PROLOGUE
Alan Woolsham was a man at the top of his game. He was in his early fifties, and having spent a lifetime working for the British Broadcasting Corporation, he’d settled into a niche that was perfect for him. He was the main host of the popular UK afternoon show, Antiques Spotlight, and had been for a number of years.
The usual format of the BBC television production was to have Alan travel around England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland, attending auctions for art, antiques, and collectibles, and give viewers an insight into the items that auction-goers were hoping to buy or sell.
Viewers loved the different locations that were visited, and large crowds always showed up for the auctions. But by far, the segment of the show that fans loved the most, was when Alan did an appraisal of an item that someone had brought in, hoping to make a great deal of money from its sale.
Alan was an expert in his field, so when anybody brought in cheap trinkets or ornaments that had been found in an attic with hopes of having found some hidden treasure that would make them rich, his response was brutal. And as the ratings showed, the audience loved it.
He had a unique style that was perfect for the show. He dressed in that classic English gentleman look, the one that said “I live on a large country estate and have excellent taste in art and antiques.”
When doing appraisals for television, his signature mark was to look at the owner of the item in a distinct, suspicious sort of way, before sliding his reading glasses up to his nose, and then delivering his verdict on the value of the item. If the item had little or no value, he never spared the owner’s feelings. Some said he was arrogant and rude, but it really didn’t matter, because the show was wildly popular.
In other words, he looked the part, and sounded it too, with his pronounced accent that one would expect from a man who knew his art and culture. The antique enthusiasts around the United Kingdom absolutely loved it!
However, this month the format of Antiques Spotlight was going to change slightly. The entire BBC film crew was flying to the United States to film four television specials of the show. Filming in New York was a first for the show, but the producers felt that enough ex-pats lived in America to warrant the expense, not to mention the opportunity to showcase the quirky show to new international viewers.
Alan was looking forward to having a chance to air the show to U.S. viewers. He really loved his job at the BBC, where his pay and working conditions were far better than any other job he could get. And quite frankly, he loved the celebrity status that he’d acquired over the years. It not only made Alan feel good, but it was extremely flattering to have people come up to him while he was shopping in London and ask him for his autograph or a selfie.
When he’d received the call from his director, Dave Cooper, telling him that he’d been given the green light to go to the U.S. and film the specials, he thought life couldn’t get any better. And the show wasn’t going to be filmed just anywhere in the U.S., but it was to be filmed in New York City. Alan could not have been happier, because it was a city he loved.
Alan had spent the first few days in New York touring the city, mostly on his own, but sometimes with the film crew. He was an independent spirit at heart and liked to do things on his own. Having visited New York several times in the past, Alan already knew where his favorite haunts were located, so he just disappeared to wherever he wanted to go whenever his schedule allowed it.
Day one of filming had already been completed, and aside from a massive argument with his director, had gone pretty much as planned, so Alan decided to get away from his hotel for a while. The last thing Alan wanted to do was talk shop with the production team during his downtime.
His ideal outing was a visit to the basilica of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral in Lower Manhattan. The Catholic church itself was very typical with a large interior and high ceilings, intricate architectural features, and stained-glass windows, but it was the catacombs beneath the church that had always fascinated Alan.
Constructed in 1815, a person could tour one of the few catacombs in the country where the lighting was provided by candlelight. During that time, one could discover New York’s famous residents who were buried beneath the church, and learn more about the city’s trials and tribulations over the years. It never failed to amaze him, and he always thoroughly enjoyed it.
As he always did when he visited New York, Alan Woolsham walked into the famous church, joined one of the tours, and was led down to the catacombs by the tour guide. The small group of visitors came from around the world, and from the sound of a woman’s distinct accent, his group included at least one British tourist.
I wonder if she’s here for the Antiques Spotlight roadshow? Alan thought.
Everyone in the group marveled at the massive Henry Urben church organ, as well as the eerie entrance to the underground crypt. The tour guide gave an excellent running commentary about the church and the crypt as they walked down the stone stairs into the noticeably cooler underground area beneath the church.
Old wooden swinging doors guarded the passageway that led down a candle-lit corridor. The candles illuminated stone walls in a creepy red color with the dead and departed on either side. Every time Alan had taken the tour, he’d always thought he was walking down into the mouth of Hell, despite the religious location in which he was standing.
The British tourist in the group was indeed from England and had come to the U.S. to visit the live recordings of the New York segments of the Antiques Spotlight. She recognized Alan and tried to initiate some small talk with him, but he barely answered her because this was his free time, and he wanted to be alone with his own thoughts, not those of some fan from England, flattering as it might be.
When the tour was over, Alan made sure that he lost the Brit tourist as he left the church. He always took a walk around the cemetery that was located on the church grounds before he left, because he found it to be wonderfully spooky at night.
When the night-time air started to get a bit chilly, Alan left the cemetery and began walking back to his hotel, which was fairly close to the Whitney Museum of American Art. The museum was the setting for the display of British antiques and fine art and where the BBC would be filming their show over the next few days.
The hotel where Alan and the rest of the BBC film crew were staying was only a fifteen-minute walk from the Whitney Museum, which suited Alan perfectly. He liked the walk and chose to do that rather than pay for a cab to take him the few blocks west to where the show would be filmed.
What point was there in staying in New York if you didn’t soak up the vibe of the city while you were there? he thought.
And that’s why Alan decided to head back to the Whitney Museum on foot. He needed to talk to his director, Dave Cooper, who he knew was going to be working late tonight getting ready for day two of filming tomorrow. Alan felt the two of them needed to at least be on civil terms for the show to succeed. Alan also wanted to make sure a few technical issues had been resolved before the next day’s filming, since to some extent they affected him.
When he entered the large exhibition hall that had been set aside for the BBC, Alan found that Dave was busy with the sound crew. He joined their discussion, told them about his concerns and left, satisfied with the progress that he’d seen.
Dave was still busy working through a pre-production checklist, so Alan decided he’d talk to him later, before they left the museum and went back to the hotel. Alan walked to the rear of the exhibition hall which was where a series of partitioned cubicles had been set up to house the more expensive items that were going to be examined by expert appraisers on a one-on-one basis with the owners of the antiques. This is where Alan would be making his famous assessments of the public’s items that they’d brought from home.
He went into a partitioned cubicle and sat down on a vintage green settee that had been brought over from the UK as a prop. Although it wasn’t an antique, it certainly looked the part, with its battered dark wooden legs and back, and its deep green classic-style upholstery. While he was sitting on it, he thought about the day’s show and what he would do tomorrow to improve it.
I think I was a little too tame with the evaluations today. Tomorrow I will not suffer fools gladly when they bring in tatty nonsense for me to appraise, thinking that they’ve brought in something valuable! I will give them some of the old Alan Woolsham fire and brimstone, so it will spice things up for our American friends… yes, that will work. And even though I know it will be hard, I’ll try to be more cooperative with Dave.
Alan heard footsteps approaching the secluded cubicle at the back of the hall where he was sitting. “What is it now? Can’t you see that I’m enjoying the solitude? Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow morning,” Alan called out to the intruder, more than a little bit annoyed.
The intruder walked into the cubicle and just stood there, looking at Alan, not saying a word. When Alan could see that the intruder wasn’t going to leave and didn’t seem like talking either, Alan started to stand up from the settee to walk away.
“You again. Look, I haven’t got time for this, I’ve already told you what I thought, and that’s all there is to it,” Alan said.
The intruder seemed to shake and quiver, and then, without any warning, attacked Alan as he was halfway off of the settee. Because the other members of the cast and crew were busy putting final touches to the set, or finishing with the technical work that needed to be done for the show the next day, nobody noticed anything out of the ordinary happening at the back of the hall inside one of the appraisal cubicles. Alan Woolsham’s dead body was discovered the next morning by a security guard as he patrolled the interior of the large exhibition hall.
Alan was found slumped on the vintage green settee that he’d been sitting on the night before with dried blood that had streamed down from his face and onto his shirt and jacket. An antique silver George V letter opener had been thrust through his glasses and into his right eye, penetrating his brain and killing him instantly. The killer swiftly retrieved the murder weapon and made a hasty retreat from the scene of the crime.
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