Rogue Angel 49: The Devil's Chord

by Alex Archer

  “How much did you pay him to locate the Lorraine cross, Roux?”

  “He won’t receive a dime until I’ve got the cross. I’m funding all the equipment and the hotel.”

  “He’s not in a hotel. He’s staying at a friend’s palazzo.”

  “Ah. So I wonder who is staying at the hotel right now. I’ve received a summary of the bill. In fact, I had assumed he’d another on his team for the large amount of food and extra towels charged to the room. There was also a charge for cigars.”

  The tobacco-scented thug? Annja guessed so.

  “I might have a clue who has been staying in the hotel. But it won’t take us far. I’m beginning to wonder if Scout—or whoever he is—hasn’t jumped ship for another team.”

  “What makes you say that? Where is the man? Have you found the cross?”

  “A lot of questions, and you won’t like the answers to any of them. We did find the cross. Rather, we located a Halliburton attaché case, rumored to have been the case the thieves tossed into the canal, which is rumored to have contained the Lorraine cross.”

  “Did you open it?”

  “Someone opened it. We didn’t have the chance to since Scout—or whoever he is—was poisoned.”

  “What?”

  She explained about Scout drinking the tea.

  “You didn’t drink the tea?” Roux asked.

  “Hadn’t time. And Scout was kind of possessive over it.”

  She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now it struck an odd note. Why not provide an extra cup for her? Had he planned something in advance? But to poison himself? Didn’t make sense. Or did it?

  “Did you touch the tea service?” Roux asked.

  She glanced to the tea set sitting on the table. “I did. I brought it in for him.”

  “So your fingerprints are all over it.”

  “What are you getting at, Roux?”

  “You said Scout disappeared, as well as the cross. Doesn’t that sound suspicious?”

  “Very suspicious. But I don’t believe he was the one who stole the cross. I’d just left him in the hospital and I arrived not ten minutes later at the palazzo to find the thief slipping out the window.”

  “Just because he didn’t slip through that window doesn’t mean Scout didn’t arrange the theft. He may have known you’d be away, tending him in the hospital. In fact, that was probably the plan. Did he try to keep you at the hospital?”

  Annja thought back to their conversation. Scout had been tired, but had asked her to sit with him until he fell asleep. She felt so foolish.

  “Scout must be working for someone else. The someone who’s been staying in the hotel room you paid for, and also the someone who snuck in and stole the cross while we were out of the palazzo.”

  “A someone who offered Roberts—we’ll have to call him that until we learn his real name—much more than I did. And now he’s implicated you neatly in the heist.”

  “Right...”

  It would make sense to implicate her in the poisoning, if not the theft. Took eyes off Scout—a suspicious person who had assumed a dead man’s identity.

  “I suppose you have contacted the authorities?”

  “Of course.”

  She didn’t tell him about the dead thief who smelled of tobacco or the new thief who’d done the shooting.

  “Would Scout have taken measures to steal from himself twice to blur any complicity falling on him? That’s a whole lot of planning for a person who seemed pretty casual about most things. Although he sure wasn’t pleased to have me on board, or Ian.”

  “Get out of there, Annja.”

  “I don’t think the cops are coming tonight.”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  “Yes, but...” She had been the one to alert the police. What a mess.

  Annja gestured to Ian to get moving again. “I think we’re grasping here, Roux. Scout could have gone back to the hotel room you rented for him. I think I should head there.”

  “You do that. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the police want to talk to you. And don’t mention my name.”

  “You know I never would. I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you I’ve already spoken to the police this evening—I called right after losing the thief, who, I should mention, was shot midchase.”

  “The thief who stole the cross? Where is it now?”

  “Not sure. I wasn’t able to track the shooter. He had a black backpack. I assumed the cross was in it. But this feels wrong.”

  “You don’t normally dally on the wrong side of the law.”

  “No. Not normally. Though—”

  “I would beg you to learn more information about your partner in crime before speaking with the police, Annja.”

  “He’s not my partner in crime, Roux. He is, or was, your employee. I was just the babysitter.”

  “And a fine job you did at it. Remind me never to call you up when I’ve an— Oh, forget it. We both know that will never happen.”

  Did they?

  “You have any idea who your competitor might be?” she asked. “Anyone at all, besides Scout, who might be interested in the Lorraine cross?”

  “Few know about the cross.”

  Roux’s tone was the oddest thing. He did know of someone else. Annja sensed it. But she also sensed he wasn’t going to toss out any names and risk her taking that information to the police.

  “I’ll think on it,” he said. “We need to meet.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “If Scout knows what to do with the cross and he has it in his possession, then I know where he’s headed.”

  “What do you mean, ‘what to do with the cross’? What do you know about the cross being a key, Roux? Scout didn’t have time to tell me—”

  “Nor do I. I’ll arrange for transportation for you. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

  “Sure. I only have a few things to collect.”

  “The police are already at your hotel room, Annja. I’m sure of it. Things can be replaced. Go directly to the train station. I’ll send a car to take you to Milan.”

  “Milan,” she said. “And will you have a replacement laptop and camera waiting in that limo, as well?”

  “As you wish. A change of clothing and anything else?”

  “Gloves, notebooks, ziploc bags, everything I usually carry with me. My cameraman is with me.”

  “It’s time to part company with him, Annja.”

  Yes, it probably was. This expedition had just become something much more than a search for a lost treasure. She didn’t want to risk Ian getting hurt.

  “Roux, when will you enlighten me on this mystery of the missing cross?”

  “Over breakfast.”

  He hung up, and Annja heard a knock at the front door. Stepping over to exit the office, she paused in the doorway. The police?

  “Should we answer?” Ian asked.

  She did not want him caught up in any of this. And Roux was right: from here on, she didn’t need his services anymore. No matter that the cross may have historical value and prove an interesting episode for the show—circumstances had become too dangerous to have him tagging along.

  “Job’s over,” she announced. “The cross is gone. But it seems I may be questioned—or even worse—about poisoning Scout Roberts. I don’t want you involved. But I’ll give you a choice of answering the door, possibly to the police, or slipping out the window with me right now.”

  She glanced back to the tea things, still on the desk. Seriously? Scout had planned that one a little too well if he’d thought to drag her into his poisoning. But she wasn’t willing to take chances. She had no time and nowhere to store any evidence of the tea.

  Ian pointed toward the office window. “Ladies first.”

  Slipping out onto the ledge, she retraced the initial steps she’d taken when following the thief until she’d crossed the canal on the foot bridge. There, she shook Ian’s hand, thanked him and promis
ed she’d be in contact. She apologized for the abrupt ending to the adventure, but he took it in stride. The artifact was missing. There was no more filming to be done.

  He brought up Sirena. In all the commotion, the woman who claimed to be a selkie had slipped her mind.

  “We won’t forget about her,” she reassured Ian.

  “I might drive that way. Take the scenic route. I just want to see how she is, you know.”

  “Sounds good, Ian. I’ll be in touch with you soon.”

  Luckily for Annja, the train station wasn’t far. As she walked, she called Tomaso. She wanted to feel him out and see if she really was running away from being arrested or if that was merely Roux’s imagination. Tomaso didn’t answer.

  She didn’t mind. In either respect, she’d had enough of Venice for a while.

  Chapter 16

  The driver didn’t show for hours. Annja considered taking a train, but the guy was also meant to be delivering a few necessities, which she had to admit she would appreciate. So she had opted for sleep and found a comfortable bench until she was eventually woken by an apologetic guy in a crisp black suit. She yawned and followed the driver to the limo.

  The ride from Venice to Milan would have proven a shorter trip; however, the autostrada was a slow go. She estimated it would be a while before they got to Milan.

  Browsing through her own brand-new backpack that had been waiting for her in the backseat of the limo, Annja found a laptop—fully charged and all accounts to be billed to Roux—as well as an iPod and earbuds, and a top-of-the-line digital camera. A change of clothing was, naturally, the right size and her style: cargo pants and a sleeveless T-shirt, along with some lightweight running shoes. There was a notebook and pens, latex gloves, tweezers and small plastic bags.

  The man had thought of everything. As well, a note informed her that her things at the hotel were being shipped home. If she’d known the wait for the limo was going to be so long, she could have swung by the hotel and claimed her stuff.

  Oh, well.

  Annja settled back, put in the earbuds, found some favorite tunes and was thankful for Wi-Fi so she could do some additional research on da Vinci.

  The fascinating thing about Leonardo was his range of skills and interests, and that for a man who was known to have put out an amazing quantity of sketches, ideas and models, it was believed there were many more of his works still to be discovered.

  It was no surprise to Annja when someone stepped forth claiming to have found a work believed to have been created by a famous artist, although disappointment often followed. Authentication processes could be long and arduous, and many times the excitement over finding a supposed masterpiece turned into a letdown when it was learned it had been done by a student, for example, instead of the master himself.

  She glanced over a story that featured a restorer who used to authenticate famous lost paintings, such as by Picasso, Rembrandt and da Vinci. Seemed the person had a successful business in validating—or not—discovered lost works. The only thing wrong was the works that were authenticated were also tampered with—by the authenticator. Fingerprints claiming to match the great artists had been created by the authenticator, so when comparing a found print on a painting, the match was perfect. But since the original fingerprint had been a forgery...

  The lengths some people would go to for fame and a small fortune never ceased to amaze Annja.

  The driver called back that he was stopping at the Autogrill, a restaurant and gas station that arched over the busy highway, for gas. It was a midpoint between Venice and Milan. Annja used the opportunity to run inside and purchase some bottled water and, seeing the diner offered some yummy sandwiches, ordered two ham-and-mozzarella panini to go. She and the grateful driver broke their fast at the roadside before heading on to Milan.

  Resuming her research, Annja tried to connect the Lorraine cross to Leonardo da Vinci and found no articles online. If this was an item Roux believed only a few people knew about, then it wasn’t difficult to also believe there would be no information available.

  There were a few short articles regarding the original heist earlier in the year. She already knew nothing had been captured on the few security cameras placed throughout the museum, though two sets of shoe prints—standard size, nothing remarkable—had been found in the mud near the building. It had rained torrentially that evening, though it was suspected the heist had occurred as the storm had dissipated, thus the reason the footprints hadn’t been completely washed away.

  That there were no photographs of the cross in the museum was a curiosity.

  “It’s just a cross,” she said, scrolling through a list of Leonardo’s paintings to familiarize herself with his works. “The cross was valuable for sure, but not world-changing.”

  Generally Roux went after the world-changing artifacts. Yet, the connection to Joan of Arc was enough for Annja to believe the cross would have real importance for him. The man’s history with Joan complicated his reality. It must have been an event that would haunt him forever, too. And to be haunted for over five centuries?

  “Can’t even imagine.”

  Skepticism tended to blind her at times when she wanted to be more open in her outlook and set aside her doubts until the truth was revealed.

  She tapped her fingers impatiently on the lid of the laptop and considered how easily it had been for Scout to slip out of the frame. Had he planned to steal the cross from under her nose all along? Roux had hired him and then, at the last minute, let Scout know she was also on board for the dive. The babysitter. And a cameraman must have surely thrown a wrench in his scheme.

  But would that have given Scout enough time to arrange for the theft? To arrange a self-poisoning? Had he really done all that? What a desperate act to throw suspicion away from him. Risking poison and near death?

  Unless he’d consumed a sort of antidote before taking the tea. That would have lessened his reaction and countered the poison. It may have also allowed him to suffer just enough that an emergency-room visit was required and that the doctors would believe he had been poisoned, while ensuring he wouldn’t die, but merely suffer a horrific stomachache.

  She’d obviously been through a lot on her adventures to believe there was an antidote for every poison out there and that something like that could actually work. Annja wasn’t up on various poisons and their countereffects. She’d leave that to the police investigation. The authorities would surely take a sample of the dandelion-root tea Scout had consumed.

  “Good thing dandelion tea offered no appeal to me,” Annja muttered.

  And to have someone else steal the cross while he was infirm in the hospital had been genius. The theft while he was sick pushed the blame further away from him. Scout appeared the victim no matter what. He checked out of the hospital and later met up with the thief—most likely his partner in crime—and now he had the prize.

  The scenario felt...almost right.

  There had been two thieves: the one who’d taken the cross from the case in the palazzo and had smelled of tobacco, and the one who’d shot the first thief and left with the backpack. Planned that way? Or a coincidence?

  She was missing something. It felt as though she’d uncovered a good portion of the strata, yet the main part of the piece was still hidden beneath the compacted dirt and required more intense dusting to remove fine particles and debris.

  She should have wiped the teapot of her fingerprints. At least she had called Tomaso with her side of the story. Roux’s idea that she’d been implicated wouldn’t hold water if Tomaso trusted her. And she hoped that he did. Of course, he had no reason to.

  On a whim, Annja typed in the address of the palazzo where Scout had been staying and, with minimal browsing, was able to track down the owner’s information. Alessandro Mattadori owned a half dozen rental properties in Venice and Italy, all featuring pictures of the bright interiors and offering top-notch maid service, along with discounts to local restaurants. The palazzo where
Scout had stayed wasn’t listed as a rental. Possibly because it was his private residence?

  Dialing the listed number for the rental office, Annja got a secretary and decided to play it by ear.

  “I’m calling regarding Scout Roberts. He wanted me to check in with Signore Mattadori about the palazzo in San Marco. He may need to stay a few more days.”

  “I’m sorry, signorina, that is not one of our listed rental properties. Do you have the correct address? I don’t have a record of Scout Roberts renting from us. Perhaps you are mistaken?”

  “Perhaps it was a friend-to-friend thing,” she said. “He mentioned he was friends with Alessandro. In fact, I believe the address may be Signore Mattadori’s personal residence?”

  “I cannot confirm that, signorina.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry to ask. Could you have Signore Mattadori call me, please? It’s regarding the palazzo and Mr. Roberts.”

  She gave the secretary her number and, suspicions rising, guessed Alessandro Mattadori wouldn’t have a clue who Scout Roberts was. But then again, the man wasn’t actually Scout Roberts. She didn’t know who the cocky American treasure hunter was. And she wasn’t sure where to begin the search on him.

  She closed the laptop and tilted her head back against the leather seat. The driver, noting her relaxation, said they had another hour before they arrived in Milan. Might be a good time to catch a few more winks.

  * * *

  ANNJA THANKED THE driver and waved him off. Hooking the full backpack with her new supplies over a shoulder, she stood at a main intersection in the center of Milan. Roux had asked her to meet him there via a text during the journey. Since she seemed to be early, she decided to purchase another bottle of water from a shop she spotted nearby. The day was hot, and she wasn’t sure when she’d have a chance to eat again.

  A plain sedan pulled up before she could take a step. An elderly man with long white hair gathered in a leather bind at his nape, and a beard that needed a trim, gestured she hop in.

  “Good to see you, Annja,” he said out the window. A wry smile crinkled the aged skin at the corners of his bright blue eyes. “Have a pleasant drive here?”