My Detective Story
On the third night of October 2003, we, meaning Sir Dexter Holland and I, Travis Barker, were standing in a small, dimly lit gallery. I couldn't help but think that the five paintings everyone was making such a fuss about, were - well, they were awful and I believe that my friend and senior detective, Dexter was also thinking of something along the same lines. However, we were being paid well for our detection skills and not our abilities as art critics. The exhibition had caused quite a stir in the press; each painting was worth a cool million and we had been hired to make sure that everything went smoothly and according to plan.
"Well Mr. Holland, Mr. Barker what are your verdicts?" said Mr. Ulrich, the curator, hovering nervously.
I watched as Dexter looked thoughtfully at the gallery and followed his example. I had pushed my brain to the limit to find possible ways that a criminal might try to take the paintings. The walls and ceiling were solid concrete. There was no cellar below the floor and the only door had a security guard posted beside it. There were no windows, and both air vents were no bigger than a shoebox.
"It's my belief that these five paintings are impossible to steal," said Dexter distantly.
"I sincerely hope so," said a small, bald-headed man as he marched into the gallery.
"Ah, Detectives, allow me to introduce the man who created these masterpieces, Mr. Thomas Delonge," said the curator.
"Forgive me, Mr. Holland," said the little man, ignoring me entirely, "I'm sorry if I seem ill-tempered, but I'm sure you heard about the attempted theft of the entire exhibition when it was showing in Birmingham last month?"
"Yes indeed! That was a most unpleasant business. I'm only glad these... fine works of... art were not lost to the public," I said, smiling warmly.
Duly, we said our goodbyes and Dexter and I returned to out homes until the following morning.
The next day Dexter and I met at the entrance of the gallery. Dexter dressed as nobly as he could that day, being the son of an earl or lord or something or which I cannot recall. He was wearing black trousers with a white shirt and a darkly shaded tie, followed by a long brown jacket that could be easily seen as being more expensive then most people's entire wardrobes! I, on the other hand, was wearing some old brown trousers, a white shirt, and a black jacket, which I had bought from a small market stall in a place called Ilford, for five pounds.
Dexter nodded as we met and with that we walked in together to join the crowd listening to Delonge's speech on his work.
"So you see the artwork of my painting..."
I stifled a yawn as Delonge's speech dragged painfully on. The public had turned out in droves for the opening day of the controversial exhibition.
"Masks are a part of us all. We each wear many masks every day, often unconsciously," said Delonge.
I then turned his attention elsewhere. The guard at the door seemed alert. The curator was looking pleased with the big attendance. The crowd was mostly made up of families and art enthusiasts, plus a handful of reporters. And, suddenly, the lights went out and the alarms went off. Everything happened in an instant. I am known to my friends to be the type of person that is 'as alert as hawk', but even I was completely taken by surprise as the room erupted into a confused turmoil. I was jostled this way and that as the voices of Mr. Ulrich, the guard and Thomas Delonge could be heard shouting instructions amidst the commotion and the din of the alarm. I tried to move towards the door, but the chaos in the room made it impossible to move.
After a few minutes the lights were restored and calm settled on the room as the alarms were shut off. The calm lasted all of ten seconds.
"'The Mask of the Medusa'!" Delonge's wail of dismay drew everyone's attention. "It's been stolen!"
A gasp went up as everyone looked at the empty picture frame.
After this the exhibition was temporarily closed. The only people in the gallery were the security guard, Dexter, myself, Mr. Ulrich and Thomas Delonge.
"'Impossible to steal' you said!" snapped Delonge accusingly.
Dexter shot the artist a glance ...
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After a few minutes the lights were restored and calm settled on the room as the alarms were shut off. The calm lasted all of ten seconds.
"'The Mask of the Medusa'!" Delonge's wail of dismay drew everyone's attention. "It's been stolen!"
A gasp went up as everyone looked at the empty picture frame.
After this the exhibition was temporarily closed. The only people in the gallery were the security guard, Dexter, myself, Mr. Ulrich and Thomas Delonge.
"'Impossible to steal' you said!" snapped Delonge accusingly.
Dexter shot the artist a glance and he fell silent. Impossible - that's how it seemed. I didn't like to admit it, but I felt that we had both really messed up this time.
'The Mask of the Medusa' had been cut cleanly from its frame. A craft knife had been found discarded on the gallery floor. Whoever had used it had thoughtfully wiped it clean of any fingerprints before dropping it.
Everyone had been thoroughly searched before they were allowed to leave - absolutely everyone, including the security guard and Dexter and I - nothing. The guard assured them that nobody had left the room during the period of darkness.
"I really am most sorry," said Mr. Ulrich. "I can't apologise enough. But I assure you the gallery is fully insured..."
"Insurance!" barked the Delonge. "You think money can replace my beloved painting? It's one of a kind! Unique!"
The guard shuffled uneasily and the curator looked at a loss for words.
"Please detectives," said Delonge, "you're reputed to be the city's finest detectives! Can't you shed some light on this?"
"I do have a few theories ticking over. I'd rather not say anything until I've had a chance to talk to the suspects we're holding for questioning," Dexter replied.
And with that, he, and then I, left for the evening.
The next day I arrived to find Dexter sat dejected and deflated.
"Nothing at all?" asked the curator.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Ulrich. I've thoroughly questioned everyone remotely suspicious who was in the gallery that day," said Dexter.
I heaved a sigh. Dexter had hoped for a lead of some kind, but he had said that he trusted his detective's instincts, that those people were innocent.
The first suspect was blind and couldn't enjoy the paintings himself. The art lover, who came to the gallery every week, and was always making notes and asking about the value of exhibits, was another suspect. But he was a harmless art-geek, not a master criminal. The big man with the beard - his records showed he'd spent time in prison after robbing a convenience store. That was hardly in the same league as art theft.
Blank after blank after blank. The door was narrow. Nobody could have passed the guard.
"How?" I said, thinking aloud, "How'd they get it out?"
"Impossible, indeed!" said Mr. Delonge bitterly, "Tell me this, Mr. Detective, how do you steal a painting that's impossible to steal?" He said to Dexter.
"Impossible, " murmured Dexter. A glimmer of an idea was forming in his mind.
"How do you steal a painting that is impossible to steal, Mr. Ulrich?" said Dexter striding into the room, bright and confident.
The guard, the artist and the curator were assembled in the gallery once more.
"I... I really don't know," said the curator in bewilderment.
"You don't!" declared Dexter triumphantly.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," said Delonge throwing his arms in the air. "The painting is clearly gone!"
"Gone from the frame, yes! But it hasn't been stolen," said Dexter.
"Will you stop talking in riddles, please Mr. Holland, this is giving me a frightful headache," said Mr. Ulrich.
Dexter walked to the centre of the room and turned to us.
"Gentlemen ...we know that the painting didn't leave the room when the lights were out."
"That's right," said the guard. "I was standing in the doorway the whole time. Nobody could've gone past me."
"And we searched every single person before they were released. Even the five of us were searched thoroughly," said Dexter.
"Yes, yes, yes ...but where is this leading?"
Delonge was growing impatient again.
"It is my theory that the missing painting is still somewhere in this room!" said Dexter, "I believe the criminal removed 'The Mask of the Medusa' from its frame and hid it somewhere in here with the intention of coming back to get it at a later date!"
"Of course!" cried Delonge. "Mr. Holland, that is genius."
"We shall begin our search at once," said the curator becoming cheerful in an instant.
For the rest of the afternoon the four men searched the gallery meticulously. They lifted the carpet, but found only bare stone floor. They unscrewed the coverings of the two air vents, but again they were disappointed. They even dismantled the fire extinguisher near the door - no luck.
Dexter slumped. The painting hadn't left the gallery, but it hadn't stayed inside the gallery either. It had, quite simply, vanished.
The next morning Dexter and I walked in to the building together, when we saw Mr. Delonge before us.
"Good morning, detectives. I have made a decision to reopen the exhibition tomorrow for one final day before it moves on to Essex," said Thomas Delonge as Moore walked into the gallery.
"I see. Even with one painting missing?" I asked.
"Yes. I've decided it's the best thing to do. 'The show must go on' and all that," said the painter, trying to put on a brave face.
"Perhaps you'll be able to show all five paintings after all," said Dexter with a knowing smile.
"What!? You've found 'The Mask of the Medusa'?" asked the curator excitedly.
"Not yet, no," said Dexter. "But I've had another idea. Something that was staring us in the face."
The other three men and I gathered around as Dexter explained, "There's one place we didn't look yesterday. Behind the four remaining paintings."
"So simple, yet we didn't even think of it!" I blurted out slapping my hand to my forehead.
"Ironic, really," said Dexter, "since the exhibition is about a mask and the missing painting is masked by another painting."
Quickly the men removed the four paintings and the one empty frame from the walls, and found nothing.
"I was so sure," said Dexter, hanging his head in despair.
"It was a good idea detective," said the artist. "Don't be hard on yourself."
"At least we have the remaining pictures for the reopening of the exhibition tomorrow," observed the curator as they replaced the frames.
The last day finally came and once more the public and press were out in numbers. The recent theft had added fresh interest to the exhibition. Dexter and I stood to one side and surveyed the scene. A thought suddenly occurred to me. They had searched everyone as they left the gallery the day of the robbery but, maybe... just maybe...
For the second time in a week the lights suddenly went out and the gallery was once again plunged into darkness as the deafening alarms rang out.
I stayed calm. This is what I was expecting. If my theory was right, then... thump! Someone had run into me in the dark and tumbled him to the floor. The lights returned and the alarms were silenced once more.
"I'm most sorry Mr. Barker," said the curator, helping me to my feet. "I was running towards the door to assist the guard."
"No harm done, Mr. Ulrich. No bones broken."
"And no painting stolen!" shouted Mr. Delonge happily, "Look!"
The gallery was the same as before. The remaining four exhibits still hung in their frames.
"Excellent," said Dexter turning to the guard. "I think we should close the gallery for the rest of the day. Please assist the public in leaving the building."
As everyone shuffled out, Delonge, Dexter and I, joined Mr. Ulrich near the empty frame. With the public gone, the guard locked the door and joined the other three.
"Well, gentlemen, I think it's time for this masquerade to come to an end," I smiled.
Delonge laughed. "Absolutely Detective! Time for the exhibition to move on to Essex."
"I wasn't referring to the exhibition," I said flatly, as I produced a gun and pointed it at Thomas Delonge.
"What is the meaning of..." began the painter.
"Search him," said Dexter to the guard, catching on to my idea.
Inside Delonge's coat were two rolled-up canvases. The first was an exact copy of one of the exhibition's remaining paintings - 'Behind the Mask'. The second was...
"'The Mask of the Medusa'!" said the curator. "But how?"
"It's quite simple, really," said Dexter, guessing my theory. " Delonge aimed to steal his own painting and sell it on the black market. Then he planned to claim the insurance money for the painting and
get the painting's value twice."
"But how did he get it out of here? Why did he bring it back today?" said the guard, scratching the back of his head.
"He didn't." I said, "He knew he couldn't get the painting out of the gallery, so he planned a little scam. He wanted to make it seem like the painting was gone."
"But we searched everywhere." said Mr. Ulrich, exasperatedly. "Even behind the paintings."
"Not quite." Dexter said, "We looked behind the frames. That's not the same. I realised what had happened when I considered it all from a different angle. You see, we searched everyone as they left the gallery that opening day of the exhibition, but we didn't search anyone as they came in. Nothing was taken away from the gallery - but something was added. Delonge here brought a duplicate of his 'Behind the Mask' painting, probably had it rolled up inside his coat. No doubt he had an accomplice who made sure the lights would go out. He cut 'The Mask of the Medusa' from its frame, stuck it on top of the real 'Behind the Mask' painting and then covered it over with the copy of 'Behind the Mask'! All this time, there have been three paintings in that one frame!"
"The original painting, the stolen painting and the fake painting," mused the guard.
"I see," said Mr. Ulrich, "and today when the lights went out he simply removed the top two paintings, making it seem like nothing had changed."
"Correct! He assumed that if everything looked the same, nobody would get searched
"Precisely," said Dexter with a wink, "and it looks like we've unmasked our thief... Right Mr. Delonge? I ran a profile on you and found that you aren't really Delonge are you? You're plain Shyam Stelinta, art thief and fraud criminal, having been put into jail for 3 years already. Your accomplice, the big man here on the first day, Mr. Thomas Kelvin, is being tracked down as we speak. And we have the proof of you being caught red handed and the word of Kelvin, who we'll offer community service over a jail sentence if he tells us the truth and testifies against you... Which he will."
With that Stelinta was arrested and charged, and Kelvin did as we thought and told the truth and all ended well, with the one thought in my mind... nothing is impossible and everything has a simple explanation.
By Abbas Lightwalla
