Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries)

by Rosie Claverton

  ‘I’ll be in the lab,’ she said and made her way down the corridor alone.

  He adjusted his Bluetooth headset to hear her breathing in his ear, anxious about letting her wander off on her own like that. But what could possibly happen to her in a deserted museum?

  He made his way upstairs along the agreed route – the one with the most cameras, contrary to his instinct. But Amy needed to see him and she could warn him of any impending discovery.

  Jason entered the main gallery from the back. But this time he walked away from the entrance to the adjacent gallery, where they had found Paul Roberts and what remained of ‘The Blue Lady’.

  Instead, he flashed the light from his phone onto a scuff mark on the floor, one that had yet to be cleaned away from the last time it had been made. From there, he angled the torch up and took in the beauty of Venice at Dusk, the spectre that had drawn Paul Roberts here night after night.

  Of course he would choose his favourite painting for this most important of caches. And beholding it for the first time in the paint, Jason could understand the thrall of Monet’s San Giorgio Maggiore at Twilight.

  But he could not linger. Tearing his eyes away from the painting, Jason started his search.

  Chapter 49

  Outside looking in

  They were here to learn their lesson, nothing more.

  When Frieda had called him at midnight, Bryn had anticipated a gloating call – ’We’ve captured your friend and the evidence is ours entirely.’ But instead, it seemed Frieda wanted him to witness the humiliation in person.

  Together with Owain, he sat in the back of Matt’s car and waited for events to unfold. Matt had looked uncomfortable at their presence, but he was clearly playing second fiddle to Frieda’s bombastic tune. Bryn almost felt sorry for him.

  Owain had said nothing the entire time, and the silence was worse than any harsh words exchanged between them. Bryn wanted to reach out, to comfort, but he knew that was far from his place now.

  His phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out, Indira’s name on the screen.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘I was looking at the trace analysis and I found something strange.’

  ‘Indira, now isn’t a good time.’

  Matt glanced in the rear-view mirror and Owain looked up at the pathologist’s name. Bryn fought the urge to turn his shoulder, give the illusion of privacy out of spite.

  ‘Because you’re outside the museum, waiting to catch Jason and Amy breaking and entering?’

  Bryn glanced up at Matt’s eyes in the mirror. ‘How the hell do you know that?’

  ‘You think you can keep a bust that big on the down-low in this station?’

  Bryn conceded she had a point. ‘Then you know it’s out of my hands.’

  ‘You think I’m gonna call them? Bryn, this is important. The paint we found on Leah’s jumper is a match to La Parisienne.’

  ‘I know. Frieda rubbed my face in it this morning.’

  Matt coughed and shifted in the driver’s seat. Bryn ignored him.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. Can’t get out of the habit of filing. Anyway, I thought that the killer might’ve trailed the paint through the museum, if the flakes showered when he cut it. So I checked the elimination samples and I found them.’

  ‘Where?’

  Bryn flicked the phone to speakerphone and held it between him and Owain, a peace offering of sorts. And if Matt heard, what would he do? They were already all for the guillotine, Indira included – what was one more crime?

  ‘The fine art lab.’

  Bryn deflated. ‘Of course they’d be there. They’ve been working on the painting.’

  ‘But not until after we took this sample. Of course, there could be a painting with similar composition that happened to shed a few flakes of pigment there. So I looked at the rest of the sample – and there’s sand, Bryn. Beach sand in the lab.’

  ‘I thought you said it was a contaminant?’

  ‘I did, but—’

  ‘How much sand?’ Owain said, suddenly.

  ‘Lots,’ Indira said gleefully. ‘Far, far more than was in the gallery, more than in any other location. I think whoever treaded that sand into the gallery spent hours, maybe days walking in that lab. Which means—’

  ‘They worked there,’ Bryn and Owain said as one.

  ‘Bryn, how did Frieda know Jason and Amy were at the museum?’ Indira prompted.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bryn said, confused at the sudden change in subject.

  Matt turned in his seat. ‘Turn it off. Hang up now.’

  Owain grabbed at his sleeve. ‘She’d need an inside source. One she’s used before.’

  The answer slid alarmingly into focus. ‘Talia.’

  Bryn watched Matt’s face fall, making the slow connection that he couldn’t trust his own agent, because her source was compromised. Now he knew how it felt, that betrayal lodged hard in the gut, festering like an infected wound.

  ‘We need to tell Frieda,’ Matt said.

  ‘She won’t listen,’ Bryn said. ‘She reckons she has this all sewn up, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Then what are we going to do?’ Owain asked.

  Owain’s door suddenly flew open, the angry face of Cerys Carr looming from the darkness.

  ‘Where is my brother?’

  Bryn looked to Owain, who shrugged helplessly.

  ‘We think he’s inside,’ Bryn said.

  ‘That is confidential—’ Matt started.

  ‘Bryn,’ Indira’s voice piped up from the phone, ‘if Talia tipped off Frieda, she must have concrete information. And the only way to know for certain would be if she was inside the museum.’

  ‘You mean Jason and Amy are inside the museum with a murderer?’

  ‘What?’ Cerys’ pale face flushed red with anger. ‘We have to warn them!’

  ‘We have no idea what’s going on inside,’ Bryn tried to reason. ‘There’s an armed response unit backing up the NCA on this.’

  ‘Well, I’m not leaving him there!’

  Before Bryn could protest, Cerys was running into the dark towards the museum.

  ‘Cerys!’ Owain bolted from the car and chased her down.

  Bryn closed his eyes for a moment. He was getting too old for this.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Matt said.

  But his eyes were panicked. No point in bluffing when you barely knew what cards were in your own hand, each one of them likely to turn on you at any moment.

  ‘I’m not sorry,’ Bryn said. He climbed out of the car, prepared to summon the last of his energy to run after the young lovers, loyalty both uniting and dividing them.

  A hand gripped his arm.

  ‘If you go in there, it’s over. Your career, everything.’ Matt’s poker face was back in play, his expression earnest.

  Bryn pulled his arm free. ‘If I don’t, I can’t live with what that makes me. Can you?’

  Matt said nothing, did nothing. His hand lifted to his radio – and then fell away.

  Bryn turned and ran.

  Chapter 50

  En garde

  Amy opened the door to the fine art lab and turned on the lights.

  The room was dominated by the empty frame that formerly held ‘The Blue Lady’. Amy couldn’t resist a closer look, examining the fine layering of the oil paints first-hand. It was much more impressive in real life than through AEON’s monitor, despite the fine resolution.

  She sat down at the nearest desk and propped up the tablet. Jason had arrived in front of San Giorgio Maggiore at Twilight, which was indisputably the answer to Paul’s riddle.

  Once she’d realised the larger poems were the key, the Italian word for saint had leapt out at her, and the turning of day to night, of course, referred to the dusk setting of the work. C
hild’s play. She would have to tell Corelia—

  Except she wouldn’t be telling Corelia much of anything until she was out of hospital, her condition in the nebulous ‘stable’ range, which ranged from climbing the walls to merely breathing. And, once she was out, what could she say to her? ‘Sorry’ didn’t seem sufficient for a dagger in the back.

  The corridors were clear on the approach to the galleries, the night guard clearly patrolling elsewhere. Amy was uneasy about Talia leaving but she preferred that to her flirting with Jason right in front of her. What was with that man? He attracted both women and danger with equally disastrous consequences.

  With the corridors empty of threats for now, Amy turned her attention to the rest of the laboratory. Three distinct workstations were marked out, the one she’d claimed belonging to someone of East Asian descent. The small trinkets on the desk were definitely Asian in style, and an empty scabbard decorated the wall above the workspace. However, it didn’t look like a katana in shape and Amy itched to Google ancient warrior swords.

  At the back of the room a large rectangular crate stretched along the work desk. It was marked up for courier collection but several days earlier. Amy frowned and picked a hammer up from where it was protruding from under a cloth on the work surface, prying open the nailed-down top.

  A few flakes of rust fell from the hammer onto her hand and she wiped them on her jeans as she peered inside. A large cylinder took up most of the space, cushioned with bubble wrap at the edges, and with a thin semi-transparent paper over the surface. Amy folded back the edge.

  The lilacs, greens and blues were instantly recognisable to her, and the deepest, purest blue caressed her fingertips. Amy released it in shock, stepping back.

  ‘The Blue Lady’ was lying in a box inside the museum.

  Amy stared at her fingers and the hammer on the workbench. The flakes weren’t rust, but dried blood and bone. She was holding the murder weapon. Paul Roberts had been killed by someone who worked in this laboratory.

  Something cold pricked against the back of her neck, parting her hair to touch metal to skin.

  ‘Do not move. Or I will kill you where you stand.’

  It took less than a minute for him to find it.

  The chip was barely visible, a small black raised square on the bottom left corner of the frame. Jason had no idea how Paul had stuck it on there without activating the alarm, or maybe he had just let it blare out, knowing he could switch it off in a few minutes.

  Jason scanned the chip, the alphanumeric code appearing on his phone. Mission accomplished.

  ‘Amy? I’ve got the code.’

  But something was wrong. He could no longer hear Amy’s faint breathing over the line, the connection between them completely silent. He checked his phone, but the call was still connected.

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘She’s here.’

  He turned and his whole body seized in horror.

  Amy was standing in the gallery with a sword across her throat.

  The person behind her was pressed close, holding the blade against Amy’s skin, dressed in the all-black outfit that the killer had worn when he’d stolen ‘The Blue Lady’.

  ‘Let her go,’ he heard his voice say, surprisingly steady.

  ‘Give me the code.’

  It was a woman’s voice, he realised, and one he recognised. He racked his brains for where he had heard it before. What was that accent?

  ‘Let Amy go and I’ll hand it over,’ Jason insisted.

  Amy cried out as the sword bit into her skin, a thin trickle of blood running over her pale skin.

  ‘No!’

  Jason stepped forward, but the killer stepped back, dragging Amy with her and pressing the sword in close once more. He held up his hands, terrified by what could happen next.

  ‘She’s bleeding. You have to stop the bleeding.’

  ‘The code. You must give it to me. I have to be first!’

  Jason struggled for some composure, ‘Is it worth it? Is it worth killing over a game?’

  ‘This is not a game!’ the woman cried out, her brown eyes wide beyond the mask. ‘It is life and death!’

  ‘Tell us,’ Jason persisted. ‘We … we can help.’

  ‘You can’t,’ she said, her voice choked with emotion. ‘I asked for help once. Never again.’

  It was then that Jason recognised her, the tear-filled words stirring his memory.

  ‘Soo-jin?’

  The killer tensed, pulling Amy into her. ‘You … you know!’

  Jason took a step closer, his hands still raised.

  ‘I know you don’t want to kill her,’ he said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘I saw how upset you were, after Paul died. I’ll give you the code, but you have to give me Amy.’

  ‘Is that a fair trade – a life for a life? My mother for your girlfriend?’

  Jason didn’t think now was the time to argue semantics, seizing on the nugget she’d given him. ‘The money’s for your mother?’

  The mask crumpled as the face beneath contorted in misery. ‘She needs a kidney.’

  The image flashed before him, the memory as vivid as the real thing.

  ‘The kidney … it was for your mother. You were going to trade with the gangs.’

  ‘She promised they would take it!’ Soo-jin screamed, choking Amy with the flat of the blade. ‘She promised me my mother would not die!’

  ‘She?’ Jason seized on that. ‘Who is “she”?’

  ‘The one willing to obtain this painting at any price. Where is it, Soo-jin?’ Talia Yeltsova stepped into the light, an antique crossbow in her hand.

  Soo-jin wheeled, her blade flashing as she moved, bringing the sword up to face off against Talia.

  Amy staggered, her frantic eyes meeting Jason’s as she clutched at her neck. Her lips formed one word though there was no sound: Jason.

  The first trickle of blood flowed over her fingers and she collapsed to the gallery floor.

  Chapter 51

  The price too high

  The gallery floor was cold beneath her chest, her forehead grateful for the cool marble.

  But the respite was not for long, her body turned and dragged up into warm arms.

  ‘Amy? Open your eyes!’

  She hadn’t realised they were shut, but she obeyed anyway, Jason’s face clouded with worry and an edge of panic.

  He pulled at her hands and she let go of her neck, feeling warm liquid turning sticky on her skin.

  ‘It’s not deep,’ he said, relief infusing the words. ‘You’ll live.’

  He shrugged off his T-shirt and pressed it over the wound, the hairs on his bare arms rising in the chill of the midnight gallery. It was only the two of them, for those few seconds, before the scrape of metal against metal intruded.

  ‘I have killed! I will kill again!’

  ‘Attacked a man from behind? Stabbed an innocent teenager?’ Talia’s tone was mocking, taunting. ‘Did you get a taste for killing, after the first time?’

  ‘She saw me! She was here, asking about the painting. She had to go. Like you will go.’

  ‘If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it days ago. Instead of sending me little notes in the post. Did you think that would frighten me?’

  Amy pushed herself up, grounding her hand on Jason’s thigh, as she watched the two women circling each other.

  ‘I did what you asked, and still my mother lies dying. And now you come here, to ruin my last chance.’

  Talia laughed. ‘Do you think the police will let you walk out of here and collect your money? They are watching your stupid little game. They will know that the winner is the killer and you will rot in prison, as your mother dies.’

  ‘I will not fail!’

  Soo-jin lunged, striking the sword against the crossbow’s body
and causing sparks to fly. Talia jumped away, circling her once more, her eyes cold and pitying.

  ‘You have already failed. I wanted you to scout around the painting, not cut it. You couldn’t even get that right. You still think you can trade? Those men would eat you alive without me. Give me the painting, Soo-jin.’

  ‘I tried your way!’ Soo-jin shouted. ‘They never came for the painting and there is no kidney. You lied!’

  ‘Ask him why your mother has no kidney.’

  Talia’s gaze landed on Jason, and Amy felt his body tense behind her.

  Soo-jin looked, her anger diverted momentarily.

  Talia aimed the crossbow at her back.

  ‘NO!’

  A large vase crashed down over Talia’s head, fragments of ancient pottery showering the gallery floor. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slid to the floor, Cerys standing over her.

  But the disturbance did not distract Soo-jin, who barrelled forward as if she’d been fired from a cannon, sword outstretched as she lunged towards Jason.

  Amy raised her hands to deflect the blow, but Jason shielded her with his body, a flash of metal in his hand.

  The short knife lodged in Soo-jin’s arm, her hand opening reflexively and dropping the sword with a clatter. Bryn and Owain appeared behind Soo-jin, grabbing hold of her and placing her in handcuffs.

  ‘She lied, she lied … omoni, she lied…’ the girl moaned, sinking down to the floor.

  Jason twisted, Soo-jin forgotten as he reached down to Amy.

  ‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’

  Amy laughed, then winced as the movement aggravated her neck.

  ‘Apart from that,’ Jason corrected.

  Cerys crossed the room before she could answer, giving them a quick once-over before nodding her satisfaction that neither of them were dying.

  ‘How did you know we were here?’ Jason asked.

  ‘Owain texted me,’ Cerys said. ‘Frieda brought them here. For you.’

  It was now or never, Amy realised, her stomach sinking through the floor. The pain in her neck paled in comparison to that of her heart.

  ‘Cerys,’ she said, trying to hide the tremble. ‘I need your help.’