by Estelle Ryan
“Supermodel and P... he weren’t able to find that killer anywhere.” Manny glared at Pink when he stumbled over using the GIPN member’s name. Manny frequently expressed his aversion to such a silly nickname. “And supermodel looked everywhere. That’s one of the reasons she’s so pissed off.”
“Francine really didn’t like the guy disappearing like that.” Pink nodded. “I agree with her that he has to be highly informed about all cameras in the area to vanish into thin air.” He winced. “I mean, appear to vanish into thin air.”
“I saw the footage of him leaving the restaurant and blending into the foot traffic on the street,” Manny said. “That bastard is good. The big guy thinks this killer is a pro.”
“Vinnie?” I didn’t like that I was slower than usual to notice the absence of my friends. “Where is he?”
“He went with Francine.” Something in Colin’s tone caught my attention. A sad smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “He’s extremely upset at what happened.”
“Why? Did he know Otto?”
Colin stared at me. “Really? Think a little bit more, my smart love.”
I did. I considered Vinnie’s personality and why he would be distressed. I sighed. “It’s not his fault.”
“You try to tell him that, Doc.” Manny snorted. “I thought he was going to pop a vein when he got here.”
Colin raised one hand. “Let me give you a quick rundown on what happened while you were out. Francine phoned Manny, who immediately phoned Daniel. Couldn’t get hold of him and phoned Pink. By that time the three of us were already in Vinnie’s pickup truck racing through the streets. Pink and his team arrived a few minutes after we did. The police a few minutes after that.”
“It took us a whole two minutes to secure the restaurant.” Pink waved his hand around. “A lot of the guests had fled the scene. A few others stayed out of morbid curiosity and Francine was ordering everyone to stay away from the table.”
“You were curled up on your chair”—Colin squeezed my hand—“and Francine was working like crazy on her tablet.”
Pink nodded. “I sent three of our guys to the last location where Francine had tracked the killer, but they came up empty... er, without any results. Then we got the crime scene guys in and the rest is history... er, a boring story.”
Colin chuckled. “A boring story?”
“Whatever, man.” A light shade of pink coloured Pink’s cheeks. “I’m trying.”
I didn’t like witnessing his embarrassment. I put my hand on the table, reaching for him. “Thank you, Pink. It might be simpler if you continue your usual vernacular and I’ll ask if something is unclear.”
“No.” He shook his head vigorously. “This is a good experience for me. It makes me consider my words better and makes me try harder to keep my explanations clear.”
“Do you want to hug or can we get back to the case?” Manny knocked on the table top. “We know absolutely nothing about this killer and we need to find out why he killed Otto.”
I turned to Colin. “Did you listen to the recording Francine made?”
“We did and that is why I disagree with Millard.” Colin looked at Manny. “We don’t have nothing on the killer. We have a possible motive. If what Otto said is true, then it could be Fradkov or Emad who ordered the kill. I can imagine they didn’t want us to know whatever it was that Otto was going to share with Jenny and Francine.”
“That’s conjecture.” I thought about this. “Although it’s a reasonable conclusion to draw.”
“We also know most of the killer’s physical appearance,” Pink said. “We have his height, his body type, his gait. What we don’t have is his facial features. He was wearing a cap, has a hipster beard and was wearing large sunglasses. This obscured too much of his face to get any metrics.”
“What’s a hipster beard?” How was that different to any other beard?
“A stupid big beard.” Manny rubbed his stubbled jaw. “It’s not important, Doc. What is important is that we need to find this killer-for-hire and we need to find out who hired him.”
“How can you be so convinced that he is a killer-for hire? That he didn’t kill Otto for another reason?” I frowned. “Did you find evidence you haven’t told me about yet?”
“No, Doc. This is just the most logical conclusion. And don’t give me that look. Of course we will consider all possibilities, but my gut tells me that Fradkov and Emad are behind this.” Manny scowled at Colin. “Now are you going to share with the class what you know about this Otto criminal?”
Colin smiled and winked at me. “Millard feels slighted because I didn’t want to tell him until you could also hear.”
“Hear what?”
“What I know about Otto. And what I was able to find out in the last two hours.”
“Did you have any dealings with him?”
“No.” Colin shook his head. “I’d never actually met the guy. I’d heard of him, yes, but our paths never crossed. Well, they kind of did, but not physically.”
“Oh, just get to it, Frey.” Manny shifted in his chair.
Colin ignored him. “Six years ago, Fradkov hired one of my aliases to authenticate a painting he’d bought. It was an Uccello that he’d gotten for about five percent of its market value. That in itself should’ve been enough warning for him, but he’d gone ahead and bought the painting.”
“You were the expert Fradkov used. And then he blackmailed Otto because you’d proven the painting wasn’t authentic.” I wasn’t surprised.
“Yup. It was me. The painting Fradkov had bought was for his Renaissance collection and I, as Professor Henry Vaughn, had a reputation for being an expert in this field. Especially if you wanted an off-the-books authentication. I’d agreed to meet Fradkov in Brussels and it took me less than thirty seconds to tell him the painting was a forgery. A brilliant forgery, but it was not a work done by Uccello’s masterful hands.”
Colin looked up and left—recalling a memory. “Fradkov was livid. He didn’t shout or become aggressive. He’s one of those quiet angry people. The most dangerous in my opinion. I asked him who’d sold him the painting and he told me it was Otto. I took my fee and left. As soon as I got home, I started looking into Otto.
“He was an art history graduate and really knew his work and his clients. The people I spoke to had a lot of respect for him. He’d mastered the skill of finding rare paintings for great prices. About half of these paintings were stolen or part of a disputed estate, but he also did a lot of legitimate deals. Yet he worked really hard to keep his name quiet. He didn’t want to be recognisable or searchable, which was a very smart decision.
“When I listened to Francine’s recording, it suddenly made sense why Otto started dealing more in Renaissance art after that incident. That must have been when he started working for Fradkov. Under duress, of course.”
“What did your contacts say about him?” Pink asked.
“Pretty much the same. He was good at his job. Because so few of the paintings he sold ever turned out to be forgeries, people were willing to take the risk of losing thousands of euros. They more often saved hundreds of thousands, if not millions, buying works from him.”
“Do you know where he found these paintings?”
“No, but I heard rumours that he had a list of art thieves he sourced artworks from. Apparently, he also had a list of the best Renaissance forgers. Well, it had been a rumour until Otto confirmed it on that recording.” Colin tilted his head. “I would really like to find that list.”
“Later, Frey.” Manny sat up. “We have a lot of other things to do first. We need to find that killer. We need to find out what the bleeding hell Otto was talking about when he said that Fradkov plans to start a war. Hell, we need to find Fradkov and throw his murdering arse in jail and then throw that key in the bloody ocean.”
Claudette Mécary, the only female member of Daniel’s team, walked towards us, holding my handbag. I was about to reprimand her for taking my property witho
ut my consent when I noticed the rust-coloured dots on the light brown surface. It was a faux suede bag, one that had been treated to resist most stains. It had been an important feature when I’d bought the bag. I never wanted to touch it again.
“Your phone’s been ringing for the last twenty minutes.” Claudette held my bag out for me to take. “The crime scene guys finished photographing and swiping it. We were able to convince them to give it back to us only until you removed everything inside. They still want the bag though.”
I leaned away from the handbag, my eyes locked on the blood spatter. “I don’t want it.”
The familiar ringtone of my phone sounded from my bag. Claudette shook it lightly. “There it goes again. You might want to take this. I think it might be important, especially since it hasn’t stopped for twenty minutes.”
Colin reached over and took my bag. He looked at me. “May I?”
I nodded and watched as Colin took care not to touch the outside of the bag. As soon as he unzipped it, he reached in and lifted out my phone. He knew where to find it. I always kept my phone in the same place in my handbag. Now I was going to have to find another handbag and get used to everything being in different places. I hated change.
The phone stopped ringing just as Colin held it out to me, but started again immediately. I took the phone and looked at the screen. I didn’t recognise the number and was tempted to decline the call. Yet I swiped the screen and lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Doctor Lenard.” A familiar male voice sighed in relief. “I’ve been trying really hard to get hold of you.”
I still couldn’t place his voice. “Who is this?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s Alain Vernet.”
My eyebrows rose in surprise. Alain was Emad’s adoptive father. For more than two decades he’d been on the UN’s advisory boards. When we’d confronted him with Emad and his biological son Claude’s illegal activities seven months ago, he’d been horrified, but not surprised. He’d helped us in our case and I’d witnessed his internal battles as he’d betrayed his sons to do the right thing. After that case, he’d resigned and I’d not been in contact with him since. This call was a surprise. And suspicious in its timing. “Please hold. I’m with my team and am putting you on speakerphone.”
“Even better.” He paused a moment. “Can I speak? Can everyone hear me?”
I placed the phone on the table. “Yes.”
“Manfred Millard here.” Manny leaned towards the phone. “What’s the problem, Alain?”
“I received a painting.” His voice shook and I focused my attention. My speciality was in nonverbal communication, but sometimes I was able to glean clues from listening to people’s tone of voice. Alain’s conveyed fear. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Colin Frey speaking, sir.” Colin also leaned towards my phone. “What kind of painting?”
“I... I think my son painted this.”
“Emad?” Manny’s question came out loud. He cleared his throat. “You think Emad painted this? Did he deliver it? How did you receive it? When did you receive it?”
“A courier dropped it off an hour ago. I was surprised because I didn’t order anything and wasn’t expecting any delivery, but it was clearly addressed to me.” He paused. “I can’t be sure it’s Emad. The address is printed out and the return address is a mailing service. I checked. I... I just have a feeling.”
I needed to see his face. And I needed to see the painting. I was sure Colin would be able to tell more than I could from analysing the painting, which made this conversation moot. “Bring the painting to Rousseau & Rousseau. We’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
“Please, sir.” Colin winked at me. “We can do a better job understanding this if we can look at the painting.”
“Sure. Yes. Sure.” Alain inhaled deeply. “I just want this nightmare to end. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter THREE
The elevator doors to Rousseau & Rousseau’s foyer opened, but Colin, Manny and I couldn’t exit. The door was blocked by Vinnie’s large frame. “Jen-girl! Why did it take you so long to get back here? I’ve been waiting for hours.”
Manny grunted and pushed Vinnie out the way. “We’re here now, big guy. Stop being such a girl.”
Vinnie ignored him. He stared down at me as I exited the elevator. I stepped in front of him and looked up to study his expression. And I saw exactly what Colin had described. The scar that ran down the left side of Vinnie’s face was more pronounced. It always gained colour when he experienced strong emotions. The contractions of the muscles around his mouth and eyes revealed a myriad of emotions, the dominant of which was guilt. But it was the underlying relief that I would focus on. “I’m safe, Vinnie.”
“Now you are.” Fear flashed over his features. “A few hours ago you weren’t.”
“That is true. It would, however, be a foolish loss of time to agonise over what could’ve happened.”
Vinnie lowered his chin and stared at me for a second. Then he nodded. “Gonna hug you.”
That was all the warning I got. Clearly Vinnie had determined that I was managing the stimuli well enough for him to add to them. I forced my body to relax as he embraced me tightly, almost lifting me off my feet. Vinnie was very kinaesthetic, something I found hard to deal with.
Yet I knew how important physical contact was for him. He held me even closer and whispered in my ear, “I’m glad you’re okay, Jen-girl. I was terrified.”
On a calming inhale, I put my arms around his wide shoulders and hugged him back. “Me too.”
“Okay, you big wuss.” Manny’s voice sounded rough—the way it did when he witnessed something that touched him emotionally. “Let go of Doc before you crush every bone in her body. We’re going to need her to solve this case.”
Vinnie exhaled a slow and steady breath before letting me go. I took a small step back and resisted the urge to step behind Colin. Instead I stood next to him and reached for his hand. He squeezed mine lightly and an immediate calm pushed away the panic that had been building while in Vinnie’s embrace.
Seeing the same calm now on Vinnie’s face pleased me. It had taken a while to fully understand that something as simple as a hug could give that to my muscular friend. That was why I was willing to deal with the panic of being touched.
“Oh, for the love of all the saints!” Manny waved his hand in front of my face. “Doc! Can we go now?”
“Yes.” I turned towards the reception area. “Where is Timothée?”
The heavy wooden desk was as neat as always, fitting in well with the rest of the affluent décor of the high-end insurance company Rousseau & Rousseau. Phillip Rousseau, the founder and owner of this company, had become the father figure I had never had. Not only was he a stable presence in my life, but his intellect, integrity and compassion were qualities I both respected and valued highly.
“I’m here...er, Genevieve.” Timothée Renaud walked towards us from the kitchen, carrying a tray of coffee mugs. He’d been working as Phillip’s personal assistant for the last three years and I’d watched him mature in that time. He had always been stylish, but a distinguished elegance now combined with his usual sense of fashion to give him a more confident and worldly appearance.
He had taken a long time to get used to my unconventional ways and only in the last three months started calling me by my first name. Most times it was preceded by hesitation, but I respected his attempt to treat me the same as he did Phillip and Colin. He was still uncomfortable around Manny and pretended to be brave around Vinnie. It was amusing to observe.
“I have another magazine for you.” Tim glanced towards his desk. “Remember to pick it up before you go back to your viewing room.”
“Thank you.” I was pleased with this news. These journals were intellectually superior to most reading material available.
Tim nodded towards the large conference room. “Phillip and Monsieur Vernet are in there. I made cof
fee for everyone.”
“I don’t drink coffee, boy.” Manny glared at the mugs and walked past Tim.
The younger man rolled his eyes and pulled up his lip while staring at Manny’s back. Then he turned to us. “Colonel Moanfred Millard’s disgusting milky tea is also on this tray.”
Vinnie burst out laughing. “I’m going to call the old man that forever. Good one, dude.”
Tim’s chest pushed out and he flushed at Vinnie’s praise. He tried to change his expressions to nonchalance as he turned and followed Manny to the conference room, but without success. Even Colin had seen his delight at being called ‘dude’. I didn’t know if Vinnie knew how hard Tim had been trying to gain the large man’s approval. It certainly didn’t seem so as the three of us made our way to the conference room.
Many an interview with suspects and victims had taken place in this space, many secrets revealed. I stepped through the door and as usual my eyes first went to the paintings lining three of the four walls. I had an uncontrollable need to adjust any paintings hanging at an incorrect angle, no matter how small.
Phillip periodically rotated the paintings in the conference rooms, something that I’d gotten used to, but still found jarring. No form of change was easy for me. Today three of the paintings from the smallest conference room were on the far wall, one of which I recognised as the Monet Phillip had purchased last year.
Once I’d reassured myself the paintings were all aligned, I looked at the two older men sitting at the end of the table. Phillip was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, the wine-red handkerchief in his pocket matching his silk tie. Concern marred his usually confident features. He got up as soon as he saw me and came around the table.
