* * *
There had to be a logical explanation for all of this. Just like there had to be for the vanished consignment of cement. And I suspected the answer to both mysteries lay in the same place.
“I’m starting to have dark thoughts,” I confided.
“Dark Matter thoughts?” Frank enquired as the lab’s lights flickered and dimmed on cue.
“Yip, I think it’s time we had a little chat with our secretive friends about the power cut problems and exactly what the Hell it is they’re doing in there,” I said grimly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” a female voice behind me muttered dryly, “because I’ve got quite a few questions of my own.”
I didn’t need to turn round. I’d recognise the sarcastic edge of Karen Turner’s tongue anywhere. How long had she been standing there? What had she heard?
“I have a baffling illogical puzzle on my hands,” the Chief Inspector informed us. “Something completely irrational. And whenever that happens, I always know where to come… and who to blame.”
Giving me her best withering stare, the local police force’s Disaster Containment Officer reached into her uniform jacket and brought out a medieval religious miniature.
“This turned up in a local antique shop. It is, I’m told, totally authentic. The craftsmanship is unmistakeable and the artist’s signature is genuine. It’s been verified as being one hundred per cent correct in every detail. The canvas and paints are all typical of the period.”
I spotted Frank and Doc Mitchells exchanging an anxious glance. I knew where this was going and I didn’t like it.
“It is supposed to come from around about 1340 AD,” she explained, looking at me accusingly. “At least that’s what one of your scruffy young scientists told the shopkeeper when he sold it to him. So would you like to explain, Jack, why it looks so new?”
“Restoration?” I volunteered innocently.
“And why, when it was forensically tested, the results said it had undoubtedly been painted by the 14th century artist… sometime around 4.30pm last Tuesday afternoon.”