Art and Murder

by Don Easton

  Carina stopped talking to the real estate agent when Jack returned. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “It will be okay,” he said smoothly, “but I have to straighten out a consulting problem back in Canada. With the time difference it is only morning there, which means I’m going to be on the phone half the night.” He paused, shaking his head, then looked at Carina. “You should have dinner without me tonight. I’ll be ordering a sandwich or something from room service. I’ll need to work without distraction.”

  Carina looked crestfallen.

  “I can certainly take you back now,” offered the real estate agent. “Then we can start again tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry —” Jack met his gaze “— but I’ve seen enough of Malta to know I am not interested in purchasing property here.”

  “Oh … I am sorry to hear that,” replied the agent.

  Jack looked at Carina and said, “I would like to take tomorrow off and spend the whole day with you, if that’s okay? I have some ideas in mind to make it a day I hope you’ll enjoy.”

  Carina perked up. “I would love that!” she said. Then she kissed him on the mouth.

  Jack held the kiss long enough to display interest, then glanced at the agent and said, “Perhaps we should be going.”

  * * *

  That evening Jack stayed in his room after promising Carina he would meet her for breakfast at ten the next morning. He spent the time on the Internet studying the various pieces of art on display in the Museum of Fine Arts in Malta. The more he studied, the more he realized how little he knew about art.

  At midnight he went to bed, but sleep eluded him for another couple of hours. He thought about Natasha and Mike and Steve and wished he could call home, but did not want the phone record on his hotel bill. He didn’t use his own phone, either, because it would be too risky in the event it fell into the wrong hands.

  Then he thought about Carina, and the Russian’s words played over in his mind. Has he clouded her judgment? Everyone else has family — good collateral should something go wrong. One word in particular bothered him. Collateral. How long before they look at Carina as my collateral?

  He sighed deeply. Gain the Ringmaster’s confidence fast and cut Carina loose immediately. Make it sound like I don’t give a rat’s ass about her.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  At nine-thirty the next morning Jack spoke briefly with Laura and learned that she and the rest of the cover team would depart for the airport at noon and arrive in Reggio Calabria that evening, which would be a full day ahead of Jack’s and Carina’s arrival. The liaison officer in Rome had arranged for a team of police officers from the Italian national police force, the Guardia di Finanza, to assist them.

  “Did you discuss surveillance?” asked Jack.

  “Yes, there is good news and bad,” she said. “The Italian police agree to give you lots of freedom without breathing down your neck.”

  “Good. And the bad news?”

  “They agree to give you lots of freedom because they’re reluctant to make inquiries or do much for fear of it getting back to the various Mafia families who control the region. They figure they’ll be in a better position to re-evaluate once this Giuseppe is properly identified.”

  “I’m happy with that. Once I check into a hotel there, I’ll contact you.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later Jack went to the hotel restaurant and found Carina waiting for him. She immediately rose and gave him a hug and a kiss.

  “Are you finished whatever it is you had to do last night?” she asked as she sat back down.

  “Pretty well,” Jack said. “I worked until about midnight. I may have to make another couple of calls in the next day or two, but nothing that will take long.”

  “And your plans for today?” she asked. “You said you had some ideas, but never told me.”

  “How about after breakfast we go for an invigorating walk, then take a taxi and go on a wine tour for lunch. After that, I would like to visit the Museum of Fine Arts. It’s reputed to be excellent.”

  Carina’s face brightened. “I’d love to see it!”

  “Once we’re done with the museum, we could come back, freshen up, and find a nice restaurant for dinner.”

  Carina smiled. “It sounds absolutely perfect!”

  “Good.”

  “Will you let me pick the restaurant?” she asked.

  “By all means,” he replied.

  “I was bored last night after you abandoned me and decided to check out some restaurants on the Internet. There’s a place called the Bacchus restaurant that I thought looked good.”

  “The Bacchus it is,” Jack said.

  * * *

  The afternoon went as planned. By three o’clock they had been to four wineries, and although Carina was far from swaying on her feet, she was in a joyful and playful mood by the time they entered the Museum of Fine Arts.

  “What is your first impression of this one?” Carina was gazing at a watercolour of a harbour filled with boats, a city in the background.

  “My first impression was, and still is, one of outstanding beauty,” Jack replied.

  “I agree,” said Carina. “It is exquisite how the artist, Turner, managed to capture the almost mystical feeling to the cloud, or rather, the fog swirling in. Is that what caught your attention?” Her rapt gaze remained on the painting.

  “No, I think it was the look of surprise, followed by the astounding beauty,” Jack said as he stared at Carina.

  Carina looked startled when she realized Jack’s eyes were on her, not the painting. She giggled. “How much wine did you have?”

  “I hadn’t had any the first time I met you.”

  Carina pursed her lips, hoping it would stop her from blushing.

  “Let’s move on,” said Jack. He waved his hand in the direction of several other paintings. “Although I like some sixteenth- and seventeenth-century art, a lot of it is based on religion and depicts biblical characters, which I do not care for. I like paintings such as the one over there by Bernardo Strozzi.” He gestured to a painting farther down the wall. “I believe that one is entitled The Piper. The fact that the character in the painting is playing a musical instrument represents fun to me; but on the flip side, I also like works that represent hardship, such as Les Gavroches, the sculpture of street urchins in Barrakka Garden here in Malta.”

  “Ah, yes,” Carina said.

  “It was done in the early twentieth century by a local sculptor named Antonio Sciortino and —” Jack’s face lit up. “I’ve an idea. Barrakka Garden is less than two kilometres away and I’ve yet to see the sculpture in person. Do you want to go? After the wine it seems stuffy in here. I could use some fresh air.”

  “I’d love to go, especially as it’s a sculpture you like,” said Carina, taking his hand.

  Twenty minutes later they stood gazing at the statue and Jack said, “So, what is your first impression? Do you like it?”

  “Like it? I love it. I look at these three bronze children and it makes me want to take all the change from my purse and throw it into a schoolyard.”

  “Where on earth did you come up with an idea like that?” asked Jack.

  Carina smiled. “Oh, from some guy I met. I can’t remember his name.”

  * * *

  That evening, before leaving his room for dinner, Jack checked out the Bacchus restaurant on the Internet. It was reputed to be the most romantic restaurant in Malta. Of all the trips I have been on, the guilt trip is by far the worst.

  * * *

  The restaurant lived up to its reputation. Its soft lighting and rustic stone walls gave it a warm, intimate ambiance, and the food was delicious. Their conversation flowed easily.

  Carina cut a piece of halibut, but then paused to look at Jack. “I’m still embarrassed by what I said the first time I met you in Paris.”

  “What you said?” Jack grinned. “You mean when you said, ‘You’re Jack Smith!’”

 
; “Yes.” Carina blushed. “God, I must have sounded like a schoolgirl. I tried to cover for it, but I could tell by those big blue eyes of yours that you saw right through me.”

  Jack took a bite of his roasted rack of lamb. “I kind of thought you were interested in me.”

  “Kind of thought? I may as well have hung a sign around my neck saying Available on Request.”

  Jack chuckled. “It wasn’t that bad, but tell me, why were you so surprised?”

  “Well, I’d asked a few questions about you. Roche told me you collected art, but he also said he suspected you had a rough childhood and likely raised yourself — in dangerous or perhaps gang-run neighbourhoods. He said you were a tough guy. I pictured you with a bald head covered in tattoos and scars, a crooked nose from being broken often, and a missing earlobe.”

  “If you learn to run fast, those things don’t happen,” he said.

  “Perhaps … but I have a feeling that you can handle yourself.”

  “Well, Roche is right about one thing,” said Jack quietly. “I did have a rough childhood, thanks to my dysfunctional family, and have seen more than my share of bad things on the street.”

  “In Zurich I volunteer to help kids from such families.”

  “You do?”

  “I try to encourage them to get into art. It’s good therapy.”

  “Better than drugs,” noted Jack.

  “That’s for sure. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Not anymore,” he said sadly. “I used to, but they didn’t fare as well as I did. It’s too hard to talk about.”

  Carina nodded sympathetically, took another bite of halibut, then smiled wistfully. “I wish I’d known you when you were a child. I can picture you with those big blue eyes and a mop of ruffled hair.”

  “Oh? From your response when we first met, I thought you preferred me as a man.”

  Carina blushed, then reached for her wine. “You got me there,” she admitted, then took a long sip.

  “Tell me about yourself,” said Jack. “What was your childhood like?”

  Carina looked blankly at Jack for a moment, then said, “I’m embarrassed to tell you. It was the complete opposite of yours. I was an only child and spoiled beyond belief. I always got what I wanted. Private schools, even my own horse.”

  “Born into money; it must be nice.”

  “No, it wasn’t that my parents were wealthy. They worked incredibly long hours and I think spoiling me eased their guilt for being gone so much. My mother died of cancer when I was in university, and my father died of a heart attack a few months later.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks, but I managed okay. My aunt and uncle in Stockholm sort of adopted me after that. It was my uncle who walked me down the aisle when I got married.”

  “That’s really nice,” Jack murmured.

  Carina paused to reflect a moment, then said, “Enough of the past.” She reached for her wineglass and lifted it. “Here’s to new beginnings!”

  “To new beginnings,” Jack repeated, his smile warm as they clinked glasses.

  * * *

  It was nearing midnight when they returned to the hotel. At the door to her room, Carina turned and kissed Jack passionately on the mouth. Moving her lips to his neck, she whispered, “Would you like to come in?”

  “I … I’m sorry,” Jack said softly. “I’ve only known you a week. I haven’t been with anyone since … since it happened.”

  “You’re still in love with your wife, aren’t you?”

  Jack nodded. “Yes … I am and I always will be.”

  Carina’s eyes moistened and she looked down.

  Jack swallowed, then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that your love for your husband was any less than —”

  Carina put a finger on Jack’s lips to silence him. “It’s okay. I’ve had more time to heal … and more time to be lonely. You are the first man I have asked to come to bed with me since my husband died.” She shook her head. “Just my luck that you would turn me down.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s … I don’t know. I want to … but my mind feels frazzled when I’m around you. I feel guilty that I’ve only known you a short time and worry that I’m on the rebound or that this is just a sort of shipboard romance. I need time to know that what I feel is real.”

  “I understand,” she said softly. “I’m not blaming you. When I toasted to new beginnings tonight, I didn’t mean that we needed to rush into things. I know how I feel about you and believe you are worth waiting for. I am hoping that in time, you will feel the same way about me.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and said, “You wife was lucky to have had you as her husband.” She turned and unlocked her door, but as she entered, she glanced back and said, “Call me when you’re up.” Before Jack could reply, she looked at his crotch and added, “I meant up out of bed, of course.” She gave a mischievous smile and closed her door.

  Chapter Fifty

  At five-thirty the next day, Laura, Otto, and Maurice were scrunched into the back of a surveillance van with an Italian police officer by the name of Paolo. They were parked in a lot across from the main entrance to the Reggio Calabria airport.

  They saw a black BMW with a bumper sticker advertising a car-rental agency arrive and park in the same lot, then watched the driver get out. “That’s Roche Freulard,” Otto and Laura said in unison.

  Paolo immediately used his police radio to alert the rest of the surveillance team, including Maurice’s boss, Yves, who was a passenger in another surveillance vehicle.

  “So far, so good,” Laura whispered, still watching as Roche stood by his car, looking around.

  “What’s he waiting for?” Paolo wondered aloud while taking photos.

  Soon a red truck arrived and parked behind Roche’s car. The driver unwound the window.

  “Italy’s answer to the Hummer,” said Paolo, admiring the truck while continuing to take photos. “The Lamborghini LM002, more commonly known as the Lambo Rambo.”

  Otto squinted at the driver, then grabbed the binoculars for a closer look. “That’s him! He’s the guy I lost on surveillance in Frankfurt. The one who was in the front seat with Wolfgang when Roche was in the back.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Paolo. “Who is he?”

  “Roche called Jack from Frankfurt and the call was traced to a hotel,” Laura explained. “We think the one they call the Ringmaster was with Roche. Right afterwards, Otto spotted Roche and two other men leaving the hotel. One man was Wolfgang Menges, who later came to Canada and met Jack. The other guy was never identified.”

  “So this guy may be the boss?” Paolo asked.

  “We don’t know,” Laura replied. “At the time, he seemed like a good possibility, but that was before we learned about the Russian. All we have is a witness who described the killer as having collar-length black hair and hairy hands.”

  “He definitely has the black hair,” said Otto, still peering through the binoculars. “I can’t see his hands, but I’m thinking he’s Italian. Okay, he’s leaving and Roche is walking away. I can’t see the licence plate.”

  Paolo used his police radio to notify another surveillance vehicle, who reported that the Lambo Rambo had parked near an airport exit, with the driver waiting behind the wheel. Moments later they learned that the truck was registered to a Giuseppe Carbone, with an address in Reggio Calabria.

  “I will check our database to find out what we know about him.” Paolo punched in numbers on his phone.

  Roche had gone into the airport and it was reported he was waiting at Arrivals. A few minutes later Jack and Carina arrived and were greeted by Roche. At the same time, Paolo received a call back about Giuseppe Carbone. When he hung up, he said, “To our knowledge, Carbone is not yet a made member of the black hand, but is working hard to become one. Many of his relatives are made members. He has been arrested many times for things like extortion, armed
robbery, and a sexual assault, but has never been convicted. No doubt because of the influence of the black hand on witnesses, or perhaps the judiciary.”

  Maurice glanced at Laura and said, “The black hand may be better known to you as the Mafia.”

  “I’m familiar with the term,” Laura said. “It extends to Canada, as well. Particularly Montreal. Unlike the States, who have the Sicilian mafia, in Canada they tend to be from Calabria. Either way, they are still known as the black hand when it comes to manipulating things.”

  “Sometimes in Germany, the blue hand reaches out and slaps the black hand,” Otto put in, then grinned.

  A few minutes later they watched as Jack, Carina, and Roche came out of the airport with their suitcases and then departed in Roche’s car.

  “I wish to confirm that you do not want surveillance to follow?” Paolo glanced at Laura.

  “Right,” Laura said. “Jack will contact me once he gets to the hotel, but how about a loose surveillance on Giuseppe in the Lambo Rambo? If there’s any chance of being spotted, have your team break off.”

  Paolo gave the orders, but minutes later received a report that Giuseppe was discreetly following Roche’s car and keeping an eye out for anyone else who was following. It was also reported that he was using his own portable radio, and it was surmised that there were others assisting him with his counter-surveillance.

  “Tell everyone to break off,” Laura ordered.

  “Already done,” Paolo said.

  * * *

  Jack sat in the front seat of the BMW beside Roche, while Carina sat in the back. As they drove, Jack noticed that Roche was continually checking his rear-view mirror and side mirrors, and felt his stomach tense as he stared out the window. Please, don’t let there be any police surveillance.

  After driving for a few minutes, Roche turned off the main route and drove around for several blocks in an area where there were mostly apartment buildings.

  “Sorry, I seem to have taken a wrong turn,” said Roche by way of an apology.