Art and Murder

by Don Easton

  “Two weeks is not a problem. I have already been authorized to tell you that we would pay for a minimum of three weeks and perhaps longer, if need be.”

  “Thank you, but I have other clients I wish to finish up with. Two weeks is the most I can afford to be away for the time being.”

  “And out of the two weeks, how much time do you think would be spent on actual consulting work versus searching for a retirement home?”

  “How many profiles would you anticipate need to be done?”

  “I’m not sure,” admitted Wolfgang. “At the moment we have five jugglers … but that could change. We also have people under them who may need screening.”

  Good, I am trusted enough to be told about some of the corporate structure. But will they trust me enough to discuss the way they conduct business, such as committing murder? Jack nodded, then replied, “It would depend on how in-depth of a profile your boss would want. As far as the jugglers go, if they were together, I would only need a day with them to get the information I need to start the ball rolling. If it is not possible to meet them all at once, then I would like to start with Roche.”

  “Why him?”

  “He told me he didn’t want to come to Canada because of recent legal difficulties. He indicated that the problem had been taken care of, but at the same time said there could be some aftermath. If he thinks that, then the problem has not been fully taken care of. As I have been involved with Roche on, shall we say, a delicate matter involving Clive Dempsey, I would feel more relaxed if I focus on him first and learn the details of his legal problem.”

  “I understand,” replied Wolfgang. “You wish to evaluate your own risk of contamination first.”

  “Exactly. Then once I meet everyone it could take several months of work, depending on what I discover. Have the jugglers lived in one place most of their lives, or have they moved every couple of years?”

  “Roche, Anton, and I have pretty much lived in one place, but I don’t know about the other two,” Wolfgang said.

  “One place makes it easier. Regardless, you get my point. I need to do a preliminary assessment, which, for obvious reasons, would only be given to the Ringmaster for whatever action he deems necessary. If all goes well, my assessments may indicate no changes are necessary, or if they are, I would offer my own suggestions about how to incorporate them.”

  “I see. How soon could you get started?”

  “I should be able to clear my calendar in about two weeks. Today is Thursday, so let’s say the fifteenth of February. That’s a Saturday. I know I’ll be available by then.”

  “That would be great,” Wolfgang said. “I’d planned on staying until at least the eleventh of February, so the delay of another few days won’t matter. By then, Anton and Bojan will have completed their assignment and will have returned to Europe.”

  Jack would’ve liked to have found out exactly how Anton and Bojan were moving the stolen goods, but asking that might arouse suspicion. He took a sip of coffee, then said, “Once I get to Europe, if I were to meet with everyone to start with, I might be in a position to provide preliminary profiles to give to the Ringmaster before I return to Canada. That way he’d know he’s getting his money’s worth.”

  “You’ve already impressed the Ringmaster,” said Wolfgang, “so I do not believe that is an issue.” He gave Jack a warm smile. “I can assure you that you will be put up in the best hotels with the finest restaurants.”

  Until you get your hands on the painting. Then where do you plan to put me?

  “Now, if you’d be kind enough to give me your full name and passport number,” Wolfgang went on, “I will arrange to have an airline ticket available for you to leave on the fifteenth.”

  Jack made a grimace. “You probably won’t believe it, but my last name is Smith.”

  “Why shouldn’t I believe it?”

  “It is a common name in North America,” Jack replied. “So common that it’s often a joke for unimaginative people to use it as a fake name.”

  Wolfgang shrugged. “Then it must be your real name, because I know you have imagination. I’ll need your passport number, as well, to book the ticket.”

  “I don’t have it memorized. I’ll give you all the details later.” Jack reached for the menu. “I’m going to order a martini to start with.”

  “Yes, I’ll have a drink, too,” said Wolfgang. “We shall toast to doing business together.”

  Jack smiled in response.

  * * *

  Rose leaned forward with her hands clasped on her desk and listened intently as Jack outlined his meeting with Wolfgang. Laura listened, too, but sat with her arms folded across her chest. Her face hardened as her concern grew.

  When Jack was finished, Rose said, “So your plan is to speak to Roche and perhaps get an admission about Kerin’s murder on the pretext of ensuring your own insulation from the law? Are you hoping to get it all on a wire?”

  “In Kerin’s notes he mentioned being scanned for a wire. I can’t risk it. At least, not at the beginning. Ideally it would not only be Roche. I’m hoping the Ringmaster will also be there and trust me enough to open up. Considering what his men have seen me do, I think they would have a certain amount of faith in me.”

  “Perhaps even more than the brass have for you,” said Rose dryly. She glanced at her desk calendar. “Europe on the fifteenth … doesn’t give us a lot of time. I know Ottawa will approve, but you’re going to need to get a fake passport and arrange the co-operation of European police agencies.”

  “We have liaison officers stationed in Paris and Rome, so that’ll help,” Jack said.

  “But not in Spain or Malta,” noted Laura, “which are the other two places you tossed out as potential retirement spots.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ll look into seeing what the protocol is there. Ottawa will have some kind of agreement. But regardless, I don’t want a cover team breathing down my neck.”

  “Like hell you don’t!” said Rose sharply. “If you think you can traipse around Europe by yourself with a group who murdered an officer right in front of his cover team, you better think again. You should have a team that includes the French, as well as officers from whatever country you’re in.”

  “Having a cover team is why Kerin was murdered,” Jack argued. “That, and trying to save me,” he added bitterly. “It’s for my own safety that I don’t want anyone holding my hand every step of the way.”

  “Our policy would never allow it,” said Rose. “If you feel that way, then you shouldn’t be going.” She looked hard at Jack for a moment. “Think about it. Would we allow a policeman from another country to work undercover in our jurisdiction without protection? Not a chance.”

  She’s right of course, but policy can get you killed. Better pretend to go along with it. “You’re right,” said Jack. “I wasn’t thinking. I’d definitely want Otto around to see if he can identify the swarthy-looking man who met Roche in Frankfurt.”

  “Good,” Rose said.

  Laura eyed Jack. I know you. When the time comes, all you’ll do is lose the cover team or send them on a wild-goose chase someplace else.

  Reading her mind, Jack turned to Rose and said, “I would also like Laura there to guide the cover team. She’s experienced and knows how I operate.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” replied Rose. “Undercover is new to the French. We need someone with you who knows the ropes.”

  Laura looked at Rose and nodded in agreement, before glancing at Jack. Yes, I do know how you operate. You want me to play Mother Goose and help lead them away from you. Oh, man …

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  On February 15 Jack stretched out in the first class comfort of the Boeing 747 400-passenger jet operated by British Airways. His almost twelve-hour flight from Vancouver was due to arrive in Paris at five-thirty in the evening of the following day. The RCMP liaison officer stationed in Paris was away, but his presence was not needed, as the French were more than eager to be i
nvolved.

  Jack accepted the complimentary glass of champagne and exchanged a toast with Wolfgang, who was seated across the aisle from him.

  Five days earlier Anton had left Canada and flown to Paris. The following day Bojan was intercepted making a phone call to arrange for home furnishings to be shipped to an address in Bulgaria. Interpol discovered that the address belonged to Bojan’s parents. The day after the furniture was picked up, Bojan left Canada.

  Wolfgang then gave Jack a round-trip ticket to Paris with a return date of two weeks later, along with a promise that he could extend his stay if he wished. He said that once in Paris, they would be staying at the Renaissance Paris Vendome Hotel, which, he noted, was within easy walking distance of the Louvre and the Museum d’Orsay, and only four kilometres from the Eiffel Tower. Jack was also told to charge all restaurant and bar expenses in the hotel to his room and that it would be paid for.

  Laura, flying economy, had been put on an American Airlines flight that had an almost identical arrival schedule. Otto had returned to Germany ten days earlier, but made arrangements to fly to Paris to assist in the investigation when she arrived.

  Jack checked out the hotel on the Internet and discovered it cost more than $700 a night. Another hotel, called Hôtel du Louvre, was reserved for Laura at a cost of $165 a night and was less than a ten-minute walk away. Otto was booked into the same hotel as Laura.

  Jack grinned when he thought of the dirty look Laura pretended to give him over the discrepancy in travel and accommodation. Love it when the bad guys pay.

  Despite knowing what hotel he was booked at, Jack agreed that the French police would put a surveillance team on him when he arrived at the Paris airport. Undercover operations seldom went as planned, but he knew it would be busy enough on arrival that the team should go undetected.

  Jack had also spoken with Maurice Leblanc, who was to be part of the surveillance team. He was anxious to meet with him face to face to express his gratitude for what Kerin had died trying to do. He also wanted to visit Kerin’s wife, Gabrielle, but knew the secrecy of the undercover operation demanded she not know. There was also fear it would build up her hopes that the man who murdered her husband would be caught, adding to the devastation she would feel if Jack wasn’t successful.

  Police forces in Spain, Malta, and Italy had been contacted and all agreed to supply a cover team for their areas. On top of that, Maurice, along with his boss, Yves Charbonneau, would assist in covering Jack in each country, along with Laura and Otto. Solving Kerin’s murder was the primary objective, and therefore the investigation was under the control and direction of the French police.

  The flight arrived on time, and Jack and Wolfgang booked into the Renaissance Paris Vendome at nine o’clock. Their rooms were on different floors, which Jack was pleased about. It gave him more freedom to leave undetected.

  After checking in, Jack called Laura.

  “You in?” he asked.

  “Yes, still unpacking. Otto, Maurice, and Yves are with me.”

  “I saw a huge park a block from my hotel called the Tuileries Garden. I wonder if it’s the same park where —”

  “No. I saw it, too, and asked Maurice. Kerin was murdered in a different park. Why did you want to know?”

  “Guess it doesn’t matter. But every park I see makes me think of him and question what I did that night.”

  “It’s wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

  “I know.” Jack decided to change the subject. “What’s your read on Yves? He’ll be the one we have to answer to.”

  “Might be too soon to say,” replied Laura, smiling at Yves, who was watching her. “Quail, did you say? Bet that was good. Wish I could have gone first class.”

  “You mean he’s like our old boss? Staff Quaile?”

  “Yes.”

  “Christ. Nobody could be that big of an asshole.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right about that,” agreed Laura. “First impressions and I’m tired, but Otto has some good news on finding the real owner of the painting.”

  “He found the owner? How?”

  “Remember the old gentleman tortured in Surrey when they stole the picture?”

  “Herman Jaiger.”

  “Yes, and he had a document of authentication from the Goldman Art Verification Agency in Paris, dated in 1933 and addressed to a Mr. Guri L. Sacher in Paris.”

  “Yes, there’s a school at that address now. So Otto found him?”

  “Not exactly. Mr. Sacher died a few years ago, but Otto found his daughter. He hasn’t told her yet because he doesn’t want word to get out in case it jeopardizes our investigation.”

  “That’s fantastic. How did he do it?”

  “Let me put him on and he can tell you,” said Laura.

  Seconds later Otto spoke. “So, you need me to teach you how to be a detective.”

  “Sounds like it,” admitted Jack. “How did you find her?”

  “We Germans have a reputation for being thorough,” said Otto dryly. “Lists were kept of many of those who were exterminated during the Second World War. His name was not on any list.”

  “Okay …”

  “The most popular country the Jews fled to was Switzerland. After making a couple of dozen phone calls and pretending I was a distant cousin interested in tracing the family tree, I located his daughter. She told me she went to Paris about ten years ago to look up the family home and discovered a school there. Her father, Guri Leib Sacher, died of old age a few years ago.”

  “Good work,” Jack said. “When the investigation is over, we’ll be able to return it.”

  “That’s what I thought. Here, I’ll put Laura back on.”

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked.

  “I’m exhausted and going to bed. I’m to meet Wolfgang downstairs tomorrow morning at nine for breakfast. He said we’d have someone joining us.”

  “The Ringmaster?”

  “Wolfgang said he wasn’t sure who’d be coming. My gut tells me it will be someone else. I don’t think they’re done checking me out, so try to keep the surveillance team at bay if you can.”

  “That might be hard.”

  “I don’t want anyone in there on surveillance,” said Jack firmly. “Don’t tell the others about it and I’ll call you after breakfast. If it is the Ringmaster, I’ll be meeting him more than once. I’ve got what he wants. He’s not going to dismiss me that easily.”

  Yeah, here it goes, Laura thought. I’m not even unpacked and already you’re telling me to ditch the cover team. Oh, man.

  “You hear me?” Jack’s voice was stern.

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  * * *

  At eight o’clock the following morning Jack went downstairs and entered Le Pinxo restaurant, situated inside the hotel. He knew he was an hour early, but he hadn’t adjusted to the time difference and had been awake since five. He ordered a cappuccino, then another.

  Forty-five minutes later he saw Wolfgang enter the restaurant. He was accompanied by a man who looked to be about forty-five, with thinning hair that was too black to be natural. The man was portly and dressed in black slacks and a red, V-neck sweater. A gold loop hung from the lobe of each ear. Wolfgang introduced him to Jack as Roche Freulard, and the pair took seats across the table.

  Jack eyed Roche and said, “I thought you had some legal difficulties. I trust you didn’t bring that problem with you?”

  “I have taken the necessary precautions to ensure I was not followed,” was his reply.

  “Are you staying at the hotel?”

  “No.” Roche glanced at Wolfgang as if to question why Jack would ask.

  “You’re not wearing a coat and it’s cold and rainy outside,” said Jack, “so I presume you left it in Wolfgang’s room — no doubt when you were talking about me.”

  Roche looked taken back, but Wolfgang chuckled.

  Roche raised his hand to summon the waitress. When the young woman arrived, Roche smiled and
spoke to her in French, apparently asking about something on the menu. When she leaned over to point at an item on the menu, Roche put his hand around her waist.

  The waitress grabbed his wrist and flung his arm off her, then stepped back, obviously annoyed. Somewhat sullenly, Roche ordered a café au lait and a croissant. Both Wolfgang and Jack ordered omelettes and coffee, and the waitress left.

  The conversation amongst the three men was general in nature during breakfast. Not until the table had been cleared and they were just finishing their coffees did Roche looked at Jack and say, “So, Wolfgang has told me that he is impressed with your abilities.”

  “I get by,” Jack said.

  “In Canada, perhaps.” Roche frowned. “But we are not in Canada here.”

  “Guess that would explain my twelve-hour flight yesterday,” Jack replied.

  Wolfgang snickered but Roche wasn’t amused. “What I am saying,” Roche said, a tinge of anger in his voice, “is that you may be like a magician in your country at making things disappear, but how would you perform here?”

  “Things disappear?” Jack repeated.

  “You know what I mean. Things like a car and … what was in the trunk.”

  “I’d find a way. A car is easy. I could do that immediately.”

  Roche exchanged a surprised look with Wolfgang before asking, “How?”

  “Do you have a car?” asked Jack.

  “Yes. A black Peugeot parked outside.”

  “Give me the keys,” Jack said. “It would be too easy to dispose of if you were along, as you’re the owner, but let me take Wolfgang for a drive to show him how.”

  Roche exchanged another glance with Wolfgang, who said, “Why not? Let me see what he would do.”

  Minutes later Jack got into the Peugot with Wolfgang beside him while Roche stood on the sidewalk watching, first with his arms folded across his chest, then holding his hands behind his back before once more folding his arms across his chest.

  Wolfgang gave a nod toward Roche. “You’ve made him nervous. Do you mind telling me where we’re going?”