Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl: Part II

I hope you enjoy reading Part II! You can find Part I here.

“Well, Elijah, I must say, this case is proving to be baffling!” said Gigi frustratedly.

She was lying on the sofa, pensively chewing on a cheese stick, her long dark hair tied back. I was going over my notes, again and again, trying to find even the tiniest clue that could help us solve the case.

“The police aren’t close to solving it either,” continued Geneviéve, “they’re as much in the dark as we are.”

Suddenly, Gigi slammed the cheese stick down and jumped to her feet. 

“What happened?” I asked, shocked at her sudden outburst. 

“If the lights went off at some point, the CCTV cameras wouldn’t have been able to catch whatever had been going on at the time!”

“Yes,” I sighed, “but that policewoman told us, remember? The power cut wasn’t long enough for the person to leave.”

“But long enough to take it down from the wall!”

“But Gigi,” I said exasperatedly, “even if they managed to take it down, the painting was huge! I’m sure someone would have noticed if a visitor was walking around holding a giant painting!”

Geneviéve shook her head, an evil glint in her eyes.

“Let’s do a bit more investigating in the museum.”

                                                                              _

“I have a feeling,” said Gigi once we were back inside the gallery from which the painting had been stolen, “Let’s search this room more thoroughly. I think we might just find something interesting.”

We tried to search the gallery as politely as possible – well at least I did… Gigi was upturning all the benches in quite a rowdy manner, while the security guard in the gallery looked at us disdainfully.

“Look!” she shouted, pushing open a small door in the corner of the room which was almost camouflaged with the wall.

It led into a tiny, stuffy utility room, filled with brooms, mops, cartons – and a broken picture frame.

Gigi was jumping up and down excitedly, saying “I knew it, oh I just knew it!”

“So the painting wasn’t too big at all,” I said, amazed, “the thief could have just folded it or rolled it up!”

“Of course, this only a tiny bit of the case solved,” said Gigi, “we know how they managed to take the painting out inconspicuously… they somehow initiated a power cut, causing the lights to go out, during which they removed the painting from its frame and hid the broken frame in the utility room. But that doesn’t explain how they managed to actually leave with it in the end – everyone was checked!”

“Well, at least we’ve solved this much,” I said encouragingly, “I’m sure we’ll manage the rest too!”

“I like that attitude, Elijah,” said Gigi approvingly, “let’s get to it then!”

“What are you kids doing?” the voice of the security guard boomed through the gallery for the first time. All throughout our search, he had been standing by the door, not saying a word.

“We’re helping with the investigation,” I said before Gigi could say anything rude, “we have permission from the police officers here.”

The guard looked at us suspiciously for a few seconds, before nodding curtly and resuming his position by the door.

“See!” said Gigi as we were making our way back home, “the thief managed to get the painting out of the frame, but how could they do it with Ryan right there?”

“Ryan?” I asked, confused.

“The security guard in that gallery!” said Gigi as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “it was written on his nameplate.”

“Ah,” I said, kicking a stone across the road, “hey, what if we sneak back in tonight? We can explore the museum undisturbed, and maybe find some more clues.”

“Oh yes, that’s a good idea! Perhaps we can stage a recreation there!” suggested Gigi enthusiastically.

And so we entered the Prestonheim Museum for the third time for investigation purposes. We were about to sneak into the gallery but stopped at the door, at the sound of Ryan the security guard talking to someone on the phone, his usually booming voice reduced to a timid murmur.

“Don’t worry, mum,” he said into the phone, “I’ve got it… yes, yes, I said not to worry… yes… all right, I’ll call you later. ”

I let out a breath that I didn’t know I had been holding and felt disappointment wash over me. I had been really excited, thinking that this could be a clue, but he was only talking to his mother. I could tell that Gigi, who had been listening intently, shared my feelings too.

She looked at me dispiritedly and motioned to me to get up.

“We can’t go in while he’s there,” she whispered, holding out her hand to help me get up. 

“What now?” I asked quietly once we had left the museum again.

“Let’s discuss,” said Gigi.

“So we know that there were only about eight people in the museum that day,” I said as I went over my notes, “The tall man, the couple with the baby, the middle-aged woman, the boy, the old lady, and the other man.”

“I think it was either the couple with the baby or the old lady,” said Gigi confidently.

“How do you know?” I asked, surprised.

“Because they’re the least likely people to have done it,” she replied, “in all mysteries, the culprit is always the one who seemed least likely.”

I laughed, but then quickly returned to being serious and said, “It might have been the boy – he looked quite nervous to be there.”

Gigi hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose it could have been him. But then it could have been any of them – or should I say it couldn’t have been any of them.”

We lapsed into silence, both of our brains buzzing with a thousand thoughts but not reaching any answers. Or so I thought, but it turned out that it was only I who had not reached any answers, for Gigi jumped up with a feverish look on her face.

“Elijah Fraser,” she said, “We must go back to the museum this instant.”

                                                                            _

We rushed into the gallery once again, and Gigi immediately pulled me into the small utility room. She rummaged through one of the cartons, let out a tiny shriek, and pulled out – the ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fish Bowl’.

I goggled at it, completely and utterly gobsmacked. 

“Wha- er- who- why-,” I stuttered endlessly, “what on earth is it doing here?”

“This entire case, my friend,” said Gigi, a mischievous smile glinting on her face, “has been a ruse. A distraction, if you will – a red herring. It wasn’t the ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl’ that was stolen that day – well it was, but that was just to cover up an even bigger theft.”

“I – how did you know?” I spluttered, still taken aback by the whole thing.

“I didn’t,” said Gigi, “but I do now. I still don’t know which painting was really stolen, nor who stole it, but I do think it was pretty clever to create this distraction. 

‘You see, the ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl’ was famous… but not that famous, so it wasn’t too difficult to steal it. On the other hand, an even more famous painting would have proved to be more of a challenge. The thief’s plan that we know of so far was quite ingenious, really – after creating a commotion by stealing ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl’, no one would notice if they stole something else.”

“But… surely they would have noticed if an even more famous painting had disappeared!” I said.

“Hmm,” hummed Geneviéve, “would they have, though?”

I ignored her cryptic comment because I knew she wouldn’t explain it to me. I leaned back against the wall, trying to take it all in. So the ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl’ never left the museum at all!

“I think,” said Gigi, “we need to know exactly how each person was checked as they left the museum.”

                                                                                _

After much convincing (mostly begging), we managed to assemble everyone who had visited the museum that day near the exit, along with the security guards, who had agreed to recreate the checking of the visitors.

We started with the couple with the child. They were carrying a handbag along with a diaper bag for the baby, both of which were put through a conveyor belt. The lady looked slightly disgruntled at having to do this again, and so did the man. The baby didn’t seem to mind too much, seeing as it was asleep, head resting on its father’s chest. The x-rays of the bags were looked at, after which the couple were both asked to upturn their pockets, and they were checked with a hand-held scanning machine.

Next was the tall, gaunt man, who was carrying a handbag. The bag passed through the conveyor belt just as the couple’s had, and his clothes were checked the same way as well. He was asked to remove his hat, a request at which he seemed to be quite flustered. He refused a few times (suspicious, so I made sure to note it down), but he gave in in the end. It turned out that he had a shiny bald patch at the top of his head, which is why he was hesitant to take off the bowler hat.

Next was the old lady, who was carrying a moth-eaten handbag so ancient that it looked as if it had been taken straight out of the Victorian era. As I looked at her, I realized that she looked strangely familiar… like someone, I had seen before. Then it occurred to me that I had seen her before, so that’s probably where I recognized her from. The bag was passed through the conveyor belt, as with everyone before her. It was slightly more difficult to check her body since she could barely stand up without her walking stick. One guard had to hold onto her walking stick, another had to hold on to her in order to support her, and yet another guard had to do the actual checking. Nevertheless, they managed to check her efficiently.

The middle-aged woman was carrying a backpack, which, once again, went through the belt, and she was then checked by the hand-held machine.

The teenage boy and the other man weren’t carrying any bags or luggage, and the boy didn’t take much time to check, since his pockets were virtually empty too. The man, on the other hand, had pockets full to the brim with random junk. Newspaper clippings, toffee wrappers, a small mirror, glasses, a hip flask, and a ukulele. I had no idea how anyone could fit an entire ukulele in their pockets, but if I ever wanted to do so, I made a mental note to ask that man.

“Does that old lady look familiar to you in any way?” whispered Gigi in my ear.

“She does, actually,” I said, “but it’s probably insignificant, right?”

Gigi shook her head, flashing a smile at me that scream ‘I know something you don’t’.

“I know who the thief was,” she said.

“Who?” I asked urgently, “who?”

She just smiled knowingly and did not reply, which made me feel a sudden, intense urge to punch her in the face.

“I know who it was,” she announced, looking rather pleased with herself.

Everyone in the museum looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to carry on.

“The ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl’ was never stolen,” she said loftily, “rather, something else was.”

Much to everyone’s amazement and shock, she lifted the ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl’ for them all to see.

“Ryan,” she said, turning to Ryan the security guard, “the unemployment office closes at 5 pm. You could do with that information, since you won’t have a job here for much longer.”

Every single head turned to look at Ryan the security guard, including mine. Ryan immediately dropped his head, looking up at Geneviéve with an anxious expression on his face.

“Well, Ryan, I can’t say I entirely blame you,” said Gigi slightly condescendingly, “you were just listening to mummy, weren’t you?”

Ryan’s eyes instantly flitted to the elderly lady, who looked absolutely livid with rage. And then it dawned on me – that’s why she looked so familiar! She was Ryan’s mother, so she looked like him!

“Ryan, you helped your mother steal the painting, didn’t you?” Gigi said, circling Ryan like a vulture circling a carcass, “You initiated the power cut, took down the ‘Portrait of a Cat and a Fruit Bowl’, and stashed it away in the utility room. You were able to do all this unnoticed because you were the security guard; no one would suspect you.”

“And while the commotion was going on,” she continued, “your mum was able to steal another painting – a more valuable one.”

I had been taking notes furiously, but for a moment I looked up to see everyone’s reaction. They all looked surprised, confused, and slightly nervous at the same time. Ryan looked ashamed of himself, but if looks could kill, his mother would be in jail for murder.

Gigi turned to face the old lady. “Tell me, madam,” she said, “do you really need that walking stick?”

Gigi snatched the stick from Ryan’s mother, and I was shocked to see that she was able to stand quite straight even without it.

Much to everyone’s dismay, Gigi held the stick horizontally and brought it down on her knee, breaking it in two. My jaw dropped. The stick was hollow inside – and inside was a rolled-up piece of paper – when unrolled I imagine it must be quite large.

Gigi unrolled the paper – and the room erupted in gasps and cries of ‘oh my god’.

The old lady had hidden the ‘Mona Lisa’ in her walking stick. The original ‘Mona Lisa’.

Suddenly, it all made sense to me. The walking stick was never scanned or checked! That’s how she managed to leave the museum with the painting and not get caught.

An ingenious plan, I thought to myself.

“But… but the Mona Lisa was never stolen! It’s still there, I saw it this morning!” said the manager of the Prestonheim museum.

And then it dawned on me.

“I think you’ll find that that isn’t the original,” I said, proud of myself for figuring out at least one part of the mystery.

The manager fainted.

                                                                           _

“See, Gi,” I said, “I knew we’d get a case in the end.”

“Mhm,” said Gigi, “here’s to many more!”

Right after arresting Ryan and his mother, the museum staff immediately went to remove the fake ‘Mona Lisa’ from its frame.

It was the ‘Mona Lisa’ printed on plain cartridge paper. It looked quite similar to the original one, so I understand why they didn’t notice the difference. However, I’m a bit surprised that they didn’t notice the words, printed in big letters at the bottom of the fake painting, ‘SCANNED WITH SCANNER PRO’.