Duplicity

by Sara Rosett

  “The artist?”

  Zoe only had time to nod before Farina joined them. “Thank goodness you’re back,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for hours. I was afraid you’d checked out.”

  “No, we’re still here enjoying Amsterdam. Farina, this is my husband, Jack.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jack said.

  Farina shook his hand, then scrubbed her palm over an eyebrow and up into her rumpled hair. She didn’t look nearly as carefully groomed as she had during the television interview. She hadn’t bothered with more than a swipe of lip gloss. Instead of her hair falling smoothly to frame her face, it poked out at odd angles. “I’m sorry to, well—ambush you like this, but I must talk to you. It’s urgent. It’s about the paintings. I don’t know who else to talk to.”

  “The police would be the obvious starting point, I think,” Jack said.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why?” Zoe asked. The elevator dinged. The doors swished open, and a group of people emerged. Zoe really wanted to put off Farina and escape upstairs so that she could read Olive’s reports.

  Farina put her hand on Zoe’s arm. “Please, will you give me a few moments of your time so I can explain? I know you’re on holiday, but you’re here in Amsterdam, and art recovery is your specialty. I read the articles online. You found a Picasso! Yes, I did research you. Please, will you give me just a few moments?”

  Zoe had told Ava she’d speak to Farina if she got in touch again. Well, she’d certainly done that. Zoe turned to Jack. “Okay with you if I take a few moments to listen to her?”

  He said, “It’s up to you.”

  “Okay, then. We can spare a few minutes.” Zoe turned away from the elevator doors. She could take a few minutes to listen to Farina and pass the information on to Ava. Zoe glanced around the small lobby, which was crowded with a tour group waiting for room keys. “Perhaps we can find a café nearby.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. What about Vondelpark? It’s only a couple of blocks away. We could talk there and not be disturbed.”

  “Sounds fine,” Zoe said, and they followed Farina out of the hotel as the doorman swept open the glass doors. They turned through the gates of the enormous park and strolled three abreast down the wide asphalt path. Puddles from the recent rain dotted the walk and the grass. A circle of bright purple tulips surrounded a statue, but instead of heading for the flowers, Farina indicated another path. “There’s some benches along here.” Zoe was about to broach the subject of the stolen paintings, but a flash of bright green darting through the trees caught her eye. “What kind of bird is that?”

  The tension that lined her face eased as Farina smiled. “Those are . . . what is the English word?” She snapped her fingers. “Parakeets. Yes, that’s right.” She moved her arm in a wide arc, indicating the spacious grounds of the park, which were dotted with old-growth trees. “They’re all over.”

  Now that Zoe had spotted one, she picked out the bright feathers of the birds in many of the trees. “Parakeets in Amsterdam. That seems unusual.”

  Farina shrugged. “It is. No one knows where they came from. There are all sorts of stories about how they came to be here, but no one really knows. However it happened, they’re thriving.” She paused at a bench which fronted the path. “Shall we stop here?”

  “Yes, this is fine. Now tell us about the paintings.” Zoe sat down beside Farina on the bench, but Jack remained standing.

  Farina lifted her chin and fixed her gaze on the sky as she gathered her thoughts. “It’s a long and complicated story. I do realize the police would seem to be the obvious place to go, but I can’t go to them.” She gave a quick shake of her head, which caused the long side of her hair to fall over her eyes. She tucked it behind her ear and swiveled toward Zoe. “I think I know who has the paintings. I’m almost positive it’s Pieter, the younger brother of my friend Margot.”

  Jack said, “Then you really should go to the police.”

  Farina jerked her head toward him. “He does go on about the police.”

  “And he’s not usually their biggest fan.” Zoe sent him a look, and Jack stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. Zoe turned back to Farina. “Tell us why you won’t go to the police.”

  “I told you—I can’t. Margot and I have been best friends since we were seven. I cannot go to the police about her brother. I can’t.”

  Zoe asked, “Why do you think this man is involved? What was his name?”

  “Pieter. Pieter Ecker.” Farina pressed her hands together palm to palm and put them between her knees. “It’s partly my fault. Margot and I had dinner recently. Pieter came along too. I’d just found out that the Janus Gallery would be displaying my artwork while one of Tamara de Lempicka’s paintings would also be on display. Pieter hadn’t heard of Tamara de Lempicka.” Farina blew out a sigh. “I explained—at great length—about what a famous artist she was and how valuable her paintings were. I was trying to convince him that it was a very prestigious thing to have my paintings displayed in the same gallery as hers.” She rubbed her palm across her forehead again. “At the time I didn’t think anything about it. It’s only now, looking back, that it seems odd.”

  Jack had been surveying the empty park, but now he asked, “What sort of questions did he have?”

  “How many floors did the gallery have. How many people worked there. Was it busy with people coming and going all the time.” She shook her head and looked at the puddles on the road. “It’s only now that I realize how suspicious it sounds.”

  “Jack is right. You really should—”

  “No.” She gave a sharp shake of her head, and a long strand of hair caught in her fair lashes. She brushed it away. “I’ve told you. I can’t do that. Pieter has been in enough trouble in the past. If I contact the police, it won’t be good for him. I can’t do that to Margot or to Pieter.” She shifted, straightening her posture. “I think Pieter can be convinced to give up the artwork. That’s where you come in.” Her gaze traveled between Zoe and Jack. “He doesn’t know either of you. You can approach him and convince him to return the paintings.”

  Jack leaned forward. “So you think he has your paintings as well as the Tamara de Lempicka?”

  A frightened look chased across Farina’s face. She transferred her gaze to a group of bicyclists flying down the path. By the time they’d swooped by, she looked more composed. “I think he does. I’m not one-hundred percent sure.”

  “Why are you so convinced?” Zoe asked. “Sure, he asked some specific questions, but that doesn’t mean that he took them.”

  “He was in London when they were taken.”

  “But that doesn’t necessarily mean it was him,” Jack said.

  Farina’s shoulders slumped, and she squinted as she watched the birds flitting through the trees. “I didn’t want to have to tell you. I was afraid it would color your perception of him, but . . . he’s been involved in a burglary before.”

  Zoe tilted her head so she could see more of Farina’s face. “Just one?” Farina stilled. “Or was it more?”

  “Okay, yes,” Farina said. “It was more than one. A few. He was involved in a few. But he doesn’t break into houses anymore.”

  “Only art galleries,” Jack said, sotto voce.

  Farina either didn’t hear Jack or ignored him as she continued. “I can’t go to the police. But I can’t sit around and do nothing. I know he’s—what’s the phrase? In over his head. A painting is different from a few bits of silver or jewelry. No, he needs a way out. And you can give him that.” She pressed a slip of paper into Zoe’s hand. “This is where he works. You can approach him and arrange for him to turn the paintings over to you. You deal in finding lost artwork. It won’t raise any eyebrows if you recover the paintings. He’s got red hair and a fair complexion. You’ll recognize him the moment you see him.”

  “And what should Zoe tell the police when they ask her how the paintings came into her p
ossession?”

  Farina smiled, the first real smile since she’d told them about the parakeets. “That’s the beauty of this situation. You don’t have to say a word. You’re here. You’ve been posting on social media. Pieter searched and found you after he decided he had to get rid of the paintings—they were too much trouble—and he dropped them off with you . . . or left them for you. He could even leave them at your hotel. It couldn’t be simpler.”

  “I doubt that,” Zoe said. “Say Pieter does have the paintings and does decide to give them up. You think the police will believe Pieter found me through social media?”

  She blinked, her expression puzzled at Zoe’s question. “Yes, of course. It’s how I found you. I recognized your hotel in the picture you posted a couple days ago. The photo of you beside the big tub of red tulips made it easy to find you. The awning with the hotel’s name on it was right there in the background.” Farina put her hand on Zoe’s arm. “Please. Will you try? I’m not worried about my paintings, but the Tamara de Lempicka . . . well, it deserves to be found.”

  Zoe put the piece of paper in her pocket. “I can’t make any promises. But I’ll see what I can do.”

  17

  Zoe fingered the piece of paper Farina had handed her with Pieter’s work address as she and Jack walked back to the hotel from the park. “Well, Farina certainly isn’t giddy now.”

  “Yes, it was quite a change from the news interview. She’s worried, but I think there was something else going on too.”

  Zoe stopped walking and turned to Jack. “That’s what I thought. Do you think she knows Pieter actually stole the paintings but didn’t want to admit it?”

  “Could be. Or it might be something else. Only one way to find out.” He dipped his head toward the slip of paper.

  “But we’re on vacation.”

  Jack laughed. “I don’t know if we’re ever really on vacation. With our jobs, we’re on call all the time.”

  “True. Neither of us has work that runs on a normal schedule.”

  “And we both want to know if Pieter has the paintings.” Jack reached for the paper. “Where does he work? I wonder if it’s nearby.”

  “Good question.” Zoe tapped the address into her phone. “It’s a shop called Lux in the Nine Little Streets area.”

  Jack looked over her shoulder at the screen. “It’s open until six. Let’s take a stroll up there and have a look around. We can have dinner there.”

  Zoe put her arm through his as they began walking. “Sounds good. First, though, I want to stop at the hotel and put Olive’s reports and the cash in the safe in our room. I don’t want to carry them around Amsterdam any longer.”

  “I haven’t seen any sign of Ferris Thompson.”

  “Good.” If Jack said he wasn’t around, then Zoe was sure he was right. “I’ll feel better if I don’t have them in my messenger bag, though.”

  “Okay.” Jack checked his watch. “You can read them before we put them in the safe.”

  Zoe squashed her sense of disappointment and shook her head. Finding a stolen painting worth millions took priority over documents. If they had a chance to find Woman in a White Fur, that had to come first. “I’d only have time to skim the reports anyway. We’ll be cutting it close on time as it is. I want to give Olive’s reports my full attention. I’ll read them after we go to Lux.”

  Jack looked from the street sign to the map. “Left here, then another two blocks, and we’ll be at Lux.” He put the map away. “How do you want to handle this?”

  “I don’t think the direct approach is the way to go. If Pieter has the artwork, he could have it hidden away anywhere. In fact, he could’ve left it in London.”

  “That wouldn’t be the smartest move.”

  “No.” Thieves usually tried to move artwork across a border as soon as possible to make it more difficult to track down. “Leaving it in London would be a long shot. But there’s plenty of places Pieter could have stashed it here in Amsterdam—the shop where he works, his house, or even a friend’s home. And we don’t know him at all. If he’s already hidden it away somewhere, we could trail him for days and never come close to figuring out where he has it.”

  “Unless we broke into his house, and I know you wouldn’t want to do that.” A grin teased at the corners of Jack’s mouth.

  She gave his arm a gentle punch. “You know that was a one-time thing, a special circumstance.”

  Jack tilted his head from side to side. “I don’t know . . . I think this might fit the same pattern. Stealing something that was stolen.”

  “Okay. You have a point. But we could waste hours—or days—tagging along after Pieter, hoping he’d give us a hint about where the paintings are. No, I think the direct approach is best,” Zoe said. “Let’s go in separately, though.”

  “Good idea,” Jack said. “I’ll give you a couple minutes’ lead, then come in and browse. We’ll act as if we don’t know each other.”

  They arrived at Lux fifteen minutes before closing time. Tucked away on one of the cross streets between the canals, the narrow shop was wedged between a clothing boutique and a restaurant that sold stroopwafel, the thin waffles with caramel in the middle. The line from the restaurant curved out the door and in front of Lux, partially blocking the store’s front window. Zoe and Jack paused a couple of yards away from the shop.

  “Looks like high-end merchandise,” Jack commented, his gaze roving over the display of vintage Louis Vuitton handbags.

  A short stocky man with red hair and a fair complexion came outside and picked up a folding A-frame sidewalk sign with a chalk drawing on it. Jack said, “Looks like that’s our man.”

  Zoe started walking. “And it looks like he’s closing up. Pity I won’t have time to browse for real. Some of those bags are gorgeous.”

  “I didn’t know you liked any designer bags.”

  “Not normally, but these are vintage. Vintage stuff is always interesting.”

  “Try not to get too distracted by the merchandise,” Jack said as he stopped and pretended to examine his phone so Zoe could enter the shop first.

  Zoe said over her shoulder, “A girl can browse.”

  18

  An electronic chime sounded when Zoe entered the shop. A single thin aisle ran from the front window to a counter at the back. It was so narrow that if Zoe extended both arms, her fingertips would brush the walls on either side. Vintage leather bags filled the shelves and glass display cabinet, mostly Louis Vuitton handbags, luggage, and even a few steamer trunks, but there was a smattering of Chanel purses as well.

  Zoe would have liked to have lingered over the vintage trunks, but she went to the back, where the man with the ginger hair was stacking receipts into a pile. He’d already turned off the lights in several of the glass display cases.

  “Hello,” he said in English with a barely perceptible Dutch accent. “Looking for anything in particular?”

  “I’m looking for Pieter.”

  He glanced up and smiled quickly, an automatic customer-service smile, and went back to squaring the edges of the receipts. “I’m Pieter. How can I help you?”

  Zoe put her business card on the counter. “I’m Zoe Andrews. I’m a recovery specialist. I was told that you might be able to help me locate certain pieces of art that have gone missing.”

  His only reaction was a small hitch in the movement of his hand as he slid the receipts into a drawer. He closed the drawer with a thud. His voice was pleasant as he said, “Well, there’s no artwork here. Handbags, purses, change purses, even a couple scarves and an occasional piece of jewelry. Everything Louis Vuitton, that’s what we do.”

  Freckles were scattered across his nose and upper cheeks, reminding Zoe of a Norman Rockwell painting. He practically radiated innocence. Zoe plowed on despite his wholesome appearance. “My . . . source tells me that this has nothing to do with this shop. That it’s sort of an extracurricular activity.”

  The electronic chime rang, and the mirror on the
wall behind Pieter showed Jack’s silhouette as he came through the door. Jack stayed at the front of the shop, his head bent over one of the glass cases. Pieter glanced over Zoe’s shoulder, and he must have been satisfied that Jack didn’t need further assistance, because he transferred his gaze back to her. “I can’t control what you’ve heard. I can only tell you what I know. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He was shorter than Zoe and had a small stature, but he obviously spent a lot of time at the gym. His bulging biceps and chest muscles strained against the fabric of the button-down shirt he wore, giving him the appearance of a balloon that had been blown up just a tad too much and might burst at any moment. His muscled body was at odds with his guileless face, giving him a disproportionate bobble-head-like figure.

  “Those art pieces are difficult. Sometimes people—um—acquire them, then realize they’re a millstone, not a windfall. You might want to get rid of them. I can help you with that,” Zoe said, thinking all the while that Farina was wrong—Pieter didn’t have a care in the world, and the only thing he was interested in was locking up the shop.

  He crossed his arms, tucking a hand under each armpit, which made his biceps expand even more. He took up a stance with his feet spread wide apart. “You have a terrible source. They’re telling you nonsense. Now, if you’d like a bag or purse or trunk, I’d be happy to help you. Otherwise, I need to close up.”

  Zoe pushed the card across the counter to him. “I’ll leave this in case you need to get in touch. I’ll be in Amsterdam a little longer.”

  Zoe walked around Jack as she left, never making eye contact with him. She ambled slowly down the street and took a twisty path through the canals, confident Jack would trail along and catch up with her when he was sure they weren’t being followed. She’d stopped to read a restaurant menu when Jack materialized at her shoulder and said, “Pieter sounded pretty adamant.”