The Clock

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The clock was beautiful, of this there could be no doubt. Gaudy for most modern tastes, the piece was was covered in gold leaf, and depicted a motif of cherubic angels with trumpets on the sides of the clock’s face, which was made to resemble the sun. The Roman numerals were strikingly blue. The clock’s housing was made of tortoise shell, with gold filigreed designs of the sun, the moon and stars. The piece was mounted on a dark wooden base with gold inlays. Most importantly, it had the mark on its base that verified its authenticity.

A clock of this design in this condition was certainly valuable. It was even more valuable as it had resided on the mantlepiece of the fireplace in the royal bedchamber of King Louis XIV in the Palace of Versailles.

Michael Jericho had tracked the piece down to the shop of Phillip Braswell, an antique dealer in London. Jericho himself ran a rare antique and curio shop in New York, and fed major pieces to major auction houses in the states and Europe.

The London dealer knew he had a valuable item, to be sure. But, Jericho was confident he did not know the full history of the clock. There was a break in the chain of the provenance following the ransacking of Versaille. While most of the treasures of the palace could be accounted for through auctions or transfers to the Louvre, the clock seemed vanished for more than a century.

Reports of it turned up in various reports. Terrence Whyte, a London banker was the last known owner. He had died six months earlier. Jericho tracked down his son, who told him his father’s collection had been sold to Braswell, a respected and by all accounts honest dealer in antiquities.

And that is what led Jericho to Braswell’s shop.

“I was hoping to sell all of Mr. Whyte’s in the shop, but I think these are going to have to go to auction to get their value,” Braswell told Jericho. “Not a major problem, but I’d rather get the full value than share the proceeds with the auction house.”

“Oh, of course. I understand,” Jericho said. “I think I have a buyer in the States who I could sell this to at a modest profit, assuming the price is reasonable here.”

“Naturally,” Braswell said. “I think - and I am sure you will agree - that this is a remarkably well preserved example from its era.”

Jericho nodded, working to set the hook. “I assume you have a full chain of provenance?”

Braswell shook his head. “Unfortunately no. I can only verify ownership back to the late 19th century. But there is no doubt it is a genuine clock from the late 17th century.”

“That’s a shame,” Jericho said. He knew that he himself could establish provenance through his research and historical descriptions. But, no point in letting Braswell know he was too eager. “What are you asking for it?”

“One hundred thousand pounds,” Braswell said in a tone that let Jericho know this was not a final number. Still, even at that, the price was a good deal. He’d make over a million on this at auction. Easily.

“That is, well, a lot,” Jericho said.

“The piece warrants that, sir,” Braswell said.

“I tell you what, let me contact my buyer. I suspect I can make this work if you have some room to negotiate.”

“Yes, sir. That is fair.”

“I will be in touch. In the meantime, let me give you my hotel information. I will be in town for a couple of more nights. Feel free to reach out if you have any new….thoughts.”

Jericho gave Braswell the name of his hotel and the room number, and bid the shop owner farewell. Jericho had done this enough to know that by that evening he would get a call from Braswell lowering the price to somewhere in the neighborhood of 75 and 80 thousand pounds. Not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but one had to play the game.

And, like clockwork, about an hour after Jericho returned to his hotel room he received a call from Braswell.

“Mr. Braswell,” Jericho said with smirk. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“Mr. Jericho, I just wanted to let you know that shortly after you left the shop, another gentleman came by and expressed an interest in the clock. He, too, wants some time to think about the price, but I wanted to be fair to you and let you know there is another potential buyer.”

“I see,” Jericho said, the smirk vanishing from his face. “And did this gentleman give you his name?”

“I am sorry, sir, but I don’t think it is appropriate to divulge that information. However, I will invite you and the other gentleman to return tomorrow morning by 10 a.m. to make your best offer. So, by all means contact your buyer, but I think it is safe to assume that my asking price may be a starting point rather than a final price.”

“I understand,” Jericho said. “I will be there tomorrow morning before 10.”

Jericho hung up the phone and cursed. He knew who the other “gentleman” was. It had to be Lawrence Carson, another collector. He had seen Carson in London at an auction two nights before. They talked briefly. Carson said he was just doing routine shopping via auction, and Jericho said the same. He also told Carson that he had some pieces around town he might peruse.

Carson was smart, and if he somehow caught wind of the clock’s existence he would pounce. Carson had used questionable means to obtain pieces Jericho wanted over the years. Sometimes simple lies (which, to be fair, was also part of Jericho’s tool kit) to outright threats. There were stories of Carson strong arming people with items he wanted, and even allegations of outright theft. One rumor connected him to a man having his legs broken prior to a sale.

Jericho had spotted Carson on two other occasions in London that week. Once, he spotted him in a restaurant in the financial district while he was having lunch with Terrence Whyte’s son. Carson seemed to ignore him when he waved. Another time, he was walking along a street with several antique dealers, and he glanced across the street. He notice Carson strolling nonchalantly on the other side. They again did not speak.

It could not have been coincidence that someone showed up in what had to be the moments after Jericho left the shop. Carson had probably been following him. Jericho realized he had been an absolute idiot to even intimate there was a piece worth looking at in town.

Jericho stewed about his approach for the rest of the afternoon. He had to be prepared to offer more than asking price for the clock. Why had he not just bought it then and there? These stupid games usually yielded results, but this item was not one he should have played with.

That evening, Jericho wandered to a pub next door for a bite to eat and a pint to drink. When he returned, the front desk clerk stopped him and told him he had a message, and handed him a slip of paper with a handwritten note.

“Please meet at the shop this evening at 9:00 p.m. I have decided to conclude this sale tonight. - P. Braswell”

Jericho thanked the clerk and looked at his watch. It was 7:30 p.m.

He went to his room, showered and prepared for the meeting.

***** Jericho arrived at the shop shortly before 9. The street was populated by small store fronts, all of which were closed for the evening. Jericho approached knocked on Braswell’s door, but no one answered. “Hello, Mr. Braswell?” he said, but no one answered. He knocked again, but there was no answer.

Jericho turned the knob on the door and found it was unlocked. He opened it and looked into the dark shop entrance. There was no sign of Braswell or anyone else. Maybe the shop owner was running late, and maybe Carson - or whoever his competition was - had lost interest.

There was a light on in the back office, the door of which was ajar. Jericho “Mr. Braswell, it’s Michael Jericho, are you here?”

He was met with silence.

Jericho approached the counter and saw that the gate that also served as one end of the desk connected to the wall was folded up on its hinge. Jericho walked behind the counter, again announcing himself.

He notice that the clock was not in sight in the shop, but that was not surprising. It was probably locked away.

Jericho walked to the office door behind the counter. It was ajar and he peeked into the dark room.

“Hello?” Jericho said and then caught himself short.

Braswell was in his office, but he was lying face down on the floor. His safe was open and a chair was knocked over.

Jericho rushed to Braswell and turned him over, trying to see if he was okay, which he very much was not. Jericho’s pulled back his hands, and saw they were covered in Braswell’s blood. Jericho looked at Braswell, and realized the back of the man’s head was covered in blood and appeared to have been cracked open.

Jericho alternately looked at his hands and Braswell’s body, stunned into inaction.

He glanced at the safe. He noticed it held various higher end pieces, but that there was an obvious empty space where the clock had almost certainly been housed.

Jericho also notice a ledger book. He grabbed it and flipped until he found the last page with writing, not noticing or caring that he was smudging the pages with blood. The ledger was a simple list of dates, items, buyers and prices.

The final entry listed that day’s date, “17-18th century clock, L. Carson, £110,000”.

Jericho slammed the book down as he heard the police sirens outside. He stood up, prepared to tell the officers that Carson had murdered Braswell.

Moments later he heard the officers enter the shop and ask if anyone was there.

Jericho walked out of the office with his hands raised. The officers flashlight beams illuminated Jericho and his blood-soaked hands.

“He’s been murdered!”

The officers looked at each other, and one rushed into the office.

“It’s a murder,” he confirmed.

Jericho was arrested, and the investigation was quick. He told his story about Carson, but Carson had an iron-clad alibi from 6 p.m. on. He said he had, indeed, been to the shop and bought the piece. He showed his receipt to the detectives, who were really only going through the motions. He had then met friends for dinner and spent the remainder of the evening in their company. He had a female acquaintance who could vouch for the remainder of the night. He did tell the investigator that he, of course, knew Michael Jericho, and that Mr. Braswell had made the comment that Jericho would likely be quite annoyed that he sold the piece out from under him. But, as Carson explained, Jericho had apparently chosen to dicker over the price, whereas Carson had made a fair offer of over asking price and concluded his business.

The evidence against Jericho was, of course, overwhelming. His presence at the scene, his bloody hands and his bloody fingerprints on the ledger combined with his desire for the clock made the prosecution’s job very easy.

Jericho was sentenced to life with a thirty-year minimum in Pentonville.

The clock sold at auction for $4.2 million.

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