Dr. Yes by Colin Bateman Page A

of Dimitrios - albeit signed by Jehovah's
Vengeance Grisham - to anyone who either worked in the travel industry or knew
someone they could lean on who did.
        As I
waited for that e-mail to circulate, I studied the blood-spotted newspaper
featuring the photograph of
        Dr
Yeschenkov with the lovely Arabella taken at the Xianth art gallery in Dublin.
        The
paper was published on the day Augustine was murdered, but while there was an
implicit suggestion that the picture had been taken the night before, it wasn't
actually stated. I checked the gallery's website and discovered that the launch
had actually been three days prior to its coverage in the paper. They were
showcasing a further seven photographs taken at the opening. One of them
featured Dr Yeschenkov, but there were no others of Arabella. Working on the
theory that Dubliners couldn't tell one Belfast accent from another, I phoned
the gallery and asked to speak to the owner. I introduced myself as Dan
Starkey, the editor of Belfast Confidential, a local magazine that had
started out as a champion of hard news but had recently re-imagined itself into
a web-based scandal sheet, and explained that we were interested in running
something on Dr Yeschenkov's visit to Xianth, and on the basis that I didn't
name my source, and the understanding that he never talked about clients, he
said ask away.
        'Well,
did he buy anything?'
        'He
bought a Corcoran. Ex-prisoner, IRA I believe, but hot stuff.'
        'How
much?'
        'That's
private.'
        'Ball-park?'
        'You
wouldn't get much change out of a ten-grand note.'
        'Would
you get any change out of a nine-thousand- pound note?'
        'None.'
        'What
about out of a nine-thousand-nine-hundred- and-forty-pound note?'
        'About
a tenner.'
        'What
sort of a painting?'
         'It's
called Fields, Trees and Bushes outside Lisburn.'
        'Uhuh.'
        'It's
really quite wonderful; it features a wildebeest . . .'
        'What's
he like, Dr Yeschenkov, regular client?'
        'Occasional
rather than regular. He has a good eye.'
        'What's
he like?'
        'Charming,
rich.'
        'And
the lady who was with him on the night?'
        'Mrs
Yeschenkov was unable to attend.'
        'But
there was a photograph of him in
        'Yes.
I saw that. He wasn't happy.'
        'He
looked happy.'
        'He
always does, it's the teeth.'
        'He complained?'
        'Yes.
It gave the impression he was with that woman. I think his wife didn't like it
or something.'
        'Is
that why it's not on your website?'
        'No -
we took the ones on our website. The one in the paper must have been taken by
the Irish Times themselves.'
        'This
woman, Arabella Wogan, what did you make of her?'
        'Can't
say that I spoke to her. In fact, that picture in the paper is the first time I
laid eyes on her. It said she was a socialite, but I've never heard of her.'
        'You
must have invited her to the opening?'
        'Nope.
I mean, she was probably someone's plus- one. We were chock-a-block so there
were a lot of people I never got to meet. I just know I didn't speak to her and
she certainly didn't buy anything.'
        When
I hung up, having promised to give the gallery a glowing mention, I took
another look at the newspaper photo. Their smiles looked slightly forced, but
only in the way that most posed photographs do. Their shoulders were touching.
His left arm was hidden, giving the impression that it was around her, but it
might only have been his way of holding a glass of wine out of shot. Perhaps he
didn't believe it was a good idea for a surgeon to be seen drinking in public;
all those droopy-faced potential clients wouldn't want to have to worry about a
shaky hand. At the base of the picture, just above the caption, there was a
single line of black type: Photo - Liam Benson.
        Still
working according to my thread