The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  “If he’s prepared to pay us that sum of money, how much must it be worth?” Ulla’s face hardened.

  “With that sort of money involved, he’s bound to have hired guns. I don’t doubt it. People could end up getting killed for something this valuable. I wouldn’t put it past him. Remember the Rosicrucian issue? We found their stupid casket and they ended up killing each other over it. No more of that. People got killed and I felt responsible, and so should you.”

  “I don’t care about them, Brodie. If they couldn’t handle it then that has nothing to do with us.”

  “Throgmorton’s painting, whatever and wherever it’s supposed to be, you can guarantee for certain it won’t be a legit operation.” He grimaced and gave a shake of his head. “There’s so much shit flying around about Throgmorton it would fill a sewer. If people heard we were involved with him, it’d be the end of the road for Gordian Knots and for us. No, the answer is no way. To be honest, Ulla, we’re doing well enough without taking any more risks.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m just saying we don’t need to take risks. We don’t need that anymore. We have enough without them.”

  “Enough?”

  “I want to finish with our extra activities.”

  The pause was lengthy. She couldn’t prevent her voice from rising. “I could see this coming for months back. I can read you like a book.”

  Brodie stared at her. The effect of what he’d said was obvious. He was about to hear where that left their relationship.

  “What you’ve done, the stealing, the break-ins, they all point to one thing, Brodie. A leopard can’t change his spots. You’re a great thief, not the normal type, you don’t do it for personal greed, and true, we’ve helped ourselves here and there, but you have helped put a great deal of good back into society. Why can’t you accept that?”

  “What I’m accepting is that I love you. That’s the only thing that’s not going to change. I don’t want you dead or banged up in jail.”

  “I know that. It’s a bit like love me, love my dog. By that I mean, if you love me, love what I do.”

  “That’s ridiculous and you know it. Aren’t you ever going to call it a day?”

  “No. I’m still enjoying it.”

  “Sooner or later one of us will get killed. Shots have been fired at us aplenty, and only bullet-proof vests have prevented that from happening.”

  “A self-fulfilling prophecy?”

  “I want a normal life, Ulla.”

  “Then find yourself a normal woman.”

  “Look, this is getting out of hand.”

  “Brodie, I’m not joking. I’m serious. If normal is what you want in life, we can say goodbye and we can say it here and now.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I know you like taking risks. Isn’t our legitimate work sufficient? Sure, we can add in risks if that is what you want; rock-climbing, base jumping, freefall parachuting, anything. Whatever you need, but please no more guns or shootings. You’ve been hit twice. How far do you want to take this before you quit?”

  “And let’s say I don’t want to stop. What then? You leave me?”

  There was challenge in her eyes. He thought he could handle it, but now that he was being put to the test, his certainty wobbled. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “It all seems plain and simple, so what do you have to think about? It looks like you’ve done that already.”

  Her confident stare didn’t waver. He’d never seen her like this before. He reached for her hand, but she wouldn’t let him hold it.

  “It’s make-your-mind-up time, Brodie.”

  He remained expressionless as the events of the last few years spun through his mind. They’d made a million between them and that was without Gordian Knots. At his age, he’d guessed it would one day come to this. There was a price to pay and there was no such thing as a free lunch. As a robber and burglar, he’d never doubted that statement. They’d had weapons training and now routinely carried arms on their excursions, which had increased his uneasiness. A man had been shot and he still didn’t like to think of it. Ulla had missed that possibility on her well-planned agenda. It had added another unwelcome factor to the risks they were taking. Is there a limit to what I would do for her? He didn’t know the answer. Life without her would be bleak. For the time being, that had to be the deciding factor.

  After what seemed like time being stretched to breaking point, he spoke. “It looks as if Sir Maxwell Throgmorton will be having visitors this weekend. What’s his number?”

  §

  Clutching a briefcase, Throgmorton walked at a brisk pace along the Mariahilfer Strasse and headed for Hotel Das Tyrol where Ladro and Stuart were booked for two nights. It was better than them turning up on his doorstep. Phone numbers or email prevented people from getting too close. He turned into the hotel entrance between two pillars and into the elegant reception and lobby area, where he hoped they would be waiting for him. The two sitting in the corner were the only people there. He didn’t need an introduction to realise who they were. They both stood as he approached.

  He’d never felt comfortable in casual clothes. Even the smartest he regarded as one step removed from the vulgar. Brodie Ladro and Ulla Stuart fell into that category, with their jeans and safari style jackets.

  “Miss Stuart, Mr. Ladro?” He extended his hand, aware of their lack of enthusiasm. “I can only tell you how pleased I am that you are willing to have a look at the problem I have. But first, let me order some drinks.”

  Brodie ordered a lager and Ulla, scotch on the rocks. He had a gin and Dubonnet.

  “My grapevine told me that if anyone could find what’s in here,” he tapped the leather-bound file, “it would be you two. At first, I didn’t realise who you were, but then I remembered your exploits on TV when you found the lower left panel of the Ghent Altarpiece on that programme about the Van Eyck brothers.”

  “Yes, we were pleased about that one.” Ulla smiled but Brodie remained silent. “To cut a long story short, the thief tried to get money from the Belgium government, who weren’t going to play ball. On his deathbed, the thief revealed that he was the only one who knew where the masterpiece was hidden, and that he would take the secret to his grave. Although several people claimed to know its whereabouts, the painting had not been seen since. All sorts of people claimed they’d found it, but if you remember, Sir Maxwell, we found it a short distance away from the Cathedral, on the wall of a back room in a hardware store. It had been there for years.”

  “Yes, it was that and other things that I’d heard that drew me to you.” His smile was cryptic. “I hope you’re not going to ask how I found you, that’s my secret.”

  “Well, you would know that wouldn’t you, Sir Maxwell.” Brodie received a sharp kick under the table from Ulla. “So, can we get to the point now? What exactly do you expect us to do?”

  “In this file is the strangest information I have ever seen. It beats by a mile any case I have ever come across. Do have a look and ask me whatever you want.” He pushed it across the table. “There is a work by this artist Cortez,” he jabbed a finger at a series of photographs, “that my client desperately needs to find for her research work. Please look at these. They are the only known examples of his work. Take as long as you wish. While you are doing that, I’ll adjourn to the bar for twenty minutes.”

  “Thank God he’s pushed off,” Brodie muttered.

  Ulla opened the envelopes and spread the contents around the table top.

  “Two hundred grand says to me I hope he’s not going to be too long. What do we know of Cortez?”

  Sheets of paper full of notes and headed: Francisco Cortez (1541-?) stared up at them.

  “Never heard of him. Have you?”

  “No but look at these.” She pushed several photographs of three paintings by Cortez closer to him. All had been taken at different angles. The Leper’s Redemption,
The Swine of the Gadarene, and Christ Crucified and the Mother Mary.

  Brodie went quiet and gazed for some while at the photographs. “I would say they’re powerful, masterly, and disturbingly mystical. What d’you think?”

  “They’re all that. It’s odd there’s so little known about him, and neither of us have come across him before.”

  “What do the other notes say?”

  Ulla noted Brodie’s gathering interest. “He came from Toledo, rumoured to have had a vision and later studied under Salvador Méndez, the Court and Papal artist. It also says something happened and he and all his works vanished off the face of the earth.”

  “That’s a shame. They’re superb. What year?”

  “It doesn’t say. All it mentions are the three we have photographs of, two in the El Prado and one in Valencia Cathedral.”

  “That’s not much to go on. Any clues on Maxwell’s client?”

  “None that I can see, but he did let us know she was titled and wealthy.”

  “It mentions that the Institución Columbina in Seville may be able to supply background information”

  “I think we’d need to start at the beginning, Toledo, and work forward from there.”

  “Look, he’s on his way back. Let’s see how much more he’s prepared to tell us.”

  Throgmorton strode over, still holding on to his drink, with a large manila envelope under his arm. He didn’t wait for a reply. “I have here” he said, placing the envelope on the table, “a contract for you to look at and hopefully agree to. Well, what do you think of the assignment?”

  Ulla guessed what Brodie could be thinking and he spoke before she could say anything.

  “There’s not much to go on, and what makes you think we want to sign up for something that could tie us up for God knows how many months, for expenses only money, looking for a missing work that may not even exist?”

  Ulla nodded. “I agree, we’re not working for nothing. We don’t have to.”

  There was a pause. Throgmorton tilted back his head, ran his hand through his hair and proceeded to pucker his lips. “I guessed you might take that approach and I can’t fault it. There are other factors in my submission that you should consider.”

  “They’d better be good, or Ulla and I will be out of here tomorrow morning.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  “I have access to a considerable amount of what I call ‘social information.’ I know that my client writes books ... lots of books. They are mainly about the impact religion has had on art and the subsequent healing powers of certain works and artefacts. Personally, I don’t believe a word of it, but money can be persuasive. I’m certain you’ll agree. I also discovered, though she would never tell me, that her life expectancy isn’t going to exceed five years. She has cancer, and I have witnessed evidence of that. God knows why she wants to find Cortez’s painting, but from what she has said and given her interests and writings, I suspect that she believes this missing painting could hold the cure for her cancer. She has nothing to lose and will spend whatever it takes to find and possess it.”

  He paused. He raised his eyebrows and began smoothing down non-existent creases from his clothes. “Can’t you see,” his voice ascended a pitch. “if there is any substance in her story, how much that could bring? People from all around the world would be willing to pay God knows what to see or touch it or whatever they need to regain their health. I intend to at least give it a chance. Whether this is true or not, my wealth would be unbelievable, and you could be part of it. Just imagine the kudos and spin offs you’d get for such a discovery.” His eyes hardened like a hawk.

  “It’s pie in the sky. I don’t believe a word of it,” Brodie sounded annoyed. “Even to start, we’d need an immediate advance plus substantial monthly retainers up front, or a large sum to cover a three-month period. And that doesn’t include expenses. If you’re prepared to do that, we might consider it. It’s that or nothing.”

  Ulla knew Brodie well. He’d taken a personal dislike to Throgmorton, and his bargaining had become abrasive. Not a half-hour ago, he was about to walk away from the proposal, but curiosity had always been his weak point. She squeezed his arm hard.

  “That’s as it is, Max.” She cocked her head to one side and gave him her sweetest smile.

  Throgmorton crossed his arms, attempted to smile, but could only register a pinched expression. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Yes, it’s like Brodie says, deal or no deal.”

  “What amount do you have in mind?”

  Brodie scratched at an invisible mark on the back of his hand. He didn’t look up but replied in a flat tone. “Twenty thousand right now and ten on the first of each month, in sterling. That’s without the expenses, of course. One late payment and it’s off.”

  Throgmorton’s expression soured but he gave a small nod, “Agreed, but for a three-month trial period only, and then we’ll assess where we are.” He pulled out the made-up contract, filled in the appropriate details, and Brodie and Ulla signed every entry as he did, retaining a copy for himself.

  “I hope for your sakes you two are as good as they say you are. Take this file, I have the original and we will be in touch within a week. Twenty thousand will reach you tomorrow.” With a grim expression, Throgmorton handed them the file, stood and walked towards the door.

  “Was he making some sort of threat?”

  “Ulla, yes that was some sort of threat. Don’t doubt it. Should we ever locate this mysterious painting the first thing he’ll do is short-change us, and as I said, steal it, and then offer it back to his client for a vastly increased sum of money. Should it have powers, which we all doubt, including him, he’ll keep up the pretence, and cash in on its fame. Exciting enough for you?”

  “Exciting and different.”

  “I suggest we start early next week, make a trip to Toledo, and begin by tracking down his client. That shouldn’t be too difficult. What d’you think? Throgmorton’s not expecting that line of enquiry.”

  Ulla suppressed a giggle. “And you wanted to give this all up. What was that all about?” She leant over and kissed his cheek.

  “I don’t like mysteries and I admit, I’m curious. But I’m more curious to see Throgmorton’s face when he realises that if we find something, he’s never going to get his hands on it.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Within two and a half hours of the Boeing landing at Madrid’s Barajas airport, Brodie and Ulla were on the A-42 freeway, driving the seventy plus kilometres down to Toledo.

  “Whether Toledo is the place to start, I’m not sure, but I think we need to absorb the atmosphere of the place.”

  Ulla’s reply came across as distracted, “Yeah, okay.”

  “You don’t sound too certain. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing really. Look in your mirror.”

  “Okay, what am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “The dark blue car. See it?”

  Brodie took another long look in the driving mirror. “What about it?”

  “It’s been behind us ever since we left the airport. Every move we make, it follows. When we stopped to check the route, it stopped too. I think it’s following us.”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll pull over to see what happens.” Brodie swung the wheel hard to the right, pulling onto the hard shoulder. The dark blue car appeared to hesitate before it powered past them. The two men inside didn’t give them a second glance.

  “Sorry,” said Ulla, “paranoia must be setting in.”

  “Don’t be too sorry. For a moment, that man didn’t know what to do.”

  “Throgmorton?”

  “If they were tailing us it, would be on his orders, for certain.”

  “Let’s not think about it. Besides, we can’t prove we were being followed.”

  §

  Their hotel, Hotel Pedro Sanchez, was small and located in quiet, narrow medieval streets close to the Cathedral, near the city centre. They sat in a walled g
arden beneath a leafy pergola surrounded by a meandering path bordered with ranks of climbing roses. The owner had told them these were descendants of original thirteenth century stock.

  They spread the contents of Throgmorton’s file across their table. It included three glossy A5 sized photographs of Cortez’s paintings. Ulla was studying Throgmorton’s directives.

  “I think he’s slipped up. He didn’t want us to know who his client is and all he was prepared to tell us was that she’s a titled and wealthy woman. In her notes, she mentions her annoyance for not knowing of Cortez and his works although ...” Ulla paused for effect. “Guess what? She says he came from her home city of Toledo.” She handed him the notes.

  Brodie looked up with a grin. “Well done. That’s going to help. All we have to do now is track down a local aristocrat; a Duchess, Condesa, Marquesa or a Baronesa, who happens to write a lot of arty-religious books. Shouldn’t be that difficult to find.”

  She didn’t hear him. With a large magnifying glass lens, she was bent over the photographs of Cortez’s works.

  “What d’you make of that? It’s on all three.” She pointed to the signature and what was beside it, hard to see but clearly identifiable beneath the lens: a black cross followed by initials.

  “It’s some sort of religious cross, but I can’t make out the initials too well.”

  “Doesn’t Malta have a society known as the Sovereign Order founded back in the time of the Crusades? They were originally dedicated to helping lepers, and sick and poor pilgrims to and from Jerusalem.”

  “If I recall, they do. But back in medieval days, they were full-blown Knights who went into battle if needed. They spread across the known world.”

  Brodie gasped as he peered even closer. “What in God’s name is that?”