The Uccello Connection (Genevieve Lenard, #10)

by Estelle Ryan

  “I closely studied this painting as well as Scenes from the Life of the Holy Hermits. I just didn’t recognise that what looks like dots is micro-writing.” I turned the tablet again and brought up the painting with the hermits. Again I stretched the image where the spiral curled in on itself. “Here it ends on the priest by the pulpit. The micro-writing runs along the outside of the pulpit.”

  “What does it say?” Phillip asked. “Is it understandable?”

  “It’s gibberish.” Manny straightened. “Or do you understand this, Doc?”

  I stared at the tiny lettering, then returned to Saint George and the Dragon and took my time looking at the writing. “This is written in code.”

  “And you’ll decipher it.” Manny pointed at the painting on the easel. “But now we need to look at that one.”

  “I looked, but only found one number on that painting.” Alain’s soft question pulled me away from the additional clues Emad had included in these paintings. Why would he hide so many keys? I didn’t trust his sincerity when he expressed his relief at escaping from Fradkov. Emad had spent too many years honing his covert skills, of which deception was the most important.

  Colin held his hand out to my tablet. “May I? I’ll overlay the Fibonacci spiral over the original. The numbers should be on the connection points.”

  I looked at the tablet when he finished and made a mental note of where the spiral lay. Colin handed the tablet to Phillip and stood next to me studying Emad’s reproduction of The Adoration of the Kings. At first I thought Emad had not included any numbers in this painting. Then I saw the first one.

  I pointed at the different patterns on the bottom right area of the painting. And frowned. “There’s the ‘V’ here, and here and here are the ‘I’s. This is a seven.”

  “Is it just me or did he do a better job hiding the numbers?” Colin tilted his head and stared at the kneeling person’s head.

  “These numbers are much better concealed.” But I found another one. I pointed at the shoulder of a man. “There is a fourteen.”

  “And here is a twenty-two.” Colin pointed at the rocks.

  It took us fifteen minutes to find one more number and determine that there were no more hidden numbers. Even though Emad’s artistic skill had not improved with the paintings, he’d taken more care in hiding the numbers in the lines of the rocks and clothing of the worshippers.

  “So what are all the numbers, Doc?”

  I turned around and was surprised to see Francine in the conference room. I hadn’t heard her enter. She winked at me and held up her tablet. “Totally ready to put those numbers into the app.”

  “I’m not sure of the order of the numbers, but they are twenty-two, seven, fourteen and nine. That’s the order they appeared on the Fibonacci spiral in this painting.”

  “Only four numbers?” She tapped on her tablet, but stopped suddenly. “Hey, wait. Those aren’t the numbers of the Fibonacci sequence. Right?”

  “Correct.” I didn’t know what to make of it. “It is anomalous. That and the fact that they were much less visible than in the other two paintings.”

  “Huh.” She shrugged and returned her attention to her tablet. “Let’s see what this brings us then.”

  Alain crossed his arms in a full-body hug, his eyebrows pulled in and down, his lips thinned. I felt an uncomfortable twinge of empathy.

  Instead of reacting to this troublesome emotion, I turned my attention back to Francine. She tapped a last time and waited, her hand hovering over the tablet screen. Her eyebrows shot up, then she blinked a few times. “Wow. Okay, I didn’t expect this.”

  “What, supermodel?” Manny glared at her tablet.

  “Let me put this up on the system.” She tapped and swiped her tablet’s screen a few times. The white display screen started rolling down against the far wall and the projector whirred to life. Three seconds later a photo was projected against the wall, only coming into full view as the screen rolled completely open.

  Alain’s gasp drew my attention away from the photo. Tears filled his eyes and his chin quivered with suppressed emotion. He swallowed a few times until he appeared more in control. “The boys always agreed that this was the best holiday we ever had. They were so happy.”

  He fell silent and a tear rolled down his cheek. I looked at the photo again. Analysing nonverbal cues from a photo often led to erroneous conclusions. One moment caught in time never revealed the full context of whatever preceded or followed the taking of that photo.

  But going on what Alain had just revealed, it was impossible not to come to the conclusion that the man and the two young boys on this photo were undeniably happy. There were no indications of any negative emotions, their postures revealing relaxed and happy individuals.

  The way the two boys had their arms around each other’s shoulders in one-arm hugs and were leaning against a much younger Alain showed their affection and trust for each other. I estimated the boys to have been in their early teens, making this photo around thirty years old.

  “Where was this taken?” Phillip’s tone was gentle.

  “A small village in the south of France.” Alain cleared his throat and pulled his shoulders back. “It was the cheapest holiday we had. That year I had been very busy and had forgotten to book one of my favourite places. By the time the summer holidays were upon us, all the better holiday resorts that catered for busy boys were fully booked. On a whim I decided to rent a villa on a farm.

  “There was a small lake that the boys swam in every day, there were fruit trees that kept their bellies full and farm animals that gave them hours of entertainment. They were constantly dirty and covered in scrapes, but I never saw them without huge smiles on their faces. They loved it.”

  “How old were they? When was this taken?” Manny asked.

  “Thirty-two years ago. Emad was nine and Claude fourteen.” A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. A sad smile. “Those were wonderful years. Their fun and adventures didn’t end, not even when Claude was the reason for Emad breaking his arm.”

  This caught my attention. “Why did you flinch? How did Claude cause Emad’s injury?”

  “I flinched?” He leaned away from me. “I suppose I would. Claude was a rough boy. He was more physical than Emad. More active. Claude had found a rope in the barn and had tied it around one of the higher branches of a tree next to the lake. Then he used it to swing himself at a ridiculous height until he finally let go when he was over the lake.

  “Emad didn’t want to do that, wisely saying it looked too dangerous. If I’d been there, I would’ve put a stop to that immediately, but I didn’t want to be one of those over-protective dads. I wanted to give them their space.” He inhaled sharply and looked at me. “Do you think that was the reason Emad and Claude turned out to be these horrible men? These murderers? Should I have been more protective?”

  “These questions are counterproductive. You’ll never have answers to them.” I softened my voice when Phillip cleared his throat in the way I’d come to know as a warning. “It’s like asking why children die from hunger or why bad things happen to good people. There is no answer.”

  Alain turned his attention to the painting and swallowed. “Emad always followed Claude. Even when he thought it was dangerous or when his first reaction was to do something different. So when Claude called him a coward, he grabbed the rope and started swinging back and forth to build up even more momentum and height than Claude had done. He wanted to show his brother that he could do even better. On one of the backswings, the rope came loose and Emad fell to the ground. Fortunately, he only broke his arm. It could’ve been so much worse.”

  I thought about what Alain had just revealed. “Was Claude responsible for many of Emad’s mishaps?”

  “Excuse me?” Alain tilted his head and frowned in confusion.

  “Was Claude responsible for many of Emad’s mishaps?” This time I spoke a bit slower.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” His eyes m
oved up and to the left. Recalling a memory. “Claude was the instigator. Emad often bested Claude, but he almost never started something. Claude was the one looking for ways to get into trouble. Emad then usually got them out of trouble or suffered the consequences alone. He never blamed his brother.”

  “Didn’t he?” I found that hard to believe. “Did he never show any resentment towards Claude, who escaped punishment so many times?”

  Alain thought about this. “He never said it in so many words, no. But now that you mention it, I can think of many situations where it was clear that Emad was angry with Claude, but he wouldn’t point any fingers at his brother. So, yes. I suppose Emad did take a lot of blame for Claude’s behaviour.”

  “If he never instigated something, does that mean he always followed Claude?”

  “Oh, yes. Emad was always a follower. Once he was pointed in a direction, he would take initiative to follow through, but he needed guidance.”

  “Or a mentor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is this leading, Doc?” Manny’s frown had deepened with every question I’d asked Alain.

  “If Emad was this strongly influenced by Claude during his childhood, it explains a lot of his behaviour. Without guidance he’s without a purpose.” I looked at the painting. “Sending these paintings could very well have been a cry for help.”

  “What?” Manny snorted.

  “Really?” Alain put his hands on the table and leaned towards me. “He’s asking for help?”

  I swallowed. Four years with Manny and the others and I had finally succumbed to speculating.

  “Just give us your thoughts, love.” Colin took my hand. “It doesn’t have to be without flaw and foolproof.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

  “Well, suck it up, Doc. Is Emad asking for help?”

  It took three deep breaths before I could push the words past my lips. “I would venture it to be so. From our last case we know that Claude was a constant in Emad’s life. He was there to guide Emad even though Emad had a successful career. He most likely depended on Claude’s advice on assignments, cases and people.”

  “Then Claude died,” Alain said softly. “Does Emad not know he still has me?”

  “Did you have a close connection with him?”

  “I want to say yes. God, I really want to say yes.”

  I saw the truth. “You didn’t.”

  “No. We got on very well. We definitely had fewer arguments than Claude and I had, but I never felt that close to him. I always thought it was because he didn’t see me as his real father.”

  “He wouldn’t have been able to accept the guidance of more than one person. It would’ve confused him.”

  “But his brother was only a few years older than him. Definitely not capable of guidance.”

  “And you think that he now feels adrift without a mentor?” Manny slumped deeper into his chair. “You think he used the emails to Daniel and Roxy so we could find him? And he used this app and crap to... what? Give us some clues? A message?”

  “I would feel more comfortable saying that after I’ve spoken to Emad.” I was starting to feel nauseated from the stress of speculating. Even though this was a distinct possibility, I was certain there were nuances to Emad’s behaviour I had yet to uncover.

  “Oh, you’ll get your chance, Doc.” Manny looked at Francine. “You put in those numbers. Where’s the follow-up message?”

  “There is none.” Francine picked up her tablet and tapped the screen a few times. “Yup, nothing at all. Strange.”

  A soft knock drew our attention to the conference room door just as it opened. Tim walked in, his posture straight. His confidence had increased significantly in the last year. “Genevieve, our... um... other guest is demanding to see you.”

  “He’s being difficult?” I saw it in Tim’s micro-expressions.

  “To say the least.” He glanced at Phillip. “What should I do?”

  “Doc? Any more questions here?”

  I took a moment to consider everything Alain had revealed about Emad and Claude, the photo Emad had sent to Alain and the painting on the easel. I got up. “I don’t have any more questions for the moment.”

  Only Phillip and Alain remained seated as we got ready to leave. Phillip put his cup on the tray. “We’ll be here in case you need us.”

  I nodded and left the room, already organising my thoughts to effectively question Emad. I needed to know if I were correct in thinking that he’d deliberately led us to Fradkov’s house. That he had made it easy to track that address. Had he done that because he had wanted us to free him from Fradkov? Or was he pretending to have been an unwilling guest in Fradkov’s house? The many questions floating in my mind were rudely interrupted by a loud argument in front of the conference room where Emad was waiting.

  “What the bleeding hell?” Manny uttered a rude noise and pushed past me to the three men arguing.

  Colin stopped next to me when I decided to wait until Manny had the situation under control. In front of the conference room door, Julien Privott was exhibiting body language more aggressive than I’d seen before.

  His voice changed from an angry whisper to a loud demand. “How dare you prevent me from speaking to Vernet? Do you really want me to pull rank and let the president know that you’re—”

  “Following orders?” Manny stood behind Julien and waited until he turned around. “These GIPN officers are following orders, Privott. You have no rank here. You’re only a little PR person.”

  Colour crept up Julien’s face and his nostrils flared. “Little? Little?”

  “Oh, get over yourself.” Manny looked past Julien at the two GIPN officers from the other team. “Emad is still good?”

  The taller of the two men glanced at the tablet in his hand and tilted it towards Manny. “He’s leaning against the door, trying to hear what’s going on here.”

  “And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to speak to you, Privott.”

  Julien’s bottom jaw moved as if he was chewing something hard. “I just want to protect the president. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “What the bloody hell else do you think we’re doing here?” Manny threw his hands in the air. “We’re trying to find a team member who also advises the president. We’re trying to protect the negotiations with Russia and God knows what else. You’re in the perfect position to screw it all up.” Manny leaned closer to Julien, his eyes narrowed. “Now listen to me, you little PR person. Either you observe quietly or so help me I will make sure you don’t have a job tomorrow.”

  “He really shouldn’t have tried to get into that room without Millard’s say-so.” Colin sounded amused. I glanced at him in surprise. How could he find this entertaining? The amount of animosity being displayed was most disconcerting. I felt a strong urge to escape to the safety of my viewing room.

  “Okay, okay.” Julien held both his hands up, palms out. “You’re right. I should’ve waited for you. But you were taking so long. I need to know what this Fradkov idiot is planning. We can’t risk Russia reneging on the talks. We need to stabilise the current situation and it will only happen if Russia works with us, not against us. We need Emad to tell us everything he knows.”

  “Emad is in there? My son is here?” Alain’s shocked question came from behind me. I turned around to see his face void of colour. “Can I please see him? No. No, I wouldn’t know what to say to him.” A shudder shook his body. “Yet I really want to see him.”

  “I can’t allow that.” Manny shook his head. “Please go back to the conference room.”

  Alain looked at me. “Genevieve? Please? I need to make sure Emad is okay.”

  My immediate reaction was to deny him. Mostly because I didn’t know the legalities involved. But then I thought about it some more. “We might need your help if Emad is not co-operating.”

  “Not co-operating? Oh, please tell me you won’t hurt him.” He pressed both fists hard against his chest.
“I know he’s done a lot of bad... a lot of evil things. But he’s still my son.”

  His distress was visible in every nonverbal cue. “He will not be physically harmed.”

  “Thank you.” He looked back towards the conference room he’d been in, then turned to me. “I... I really want to see him.”

  “You heard what Doc said.” Manny’s tone was gentler. “Wait for us. If we need you, we’ll call for you.”

  We watched as Phillip walked Alain back to the larger conference room. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, Manny sighed heavily. “Okay, Doc. How are we going to do this?”

  “I don’t understand your question. You of all people know how to conduct an interview with a criminal.”

  Manny closed his eyes and rubbed his hands hard over his face. After three slow breaths, he opened his eyes. “How do you suggest we interview him, missy? Should Privott stay outside, should all of us go in, should only you and I do this? I’m asking for your bloody expert opinion.”

  “You weren’t.” I inhaled and held my breath to prevent myself from pontificating. It was hard. Instead I focused on the best way to get as much information from Emad as possible. “Physical intimidation won’t work with Emad. He would respond to authority, so I think Julien should join us.”

  “Who’s us?”

  “You and me.”

  “Then let’s do this.” Manny put his hand on the door handle, but turned to Julien. “You might be the president’s right hand, but here you follow our lead. Got it?”

  Julien raised both hands and nodded. “I’m smart enough to know my strengths, Manny. This is your show.”

  Manny sighed heavily as he opened the door.

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  Emad was sitting at the far end of the conference table. His face was wan, his eyes bloodshot and his hair untidy as if he’d pushed his hands through it numerous times.

  “Where’s Daniel?” Manny pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. If I had not known him well, I might have been convinced that he wasn’t really interested in the answer.