Marked for Revenge

by Jennifer S. Alderson

  “What!” Vincent’s shrill yelp surprised them both. He willed himself to remain calm. “Are you certain Marko Antic came to your apartment?”

  “Yeah, twice. The police showed me his mug shot and told me all about him.”

  Vincent’s pulse raced. Why had no one on the police force told him? There was no mention of Marko in the reports he had read, though those were about her assault, and she said Marko visited after she’d gotten out of the hospital. Visions of stakeouts were already filling Vincent’s head. This was Christmas come early—and almost too good to be true. Vincent knew he had to temper his enthusiasm lest he act rashly and blow this chance.

  “Did he leave a way for you to contact him?”

  “Not really. He’s sent me several messages and called a few times, but when I try to call him back, the numbers aren’t in service.”

  Vincent wanted to jump up and dance around the room. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. This young researcher had a direct link to Marko Antic! This was the chance of a lifetime. He had to use her connection to his advantage and think up a way to rouse him out of his hiding place. And if Marko was so desperate to find Gabriella that he was pressuring this girl into helping him, then this missing artist was a lead worth pursuing.

  “What exactly did Marko say—”

  A knock on the conference door made them both turn. Julie Merriweather’s secretary popped her head inside. She smiled at Vincent before blurting out, “Zelda, Julie wants to see you—right now.” She held the door open and waited for the collection assistant to join her.

  Zelda turned to Vincent, a pleading look in her eyes.

  “Can you give me a call after your meeting? We really need to talk,” Vincent said while scribbling his mobile and office telephone numbers down.

  Zelda exchanged the briefcase for the slip of paper and held it tightly. “Thank you,” she said sincerity evident in her voice before she rushed out the door.

  Vincent hoped Zelda would still want to talk to him after her meeting with the museum’s director. He was fairly certain Julie was about to fire her after interrogating Zelda about her connection to Gabriella or the Amstel Modern theft. If the police were asking questions about Zelda’s work history and background, Julie would find an excuse to get rid of her, if only to appease the board of directors. How could she not? The museum had already suffered enough. Any more whiffs of scandal and Julie would probably lose her job. It is too bad, he thought as he exited through the bookshop. Zelda doesn’t seem like a bad kid.

  44 Moving Forward

  September 17, 2018

  Zelda had never seen Julie Merriweather mad. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “You told us you were assaulted last week during a robbery,” the Amstel Modern’s director said. “However, we did not know you sustained the injury in the apartment of a woman the police suspect of being involved with the theft of our museum. Or that a suspect in the crime came to your house—twice—after you were released from the hospital.”

  Zelda wanted to be belligerent but chose shamefaced instead. “I didn’t know Gabriella was involved with the theft. And that Marko guy is after her, not me.”

  “The police also said you believe you saw one of our stolen pieces in her studio. Why did you not mention it to anyone here?”

  “I had just woken up from being unconscious for a day. The doctors warned me my memory would be faulty for quite some time. The police didn’t believe me when I told them about the Pollock; they figured I imagined it. So I didn’t think you would, either.”

  “Well, the police do now, or at least, they are searching for the missing artist to further investigate your claim.”

  “Good. I hope they find Gabriella so she can sort this all out.”

  “Gabriella. Is that the thief’s name?”

  Zelda stuck her chin out. “It’s my neighbor’s name—the missing artist.”

  Julie stared at Zelda, her jaw clenched. Zelda got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “You seem very protective of her, and your possible involvement in her disappearance raises cause for concern. Until the police have found Gabriella or ruled out her involvement, I am going to ask you not to come back to work.”

  “Wait—are you firing me?”

  “No, not officially. You’ll be on an unpaid leave of absence until this mess is sorted.”

  “You really don’t think I—”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Julie cut in. “But this place is already a rumor mill. Now that the police are asking about your work history and responsibilities, your presence here will only escalate things. I am trying to move forward with our upcoming exhibitions. Until the police or Vincent de Graaf finds the woman or artwork, I cannot have you working here.”

  “But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “I have to think of the museum first, Zelda.” A heavy knock made their heads turn. A large man, almost as wide as Julie’s office door, stepped inside. He wore the standard black suit worn by all the security personnel. “Excellent timing. Aart will escort you to your desk, Zelda. Please show him anything you wish to take home before you put it into your backpack.”

  Zelda stared at her wide-eyed before her temper got the better of her. “I cannot believe this! I did not steal anything, nor did I help anyone else do so.”

  Julie gazed at her calmly. “Let’s hope the police find the artwork soon. Until then, please understand I have no other choice. I hope to see you again, Zelda.”

  45 Teaming Up

  September 17, 2018

  The buzzing intercom brought Zelda out of her stupor. “Yes?” was all she could manage.

  “Vincent de Graaf. Do you still have time to meet?”

  “Sure. Fifth floor.” As Zelda buzzed him in, she glanced at her watch. He was here in record time.

  Zelda caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror and grimaced. The skin around her eyes was still dark and puffy, though no longer the shiny black it initially was. Her clothes were still soaked from the rainstorm that followed her home, so fitting for her mood. Her wet hair was ragged and stringy. The elastic holding it back had snapped, exposing the shaved patch around her wound.

  Figuring she had about sixty seconds before the art detective arrived at her door, she quickly changed into dry clothes and pulled her hair into a ponytail. There was no time to fix her makeup, so she could only hope her sorry state increased Vincent’s empathy. He was her only hope of finding Gabriella and getting out of this mess.

  The police still hadn’t located the missing artist, and no one was asking for a ransom. Zelda was becoming convinced that Gabriella had disappeared of her own fruition. And if that were the case, she didn’t have the first clue as to where to look. If only they could find her, Gabriella would be able to explain to the police and Amstel Modern that Zelda had nothing to do with either the robberies or Robber Hood.

  Zelda still didn’t know if she could trust her memory or not. Did she see the stolen Pollock in Gabriella’s apartment? Or did her mind transport it there?

  It was so frustrating. The intense headaches were finally gone yet chunks of her memory still hadn’t returned. She hoped the doctor was right, and she would soon recall everything that had happened to her and in the correct order.

  But if she didn’t see the Pollock there, why did she want to call the police? And why was Marko Antic looking for Gabriella?

  A hard knock on her apartment door brought her back to reality. She hurried to open it, automatically looking through the peephole before she did.

  “Hi, Mister de Graaf. Please come in.” Zelda held open the door for the art detective. She forced herself to smile. “The living room is on the right.” She followed him inside. “Thanks again for meeting with me.”

  As Vincent de Graaf sat on her couch, Zelda took the chair across from him.

  “Zelda, your story has made me curious. I’d like to hear more about what happened, and then we’ll see if I can help you locate y
our friend. I can’t make any promises, but frankly, I am starting to believe it would be in my interest to find Gabriella, as well. The timing of her disappearance and your claim that you saw a stolen Pollock in her studio makes her a person of interest. And Marko Antic’s interest in her whereabouts can’t be a coincidence. The police have connected him to the Amstel Modern robbery. And the fact that Marko wants to find her badly enough to put pressure on you makes me believe that she is involved with the robbery, as well.”

  “I really don’t know if I saw the stolen Pollock in her apartment.”

  Vincent held up his hands in mock surrender. “You’re right. We don’t yet know exactly how Gabriella is involved, but we do know that Marko Antic is after her. That fact makes me believe you did see the Pollock in her studio.”

  Zelda nodded tersely. “Well, we will have to ask her when we find her. Who is this Marko Antic exactly? The police said he worked for a Croatian crime figure.”

  “Marko is the favorite nephew of Luka Antic, the head of a powerful criminal organization based out of Split, Croatia. I’ve run into Marko on other investigations. He has a reputation for pulling off audacious art thefts and has a nasty habit of disappearing whenever a job is done. But this time, he’s left us a direct line. That interests me immensely. I’ll be honest with you, Zelda, I want to exploit that connection. I’m not quite sure how yet, but if he wants to find Gabriella so badly, I think we need to start there.”

  “I figured it was something like that. You reacted so strongly when I mentioned Marko’s name. Okay, as long as you help me find Gabriella, I don’t care what you do to Marko. I just want her to help me clear this mess up so I can get my life back.”

  “What can you tell me about Gabriella Tamic?”

  “She’s a successful painter, and her work is shown all over Europe. She has a large circle of friends, who I think are all artists. We’ve collaborated on a few pieces and visited several galleries together, but we aren’t really close, so I can’t tell you much more about her personal life. We talked about art and shows we enjoyed, but that was it. As far as I can tell, all she does is paint, visit exhibitions, and travel to her openings.”

  “What about her family?”

  Zelda shrugged. “No idea. She told me she grew up in Croatia, in a small village close to Split, but I don’t know where exactly. Her mom married a baker when she was a teenager, and they moved to another country. I honestly don’t remember where—she only mentioned it once. She doesn’t like the stepfather much and left for art school shortly after.”

  “Did she have a sibling or boyfriend she might be staying with?”

  “She never mentioned any siblings or one specific boyfriend to me. Honestly, I got the impression Gabriella didn’t want to be tied down to anyone. She’s quite pretty and really smart. I think she could get whoever she wanted.”

  Vincent sat with one leg draped over the other, his arm casually thrown over the back of the couch. Zelda wished she could be so relaxed. He gazed at her evenly as he spoke, just as the police did. It made her so nervous not to see his emotional reaction to their conversation.

  “That’s it?” he asked. “You don’t know the names or addresses of any of her friends or family?”

  “Nope, no one,” Zelda snapped. She added, in a calmer tone, “That’s why I need your help. I really don’t know where to look for her.”

  “Any chance you have a key to her apartment?”

  Zelda brightened up, “In fact, I do. We swapped right after I moved in. But the police already searched it.”

  “Shall we take a look anyway?”

  “Sure, yes.” Zelda was suddenly energized by this promise of action even if it didn’t lead anywhere. She sprinted to her bedroom and grabbed the key to Gabriella’s apartment before Vincent changed his mind.

  46 Letters from Home

  September 17, 2018

  Zelda switched Gabriella’s hall light on and entered her neighbor’s apartment.

  The first thing she saw was the trail of blood—her blood—leading from the living room to the kitchen. Zelda leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, telling herself not to faint. Once she regained her composure, she stepped carefully over the red streaks and into the living room.

  Vincent de Graaf whistled softly. “Whoa, they really did clear out the place.” He gazed at the blood trail but said nothing.

  Zelda was glad she wasn’t alone. Being confronted with this empty space brought a surge of bad memories and dark visions. She hardly recognized Gabriella’s apartment. It was always so vibrant and colorful thanks to a mishmash of half-finished paintings stacked around the room, waiting for that last burst of inspiration before her talented friend finished them off. There was always one on her easel and a few hanging on the wall, but now, all of Gabriella’s artwork and painting supplies were gone, making the room seem large and empty. Only her books and furniture remained. Zelda opened her desk and dresser drawers, not surprised to see that most of her clothes were also gone.

  Vincent walked around like he owned the place, unencumbered by bad memories that might slow his pace. He felt along the walls for suspicious cracks, knocking on any panel that seemed loose. He made his way across the rectangular room, kicking at the floorboards with his heels. He moved the few pieces of furniture left behind, carefully examining them for any hidden compartments or items taped underneath. He searched through her empty drawers, flipped over cushions, and felt along every edge and ledge. The few scraps of paper he did find stuffed between the books were nothing more than shopping lists.

  Halfheartedly, Zelda searched through Gabriella’s clothes and toiletries but found nothing that might lead them to the artist. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, realizing nothing personal was left to find. Exerted from the effort, Zelda sat down on the couch and closed her eyes. How she wished she could ask Gabriella’s friends about where she might have gone, but she was on a first name basis with only a few and didn’t know where any of them lived.

  Only after Vincent started searching Gabriella’s bedroom did Zelda hear him exclaim, “Yes!”

  She followed his shout of joy and found him bent over a small table, upon which rested an old-fashioned telephone and two telephone books.

  When he heard Zelda enter, he held up a tiny silver key. “This was underneath the phone. Do you know what this might open? Her storage unit or bicycle, perhaps?” He turned it over in his hand. It was smaller than a standard door key yet seemed familiar.

  Zelda came closer, concentrating on the shape. As Vincent twisted it, the light caught it just as an idea flashed through her mind. “I think I know what that is.” She pulled her key ring out of her pocket. “Is this the same size?” She held up one of her keys. They were almost identical. “It’s to her postbox, which is downstairs by the front entrance. Every apartment has one. It must have fallen off her key ring.”

  Vincent grinned. “Let’s take a look.”

  Gabriella’s postbox was filled to the brim. They each took a handful of mail and carried it back upstairs. After spreading it out on Zelda’s kitchen table, they sorted the advertisements from bills and personal letters. Gabriella had received a plethora of invitations to exhibition openings in galleries across Europe. Out of the forty or so pieces of actual mail, only three were personal letters. They’d been sent a week apart, all from the same address.

  Without a modicum of discretion, Vincent carefully opened all three envelopes, removed the handwritten letters inside, and began reading.

  He skimmed the first letter before looking up at Zelda, a grin splitting his face. “Another Balkan connection. This is in Croatian. Mine isn’t that great, but it appears to be a fairly mundane family update.”

  “Wait, you can read Croatian? Is your family from the Balkans?”

  “No, I’ve been taking classes for a few months now. I admit it’s not a language spoken by most, but it is integral to my business. Much of the artwork stolen in Western Europe ends up in the Balkans at
one point or another.”

  Zelda was flabbergasted. “I had no idea it was such a hotbed for stolen art.”

  “That’s why I’m opening an office in Croatia next year. Two of my English colleagues have already set up offices in Serbia and Albania. Hence, the lessons in Croatian, so I can communicate more effectively with my local contacts.”

  “You mean criminals.” Zelda almost whispered.

  Vincent puffed out his chest. “Sometimes. Look, art crime is extremely profitable, and organized gangs are heavily involved in its theft and forgery. The people moving in those circles aren’t tipping us off about stolen art because they are culture lovers. They share information in exchange for lighter prison sentences, reward money, or to get rid of their competition. I listen to whoever has the information I need and don’t concern myself with their day job. If someone can lead me to a piece of stolen art, I am willing to look the other way. All I care about is recovering the artwork.” Vincent gazed sternly at Zelda. “And right now,” he continued, his voice softening in tone, “my gut tells me we should take a trip to Luxembourg.”

  “What? Why Luxembourg?”

  “Because Gabriella’s mother lives there, and all three letters are from her. She mentions her work as a cook in a hotel in Clervaux. It’s a small town in Luxembourg. We might be able to arrange a casual run-in with her at her work and find out if she knows where Gabriella is. You should come with me. You want to find Gabriella as much as I do.”

  Zelda bit her lip. “Yeah, I do. I guess I didn’t expect to do any of the investigating. But you’re right. I need to find her and don’t have a job tying me down right now.”

  Vincent looked away as he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “The director of the Amstel Modern has put me on an unpaid leave of absence, at least until the police are convinced that I am not involved in the robbery.”