Flint retorted through gritted teeth. "But I can assure you this much. If you think your life's been monotonous for the last fifteen years, the next fifteen are going to be a lot less exciting!"
Glassy eyed and light headed, Simon felt nothing but horror at what he had heard. The concrete walls of the parking bay seemed to close in on him, and he again steadied himself against the police car before looking hollowly at Rebecca. "No wonder you were looking for Webb when we got here," he said distantly. "What were you really going to do? Open some champagne? Celebrate your success?" He shook his head and felt a shiver pass down his spine. "I...I suppose all those business trips...I suppose John used to join you?" A sudden realisation hit him. "Leeds last week! What did you do? Book into the hotel separately...spend the night plotting my demise? Am I right, Rebecca?" Cheated and belittled he could not bear to wait for a response and turned away, heading across the parking bay towards the lift. Jonathan watched as he reached closed door and stared at it for a moment, his hand hovering over the call button. Then with one last, silent look back at the woman who had been his wife, he shook his head and disappeared into the stairwell. 
His foot steps faded away.
"Robert, go and make sure he's OK," Maddy quietly asked the young man, and with a nod the PA hurried after Neltson. 
After they had watched him leave Flint opened the back door of the police car and glared at Rebecca. "In!" she said firmly.
Without a word of protest the dark haired woman climbed into the car with the poise and grace of someone being chauffeured to a grandiose dinner reception. But the forceful slam with which Flint closed the door behind her shattered this dignified image. Rebecca sat alone in the car, staring at the seat in front of her and for the first time that evening she was a criminal, whose affair with a man with illicit connections and conspiracy to take the mask had finally broken her husband. 
The uniformed officer climbed into the driving seat and fired the engine.
"Well, what can I say?" Flint spun on her heel to address Maddy. "My apologies again for our earlier...misunderstandings," she said. Turning to Jonathan she stuck out her hand for him to shake. He took it, and was not surprised by the bone-crunching sturdiness of her grip. "And your help has been invaluable, Mr Creek," she added with almost a hint of respect. "You have tremendous perspicacity."
"I know he has," Maddy could not resist. "I keep telling him to get a stronger deodorant." 
Flint smiled politely before swooping into the passenger seat of the waiting police car. Then the engine roared in the confined parking bay as the car whisked both her, and Rebecca Neltson, away from the museum.

*

"What was it you said...'not the old 'dodgy ex-copper' theory'?" Maddy smiled smugly at Jonathan from across the restaurant table. Resolving to make up for the missed Meal of Forgiveness, she had offered to treat Jonathan to dinner at the restaurant where Barry had taken her three evenings previously. Leaving the Volvo at her house they had taken a taxi into town, and two bottles of wine later had just finished a pleasant Indian meal and were starting to relax after a chaotic few days. Now Maddy leaned forward on the table, wine glass hanging from one hand, mischievously waiting for Jonathan's reaction to her jibe.
"At the time we didn't know he had a motive," he replied defensively. "Anyway, if you remember, I was still recovering from your driving..."
"Now then, don't get surly," Maddy scoffed teasingly. "It doesn't matter you know, Jonathan, we all make mistakes...just accept the fact that even Mr Wonderful gets it wrong sometimes..."
"Of course," with a start Jonathan sat up in his chair. "Liam Neeson!"
Maddy was caught off guard by this momentous change of direction. "Sorry?" she spluttered, "What rubbish are you talking now?"
"Liam Neeson," repeated Jonathan. "That's who Simon Neltson reminded me of."
"Oh I see," she nodded, and had to agree he was right. "Hang on though, where did that suddenly spring from?"
"'Mr Wonderful'," explained Jonathan. "The film."
Maddy gave him a sideways look. "Which Liam Neeson...isn't in," she said slowly.
"No, but it was directed by Anthony Minghella, who also directed 'The English Patient'..." 
"Which didn't star Liam Neeson either..." Maddy was becoming increasingly bemused. "Jonathan how much wine have you..."
"...but it did star Ralph Fiennes," he interrupted, "who was in 'Schindler's List', which also starred Liam Neeson." Leaning back in his chair again, Jonathan looked pleased with himself.
Maddy frowned. "You really are a very strange man. How your mind works...oh, I don't want to know." Filling her glass with the remainder of the wine she took a mouthful of the ruby liquid. "Shall we get another bottle?" she asked.
"Better not," Jonathan replied. "Promised Adam I would sort this tank illusion first thing tomorrow morning, so I'd better keep a clear head. Truth be told there's nothing actually wrong with it, he's just too arrogant to admit he's scared...keeps 'finding things wrong' so he can put off the inevitable."
"Strange really," said Maddy. "You'd have thought that a man who shares his house with a tiger wouldn't think twice about spending time with a shark...in fact I'm surprised he hasn't got one in his swimming pool already." 
"No, but he's got one doing his accounts," replied Jonathan, and they smiled.
A waiter appeared and started to clear their empty plates away, and there was a pause in the conversation. Maddy found her thoughts drifting back to the man they had left at the museum earlier that evening. Neltson had looked ten years older as they said goodbye to him, and although he had smiled and quietly thanked them for their help, the life in his eyes had died.
"I wonder what Simon will do now?" she mused.
"Who knows," Jonathan shrugged. "I can't say I envy him. In a way I suppose Rebecca was cleverer than she thought. I mean which is worse? Being accused of a crime you didn't commit, or being told it was your wife who framed you...and on top of everything else was having an affair? Either way, he's going to suffer."
"Poor bloke," Maddy sighed sympathetically. "Rebecca and Webb, who'd have thought it? Talk about complicated. I tell you, writing this one up is going to be an absolute sod...and just imagine if they ever try to film it!"
"Quite," replied Jonathan and went to take a mouthful of wine, but he paused before the glass reached his lips. "Hang on a minute...I thought you said you were going to tell the TV people to bugger off!"
Maddy looked sheepish. "That call earlier was from Barry. Apparently the person that came up with the 'Nathan Cove' idea had an appalling track record. He was responsible for those bloody awful programmes last year...'Bikini Cops', and that tasteless hospital blooper show; 'Accident and Emergency's Funniest Moments'...guaranteed to have you in stitches. Anyway, they both flopped and he's just been fired, so they've got a new guy on the case. He wants to turn my book into a factual show called 'Impossible Crimes'. Basically it will just be some newsreader introducing reconstructions of the cases in the book, but it's a hell of a lot better than the other option!" 
Jonathan nodded in agreement. 
"Plus you and I wouldn't actually be in it at all," added Maddy. "Good job too, I mean god knows who they'd get to play us!"
When the wine glasses were finally empty the waiter reappeared and graciously presented them with the bill and two complementary chocolates. 
"Thanks for that," Jonathan said appreciatively. "That was a really nice meal."
Maddy smiled back, and for a long moment they looked at each other across the table. 
"Well," she eventually said, picking up the bill. "Better check the damage and call a taxi." Maddy examined the slip of paper and started to rummage in her bag for her purse. "Then back to mine for coffee?" she asked casually. "If you let me have your chocolate, we might even be able to find an alternative to that sofa bed..." 
Even Jonathan could not miss this hint, but as he opened his mouth to respond he noticed Maddy's brow furrow as she continued to hunt through her bag. 
"Oh, bugger it," she was obviously becoming frustrated. "You're not going to believe this, but I think I've left my purse at home."
Jonathan's face fell. "You are joking?"
"No, seriously." Maddy abandoned her search and looked up, clearly embarrassed. "Sod it. I must have left it in my other bag."
"How did you pay for the taxi then?"
"I had some spare cash in my coat pocket, I just used that...Look, I'm really sorry Jonathan," she apologised, "could you get it? I'll give you the money tomorrow."
His expression darkened even further. "My wallet's at your house," he said. "I had this curious notion that as you were paying I wouldn't need it."
"What...oh you're kidding?" came the incredulous reply. "What sort of man comes out for the evening and leaves his wallet at home, for god's sake?" 
"The sort of man who's been told he's being treated to a meal!" Jonathan snapped loudly. Several of the other diners turned and looked at him, and he forced himself to smile politely back. When he spoke again his voice was considerably quieter. "So what do we do now then?" he asked through clenched teeth. "I don't think washing up's an option these days!"
Maddy swallowed uneasily. "I suppose one of us will have to walk back to mine and get some money." 
There was gentle emphasis on the word 'one'.
"Oh that's just brilliant," Jonathan rolled his eyes in disbelief as he realised what this implied.
"Well you can't expect me to walk four miles through a dark city at ten o'clock at night," said Maddy defensively. "Where's your sense of chivalry?" Without speaking Jonathan stood, and fixing her with an icy glare snatched his coat from the back of the chair and thrust his arms into the sleeves. "It's not that far!" Maddy continued, trying to put a positive spin on the situation. "It will probably only take you an hour, and then you can get a taxi back here." She passed him her house keys, and he took them without a word. "Oh, come on Jonathan," she reasoned. "It's not as if I did it on purpose!"
"What, like the paracetamol incident?" he snapped. "Why is it that whenever I spend time with you, I always end up walking half way across the bloody country? My feet are still covered in blisters the size of Birmingham from yesterday's little jaunt."
 "Well, look on the bright side," Maddy volunteered. "At least it's not raining..." She looked at the restaurant window and noticed streaks of water chasing each other down the glass. "...very hard." she added with a wince. 
Jonathan followed her gaze to the streaming window, and for a long moment he stood and watched the rain.
"Just think, in a few hours time we'll be laughing about this," said Maddy, as light-heartedly as possible. 
Creek took a deep breath. "In a few hours time I'll be at home," he replied coldly, and without another word stalked across to the exit.
"Jonathan, I'm really, really sorry..." Maddy called, but the restaurant door had already swung shut behind him. With a despondent sigh she watched him disappear into the dark, hunched against the cold autumnal rain. "Oh well," she said quietly to the departing figure, "I suppose this means I can't have your chocolate."  
Then she called the waiter, ordered another glass of red wine and waited for Jonathan to return.