‘A while ago,’ said Saul. ‘A good three or four years, I’d say. I’d offer to check, but I doubt I’d be able to find anything dating back that far.’ As if to prove his point, he lifted a piece of paper from the table, stared at the scarred wood beneath for a few seconds, then replaced the paper in an almost identical position.

‘When Mary first came to you and told you her name—Mary Trelease—did it sound familiar?’

‘No. Why? Should it have?’

Charlie saw no reason not to tell him, since he’d attended the private view and could easily have seen it for himself. ‘In Aidan’s exhibition at TiqTaq, there was a painting called The Murder of Mary Trelease.’

Saul looked appalled. ‘What? But . . .’

‘You didn’t see that title?’

‘The gallery was a scrum that night. I don’t think I looked at all the titles, but I’d have noticed, surely, if there’d been a picture of a murder? There wasn’t.’ His face had turned pale. ‘Has Mary been . . . killed?’ This time he didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I saw her as recently as last year,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Aidan’s exhibition was in 1999 or 2000 or something like that. The timing . . .’

Charlie fought the temptation to tell him she was as baffled as he was, had been since last Friday when Ruth Bussey had dragged her into something that made no sense, chronologically or in any other way.

‘You bought a picture at Aidan’s private view,’ she said.

‘Yes. If you’re going to ask to look at it, you can’t. I had it for less than a week.’

‘How come?’

Saul flushed. ‘I suppose this is something else you’ll say I need to tell you if I want you to find Ruth.’

‘I’ll be discreet,’ Charlie promised.

‘I sold it. A few days after I picked it up from TiqTaq, I got a phone call from an art collector. I regard myself as a collector too, but I’d never call myself that the way this chap did. For me it’s purely a pleasure. He was evidently a big cheese in the art world, and he wanted to know if I’d be willing to sell him Aidan’s picture, the one I’d bought. He knew what I’d paid for it, and offered me four times that amount.’ A pained look spread across Saul’s face.

‘You accepted his offer,’ Charlie guessed.

‘I felt terrible about it, but yes, I took the money. This place wasn’t as established then as it is now. Even now, I constantly have cash flow problems. Strange thing was, I didn’t really like the painting. I never admitted it to Jan—Jan Garner, that is. She runs TiqTaq, she’s an old friend of mine.’

Charlie nodded.