A Brush with Fate

The weather was perfect for the time of year, and Claire would have preferred to have been outside. Maybe following up on some lead or even just wandering around Hanwell.

In fact she would have rather been anywhere else than the office of Inspector Kim Henderson. But something was on her mind, and she really needed help.

Mary O’Connell, a local and well-known artist, had died after suffering from a short illness. And Claire has her doubts as to it being natural causes, how she knows, she can’t say.

And so here they are, Claire is wearing her usual baggy woollen jumper and trousers, while Kim Henderson is in her uniform.

Inspector Henderson smiles as she regards Claire sitting there. The light perm makes Claire's hair float around her face, and she wears no makeup, or jewellery, just the gold initial pendant that she never forgets. On the desk is the file from the death, and Henderson has been through it twice. She can see no reason to reopen the case, but Claire has doubts. These are usually enough for Inspector Henderson to think again.

It was a surprise for Henderson to get this request, as Claire usually just goes off and takes matters into her own hands, so this must be serious. 

The local beat officers have quickly become wise to her ways and have nicknamed her ‘the shy private eye’. Something she just allows.

Reluctantly, the inspector grants Claire the go-ahead but advises her to tread carefully, as the officer in charge had already made some comments about amateurs getting involved.

But what information does Claire have to believe that the death was not all it appeared to be?

Shall we delve deeper?

We have to go back a week or so; Claire had finished work for the day and was making her way home via the chip shop. Her mother, Sylvia, was planning a special treat for them, and Claire was tasked with bringing home the dinner.

Sylvia, Claire's mother, had prepared a pavlova, something she always enjoyed, and then they were going to sit down to watch some telly.

The fish and chips were eaten, and the pair had laughed over why the gherkins were called 'wallies', and Sylvia had, as usual, crunched her way through a huge pickled onion.

Claire made the tea and took the pavlova into the front room, just as Sylvia switched on the TV.  The news was just coming to an end, and John Suchet was finishing up the last item. There were the usual dreary adverts for various products and then the opening credits to the programme the pair had been looking forward to.

It was a documentary that Mary had given around six months previously and would turn out to be her final interview. The camera panned across the canal and onto the building where Mary had her studio. It then cut to where Mary and the host, Sally Wendle were sitting. The evening sun was streaming into the studio, its beams catching the dust and making little sparkles.

And then Sally introduced Mary and started to recount details of her early life in Ealing—how she had emerged as a rising star in the art world. How experimental the art world had been in the sixties and of course how Mary had frequented the most prestigious clubs and mingled with the wealthy and famous.

Sylvia, Claire's mother, squealed with delight as the camera panned past a photograph of her and Mary, taken at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire in 1968.

Sally, an accomplished artist in her own right, was waxing lyrical about the artworks on the wall. She then made a seemingly innocuous comment, which would later be pivotal to why Claire thought something was not quite right.

“The painting of ‘Oak Cottages at Dusk’ has always fascinated me; and well it should as I know the area well. But something in the picture feels as if it’s hidden, waiting to be revealed.”

Mary quietly replied, “Hidden…yes, you may be right. I think I once saw something I should not have.”

Off camera, someone gasped, followed by the tinkle of glass; Sally, ever the professional, swiftly moved past the scene and continued on with the interview. Other paintings were discussed, and the techniques Mary employed to get the atmosphere just right in her artworks. But by this time Claire had tuned out and was concentrating on that one simple remark.

The programme ended, and Sylvia went and made another cup of tea. Claire went up to the little bookshelf and pulled out the catalogue that Mary had given Sylvia a couple of years before.

This was one of only a few limited edition books, containing most of Mary’s better works. Each one in glorious colour and with the handwritten notes about the scene and light, printed from the originals.

Claire opened the book and swiftly located the page she sought.

‘Oak Cottages at Dusk’ was there in front of her. It was nothing particularly remarkable, merely a row of cottages. However, if one was familiar with the area, it was evident that the artist had taken some liberties with the scene. The pub was omitted, and the trees were depicted as larger and lusher than they were in reality. This was indeed a real location within the borough, much like most of Mary’s works. She had never ventured far for her inspiration.

Claire gazed intently at the picture for quite a while, unaware that her mother had re-entered the room. Sylvia observed her daughter’s deep concentration and hesitated to interrupt the thoughts unfolding in Claire’s mind.

After a while, Claire leaned back and closed the book. She accepted the cup of tea that had been offered to her and simply remarked. 

“I don’t think it was an accident, Mum.”

That one simple remark made Claire visit Ealing Police station the very next morning and ask Inspector Henderson if she could make some investigations.