The Uccello Connection (Genevieve Lenard, #10)

by Estelle Ryan

“In my sights, dude.” Vinnie rolled his shoulders, his top lip curled.

  Pink nodded and walked towards the wardrobe. He studied Emad for a few seconds. “Step away from the wardrobe.”

  Emad nodded and walked back to the bed. I’d never paid close attention to Pink’s observation skills. If Daniel had been here, I knew he would’ve noticed the lack of anticipation and excitement in Emad’s body language. Emad was exhibiting none of the usual cues that would have led me to believe that there was a trap in the wardrobe. Pink seemed to have picked that up as well, the tension in his shoulders relaxing marginally as he reached into his backpack.

  He took out a device that he’d used on a few occasions when securing a room from any electronic surveillance equipment. He’d proudly told me that he’d modified his device to not only register any surveillance devices, but also anything that had an electronic trigger or switch. I had to ask him three times before he’d admitted that it wasn’t without limitations, but he had convinced me that he trusted his device to keep him and his team safe.

  He slowly moved the device along the beautifully carved doors of the wardrobe, then swiped it across every centimetre of the wooden exterior. It took more than a minute before he nodded in satisfaction and opened the door. He put the device back in his backpack and took out the first pair of trousers, boxers and t-shirt he saw.

  “Get dressed.” Pink threw the clothes on the bed and stepped into the hallway. “Report.”

  “We checked the entire house.” Meslot’s voice was calm. “There’s not a single trace of any radiation. If they have the polonium-210, it’s not here.”

  “And we double-checked the rooms,” Gautier said. “All clear. It’s a huge place, this. And only a few rooms appear to have been lived in.”

  I glanced up at the monitors and saw Manny facing Vinnie’s camera. “Get your butt in here, Doc. We’ve got work to do. Oh, and bring Frey. There are more paintings than I care for. Maybe he can make sense of it all.”

  “I’ve got the truck, Francine.” Bernard Cosse, the newest member of the GIPN team, walked from the front of the truck to where we were sitting. “I’m not as good as you and Pink on the electronics, but I’ll hold the fort here.”

  Francine jumped out of her seat. “Are you sure? That would be great.”

  Bernard smiled and nodded.

  Francine waved impatiently at Colin and I. “Come on. We have a whole house of treasure waiting for us.”

  “If the paintings I saw on the walls are originals, it really is a house of treasure.” Colin got up and held out his hand to me. “Coming?”

  I inhaled deeply and got up without taking Colin’s hand. I didn’t want to go into the building that housed Emad. Even though I felt relief that he was now in our custody, it didn’t bring the peace of mind I had hoped for. I reached into my mind to find out why the restlessness I had been feeling suddenly held an urgency to it. Nothing came to me. I ignored Colin’s questioning look and walked past him to follow Francine out the truck.

  We walked in silence to the house. I noticed only three of the extra officers Pink had requested as backup. I didn’t know where the others were, but knowing we were surrounded gave me some form of comfort. Gautier opened the front door for us, light from the entrance spilling into the street. They had turned on every light in the house.

  Francine pushed past Gautier, her mouth agape. “Oh, my God. What a beautiful place. Wow. Otto was right. Emad is really living in an antique collection.”

  I agreed with her. The entrance to the house looked like it could be a display room for an auction catalogue. Francine disappeared into the first room to our left and I walked to the staircase, leaving Colin behind. He was standing in front of a painting hanging over a fragile-looking table that I estimated dated from the seventeenth century.

  Gautier locked the front door and followed me. “Vernet is on the third floor, Doc.”

  I stopped and looked at the tall man. “Doctor Lenard or Genevieve. Not Doc.”

  “Um. Okay.” He raised one eyebrow. “So, Genevieve, are you going to the third floor?”

  “Not yet.” I recalled his earlier report to Pink. “Show me the rooms that you said looked lived-in.”

  His face relaxed with a genuine smile. I had not realised he was hoping for my approval or acceptance. He pointed at the room Francine had disappeared into. “I think he used that as a living room.”

  Francine was no longer in the room when I walked in. On the far side of the large space was a door that led to another room and I assumed she’d gone through there. I took my time looking around the room, registering every magazine and newspaper on the coffee tables, the placement of the remote control for the large flat screen television as well as every piece of furniture, rug and decoration.

  When I was ready to leave, Gautier led me to a room on the first floor. As with all the other rooms, the high ceilings made it appear even more spacious than it already was. But in contrast to the room I’d been in and those I’d passed, this was not decorated with antique furnishings.

  A large chrome and glass desk dominated the left-hand side of the room, whereas a computer station with four monitors and a mess of wires dominated the right. Behind the gleaming desk, a bookshelf took up most of the wall. I estimated there to be only fifty or so books. The rest of the shelves were filled with artworks of all eras. The wooden floor was bare and industrial-style light fittings decorated the other walls. There were a lot of lights in this room.

  Instead of the heavy designer curtains that covered the other rooms’ windows, this room had two sets of blinds. I looked closer and my suspicion that it blocked out all light from the outside as well as from within was confirmed. From my position by the window I looked around the room, thinking how very different it was from the almost cosy feel of the living room.

  “Here you are.” Manny walked into the room and stopped with disgust lifting his top lip. “What the hell is this?”

  “A home office, me thinks.” Gautier pointed at the desk and the piece of equipment next to it. “With this kind of industrial shredder, this can only be an office.”

  “What do you think, Doc?” Manny gave Gautier one last look before walking towards me.

  “Gautier is most likely correct.” I looked again at the bookshelves. “The lack of literature is a mystery though.”

  “Jenny!” Colin walked into the room, a painting in each hand. “You will not believe what I have here.”

  Colour rode high on his cheeks and his eyes were wide with excitement. He looked around for a suitable place to put the paintings on display. He decided on the clear desktop and carefully put the paintings down. I stepped closer and lifted both eyebrows. “Are they authentic?”

  “These babies are as authentic as they come. I’ll stake my entire collection on it.”

  Manny huffed and came to stand next to me. Then he gasped. “Bloody holy hell, Frey! Are these the Uccello paintings that are supposed to be on Daniel’s plane?”

  Colin nodded his head slowly, not taking his eyes off the paintings. “This here is Uccello’s Saint George and the Dragon and that beauty is Scenes of the Life of the Holy Hermits. Aren’t they magnificent?”

  “They’re very pretty, Frey. Now tell me why the hell they are here and not on that plane.”

  “I think that’s a question better answered by Emad.” I looked at Gautier. “Where is he?”

  Gautier turned to Manny. “Sir?”

  Manny groaned. “He’s in the washroom tossing his cookies.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?” And who had given him cookies?

  “He’s vomiting, love.” Colin frowned and looked at Manny. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He claims that he’s not sick or infected with anything.”

  “He says that it’s relief,” Gautier said quietly. “He’s been saying ‘It’s over, it’s over’ the whole time he’s been... vomiting.”

  Interesting. Every human being reacted differently to stress
and also to the abrupt ending of a stressful situation. These reactions were far too numerous to spend valuable time considering at the moment. All I cared about was that Emad not only reacted in a very interesting manner, but he claimed something to be over. I turned to Manny. “Bring him in here when he’s ready.”

  Manny nodded to Gautier who left the room immediately. Then he turned back to the paintings and stared at them for a few seconds before slumping. “Are you very sure these things are real, Frey?”

  “As sure as you are that those shoes actually look good with those trousers. What am I saying? You most likely believe those shoes look good with everything.”

  “What the hell is wrong with my shoes?” Manny looked down, then glared at Colin. “They’re comfortable.”

  “And as ugly as sin.” Colin pointed at the art on the desk. “These on the other hand are beauties that deserve to be in a museum, protected. Not in some international criminal’s hideout. And yes, I’m completely convinced they are authentic. I don’t know what was being transported to Minsk, but it was not Uccello’s originals.”

  “Could the paintings on the plane be the forgeries that Otto and Justine talked about?”

  “Huh.” Colin blinked. “Very possible. If Otto and Justine were right and Fradkov got these masterpieces and others forged, maybe the forgeries were good enough to make it past inspection and get on that plane.”

  To what end, I wondered. I placed that question in the back of my mind and stepped closer to the bookshelf. “What do you think about the artworks here?”

  “Oh, my.” Colin walked to the left of the bookshelf, his eyes wide. “This is a Gian Lorenzo Bernini sculpture.” He leaned in closer. “And it looks real. If it is real, the value of this will be... it will be unimaginable. Oh, my.”

  I waited. Colin was slowly walking along the shelves, inhaling sharply every time he focused on a different piece. He stopped in front of a sculpture of two men, one older and one younger. The older man had his arm around the younger man’s shoulders, appearing to pull him forward. The younger man had his arm around the older man’s waist, looking away. Colin was clearly in awe of what he was looking at. When he turned around to face me, his face had lost some colour. “This is Daedalus and Icarus by Antonio Canova, Jenny. He made this masterpiece in 1779. Without tests, I can’t tell if it is authentic, but it sure looks like it. And knowing Fradkov, it most likely is. This should be in a museum with its own private guards. The value of this alone is in the millions of euros.”

  “Bloody hell.” Manny sighed heavily and pushed his hands in his trouser pockets.

  Loud footsteps sounded in the hallway and I glanced at the door. All the GIPN members had been quiet and light on their feet throughout the entire operation. The only reason I imagined they were stomping their feet was to alert us to Emad’s presence.

  No sooner had I thought that than Gautier came into the room, followed by Emad. Meslot and Pink were behind him, their hands on their holstered weapons. Emad was fully dressed, his hands cuffed behind his back. The slight movement of his shoulders indicated discomfort as he glanced around the room. His eyes widened when he noticed the two paintings on the desk. Then he smiled. “You found my inspiration.”

  “I’m pretty sure a four-year-old can paint better than you, Vernet.” Manny pushed his hands in his pockets. “Where did you get these paintings?”

  “They came with the house.” Emad glanced at the bookshelf and took a step back. “There’s a lot of inspiration in this house.”

  I stilled. Emad was not acting the same as when he’d been in GIPN custody seven months ago. Then, his only response to every question had been, “Lawyer.” Now he was answering questions. He was also not attempting to hide any of his nonverbal cues. It was easy to read his relief, his fear and his sadness. I narrowed my eyes to register as much as possible.

  “How long have you been here?” Manny asked.

  “About six months.” He smiled at me. “It was nice to be so close to the people who changed my life.”

  Manny snapped his fingers in the air until Emad looked at him. “Whose house is this?”

  “Don’t you know?” He glanced again at the bookshelf and lost some colour in his face. Inhaling deeply, he turned so he was no longer facing the desk and the wall behind it. “The house is still registered to the family who gave this place to Ivan.”

  “Ivan Fradkov?” Manny spoke through his teeth, his jaw clenched.

  Emad swallowed a few times and I wondered if he was going to vomit again. But he appeared to regain his composure and faced Manny. “Yes. The house and everything in it belongs to Ivan Fradkov.”

  There was so much to read in Emad’s nonverbal communication. When Manny was going to ask another question, I held up my hand to stop him. I took my time studying Emad until I felt I had a grasp of what I’d observed. I lowered my hand. “Are there any recording devices in this room?”

  His relief at my question was almost comical. “Video only, no audio.”

  “In the rest of the house?”

  “This is the only room that doesn’t have audio.”

  I resisted the urge to search for cameras aiming at us and was impressed that none of the others looked up either. “Do you know where the cameras are?”

  “I’m facing away from all of them.”

  Manny looked at me, his expression questioning. I nodded. Emad was telling the truth. “Any cameras aiming at me?”

  “Only from the side.” He glanced at Manny. “Everyone else is in full view.”

  Which meant that no one would be able to accurately read my lips if they later analysed the footage. I thought of all the questions I had for Emad. But the most important had to be asked first. “What do you know about the plane?”

  “What plane?” His confusion appeared genuine.

  “What do you know about Daniel Cassel?”

  “The man responsible for my brother’s death?” Sorrow and anger battled for dominance on his face. “I know that I’m conflicted about him. He did his job, but he took my brother from me.”

  I decided to change my tactic. “Did you kill Daniel?”

  Emad’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, his mouth slightly agape. It was highly improbable, but not impossible to fake shock this immediate and this accurate. “He’s dead? What? How? When did this happen?”

  I leaned a bit closer to him. “Did you kill him?”

  “No! No, I didn’t.” He shook his head vehemently. “I’m done with that. No. I didn’t do any such thing. I swear. I haven’t even left this house for the last six months.”

  It was so quick, I almost missed that micro-expression. “Have you been here voluntarily?”

  He swallowed, his face losing colour again. “The first two weeks, yes.”

  There was more I wanted to know, but our safety was first priority. “What is behind the bookshelf?”

  He closed his eyes and breathed slowly four times. When he opened his eyes, he looked exhausted. “Fradkov’s panic room. I haven’t been in there, but you’ll most likely find the answers to all your questions in there.”

  Everyone in the room stood frozen, but I was sure they were tempted to look at the wall behind the desk. “Is it protected?”

  “Booby-trapped?” Pink added.

  “Yes.” He lowered his head, his nonverbal cues begging me. “Please get me out of here.”

  “First tell us what to look for if we want to get into the panic room.” Manny moved his lips to the minimum, no doubt to make it harder for someone to lip-read. “What kind of booby-traps are we talking about?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked at me, imploring. “I really don’t. He told me what he would do to my father if I ever came in here.”

  “You’re lying.” It was easy to see. “Your fear is real, but you do know how to enter that room.”

  His nostrils flared. “Get me out of here and I’ll talk. Maybe. But I won’t say another word while in this house.”

  He was
being truthful. The way he pressed his lips tightly together confirmed that he would not co-operate while on Fradkov’s property. I nodded to Manny. With a sigh, he waved Gautier closer. “Take this arsehole to Rousseau & Rousseau.”

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  “This was... okay.” The resentment on Vinnie’s face as he looked at the empty serving dishes on the round table in our team room surprised me. He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I mean, the spinach had a bit too much cream and not enough mushrooms.”

  “Do you really think so?” Nikki stared at the large bowl that had contained the creamed spinach. “I followed your recipe exactly the way you made it last week.”

  “Ignore him, Nix.” Francine lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Vinnie. “At least Nikki’s food didn’t need any cumin or a touch of rosemary.”

  “You can’t put those things in any of these dishes, woman.” Vinnie crossed his arms and exhaled loudly.

  “There was absolutely nothing wrong with this food.” Pink leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “It was possibly the best spinach I’ve ever eaten.”

  Vinnie inhaled sharply. “Then you’ve never had my creamed spinach.”

  Roxy shook her head and a few more curls escaped her loose braid. “You’re just put out that we made fabulous food and you didn’t have anything to do with it.” She threw her arms around Vinnie in an uncomfortable-looking sideways hug and rested her head on his shoulder. “We didn’t try to steal your job, snookums. We just wanted to help you a little bit on this crazy day. I know this has not been easy for you.”

  The tension in Vinnie’s shoulders eased and he kissed Roxy’s chaotic curls. When he raised his eyes to Nikki, his apology was clear on his face. “I didn’t mean to insult your cooking, little punk.”

  “Well, you did.” Her faux-distress was outrageous in its exaggeration. “And I’m telling Eric about this.”

  Vinnie snorted. “The tiny punk won’t be interested in my food for at least the first six months and then only mushy versions of my family’s masterpieces.”

  I found their bantering both soothing and confusing. After Manny had sent Emad to Rousseau & Rousseau, Pink had used his device to test the bookshelf and had determined where the door to the panic room was. But a lot of red lights had started blinking on his device. The entrance to the panic room had numerous unnamed electronic devices that Pink and Francine were convinced were better left alone for the moment.