I was pretty proud of the program, and even Mom hadn’t found a way to compromise it, though she did figure out a way to avoid it after playing with it for six months. Other than my network, and Mom’s and Dad’s, AIC and a bank in Toronto were the only clients I’d installed it for. Needless to say, I’d switched my main accounts to that bank.
Chung came in around noon, wandering into the old conference room I used as an office. He looked around at the schematics and printouts piled on various tables, and the electronic equipment and cabling strewn about.
“Jeffrey Sanderson,” Chung said without preamble. “We seriously looked at him for a heist in Vancouver about five years ago. He was questioned in regard to a burglary seven years ago in Romania.” He shrugged. “No follow up in either case. Other than proximity, the investigators didn’t see any reason to suspect him.”
“Were the goods recovered in either case?” I asked.
“No.”
“And that’s all you have on him?”
“Afraid so.” He looked at me and I thought I saw a twinkle in his eye. “Except for his connection to Karl Nyquist.”
I had no idea who that was. “Who is?”
“Sanderson’s brother-in-law. Conviction for a jewelry robbery. He was questioned in regard to the robberies in Vancouver and Romania, but no one saw a link between him and Sanderson. The wedding to Sanderson’s sister came later. He lives here in Chicago, too.”
He dropped into a chair. “Libby, how many people do you think it took to pull this off?”
It was something I’d thought about a lot. “It could have been one person and a driver, but more realistically, I think two to three inside, plus the driver. Five framed paintings are too much for one person to carry. Hauling them downstairs and outside one by one would take too long.”
He nodded, looking thoughtful. “And where would you stash them?”
“A self-storage unit rented by someone who wasn’t involved. The chances that Sanderson has them in his garage are nil. Even an amateur would be too afraid to do that, and from what we’ve learned, Sanderson is no amateur.”
“Someone who wasn’t involved? I’m not following you.”
I grinned. “A friend of a friend has a storage unit. ‘Can I store a small package for a month? I’ll give him a case of beer.’ People at your level always complicate things. Five university students might share a storage unit over the summer.”
Chung’s countenance cleared. “Ah, I see. Of course.”
“You might check on all of their relatives.”
Chapter 21
Nothing happened for a couple of days on the robbery or murder fronts, so I got a lot of work done at the museum. I called Wil and set up a meeting with him and one of his cybersecurity experts for the following Monday to review and sign off on the work completed so far.
Wil called me back less than half an hour later.
“Chung’s French friends showed up at Margarita Martinez’s home about five minutes ago. Didn’t you say you’d planted a bug there?”
“In her office. I’ll check the feed.”
“I’ll be by to pick you up in half an hour,” he said and hung up. His office was downtown, and AIC would be on his way if he planned to go out to Margarita’s house.
I logged in to my network and checked the feed from the bug in her office. Right off the bat, I heard people speaking in French.
“Monsieur Hollande is impatient,” a man’s voice said. “Need I remind you that he paid a good faith fee, and he’s beginning to wonder if you are acting in good faith.”
Margarita replied in the same language, but her French wasn’t that good, and she spoke it with a Spanish accent. “There are complications.”
“The complications are entirely on your end,” the man said. I thought it was Carpentier. “Do you have the paintings, or not? Our understanding was that you hired the extraction team, not the people at the museum.”
“I don’t have the painting,” she said. “Look, give me until tomorrow night and I can get the Degas for you.”
“And the Monet?” a second man’s voice said. That confirmed the men’s voices for me. The second man was definitely Maillard.
“That is promised elsewhere. As with your patron, a good faith fee was paid for the Monet.”
“That is unfortunate,” Carpentier said. “Perhaps that deposit could be refunded.”
“I can’t do that,” Margarita said. “Edouard, surely you see why I can’t. No one would ever deal with me again. Even Monsieur Hollande would no longer trust me.”
Soft mutterings between the two men followed, and even turning up the volume as far as I could, I could only make out a word here and there.
“The Degas. Tomorrow. Where?” Carpentier asked.
“Hi. You ready to go?” Wil’s voice sounded, too loud, almost next to me. I about jumped out of my skin.
“Shhh!” I waved my hand at him and pointed to my computer. It was too late. I’d missed it. Wil sat next to me, and we listened to the end of the conspirators’ conversation, then I backed the recording up to the point where Wil walked in.
“…dinner at the Shoreside Hotel,” Margarita’s voice said. “Only Edouard. Eight o’clock.”
I reversed the recording a little more, but we had the important part.
“Is there any reason to go out to her place?” Wil asked.
“Now? No.” I put my fingers on his lips as I saw the bug was starting to record again. I switched from the recording to the live feed and heard Margarita start to speak again.
“Jeff? We need to meet,” she said. We weren’t able to hear the other side of the conversation. “Lunch, tomorrow at the Shoreside Hotel. Dress appropriately.”
The ensuing silence extended long enough that I assumed she had hung up.
“So, what do you make of that?” Wil asked.
I thought about it for a bit. “I think you should check and see if she reserves a room there.”
His eyebrows rose, then he smirked and nodded. “I shall do that.”
I wandered down the hall to the suite of offices the insurance company had commandeered and told Myron Chung about the new developments.
We talked about the various strategies available. I was especially curious if he planned on going after Georges Hollande. I was familiar with Alonzo Donofrio, head of the largest crime family in Toronto. Actually, a little too familiar. Alonzo scared me spitless. So, I was curious if one of the largest insurance companies in the world felt tough enough to take on the mob.
Chung gave me one of his twinkle-eyed half smiles and leaned back in his chair. I seemed to be a source of constant amusement to him.
“I’m going to tell you something, and I’ll deny to my grave that I ever said it.”
I felt my eyes widen a bit and sat on the edge of my seat waiting.
“North American Insurance does enough business with Monsieur Hollande’s various companies that covering a loss of this magnitude isn’t worth antagonizing him.”
I snorted out a laugh and Chung’s smile widened into a toothy grin.
Curious that Wil hadn’t joined us, I headed back to my office. Wil was just hanging up the phone when I arrived. He was animated, excited.
“I’ve got it all set up,” he said. “We’ll take them all down.”
“Huh?”
“The SWAT team will be in place when Sanderson shows up. We’ll recover the painting and arrest him and Martinez. Then, when the Frenchman shows up later, we’ll pull a sting on him and arrest him, too.”
I stared at him. Speechless.
“What?” he asked. I guess he noticed me staring at him with my mouth hanging open.
I pulled it together. “Ya know, sometimes I find myself thinking that you’re a rational, intelligent human being. And then you remind me that you’re a cop.” His face fell. “Why didn’t you come with me to talk to Chung?”
“I had things to do. To organize the bust.”
Big sigh. “Did S
anderson steal your lunch money?” I asked. “Is Martinez planning on selling something the Chamber is responsible for?”
His brow wrinkled as he tried to figure out what I was getting at.
“Wil, this isn’t the Chamber’s business. AIC and North American are calling the shots because it’s their painting. Their money. Have you forgotten the other five artworks? If you bust everyone, those are gone forever.”
He sort of shook his head and then said, “I figured once we have them, they’ll tell us where the rest of the paintings are.”
“And why would they? Even if you put them in prison for a couple of years, they’ll have millions waiting for them when they get out. Cancel the damned SWAT team and come down to Chung’s office. Let him explain how he wants to run this thing.”
Jeffrey Sanderson walked through the lobby of the Shoreside Hotel and into the dining room. The maître d’ led him to Margarita Martinez’s table.
The audio from the bug planted under the table was as clear as if we were sitting there with them.
“So, what’s this about?” Sanderson asked.
“Order your lunch first, then we’ll talk.”
The waitress took their orders, and as she walked away, Margarita said, “The buyer has sent people to take the Degas. I need you to bring it here this afternoon.”
“Only the Degas?”
“Come, now. You aren’t an amateur. These things take time, but if they’re done properly, they are very lucrative.”
Margarita placed her purse on the table and dug around in it, pulling out a small mirror, her car keys, and an envelope. She checked her makeup and her hair, then put the mirror and her keys back in her purse.
“There’s half a million on the card,” she said. “That should buy a little patience. You’ll get the other half for that painting after the buyer pays me.”
“That will help,” Sanderson said. “You understand, it’s not me that’s pushing.”
“I don’t care who it is. It’s not professional, Jeff. Choose your help a little better.”
From my place in the corner, my form blurred into the wall behind me, I saw Sanderson color a little.
“So, bring it where?” he asked.
“Room 332. The key is in the envelope with the credit card. Put it in the closet, close the door, and lock the room. Leave the key card.”
He nodded.
They ate their lunch, she paid the check, and they left.
I followed Sanderson. He walked toward his car in the parking lot, and I walked around the corner of the building. Mike had the car door open. I got in, closed the door, and unblurred my form.
“You planted the tracker on his car?” I asked.
“Yes, and the bug inside the car. We were trained by the same guy, remember?”
I felt my face warm. “Sorry. I’m used to working alone. I feel a little antsy about things I haven’t done myself.”
He chuckled. “No problem. Better to double check than miss something.”
Sanderson pulled out of the parking lot and dialed his phone.
“Hi, it’s Jeff,” we heard from our speaker. “Meet me at Karl’s house and bring the package marked five.” Silence for over a minute. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got money for you. Stop your bitching. Yeah, now. I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”
Mike and I exchanged looks.
“Damn,” I said. We were hoping that Sanderson would lead us to the paintings. Instead, it sounded as though one of his pals would retrieve the Degas from its hiding place.
I called Chung and told him our news.
“Such is life,” he said. “We’ll put Karl and the third person under surveillance. I’ve had cases that took ten years to make this kind of progress.”
All that comment did was make me feel young and inexperienced.
The tracker on Sanderson’s car meant we could hang way back and avoid detection. His car finally stopped moving in the same general area as his own house. We drove down the street and saw his car parked in the driveway of a house in the middle of the block. I checked the address.
“Mike, that’s Karl Nyquist’s house. Sanderson’s brother-in-law.”
“I hope you remember all this for the future,” Mike said. “Chung has been on target.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. Remind me not to steal any art insured by North American.”
Mike laughed.
I morphed into Jasmine, and he dropped me off on the next block. I walked into the alley and blurred my form. The neighborhood reminded me a little of where I lived in Toronto. Townhouses on tiny lots with minimal yards. These were a little older and more rundown than mine was. The problem was the lack of room for error. Neighbors everywhere, and very close. For all I knew, twenty people saw me change and then disappear.
Six-foot-high fences separated the houses on both sides from the alley. I made my way to the back of Nyquist’s house and pulled myself up so I could see inside the yard. Everything looked quiet. If I didn’t know Sanderson had gone inside, I wouldn’t have known anyone was home.
I slid over the fence and hugged it as I made my way around the yard to the house. I stuck a microphone on the window and turned it on.
“So, this is all the money we’re going to get?” I heard a male voice ask.
“Naw, that’s just the money for the first painting. We’ll get paid for each one as she gets them sold,” Sanderson said.
“Hell, I can live with that,” the man said. “Damn, Jeff, that’s a million credits for all of them.”
“I told you this gig would pay good,” Sanderson said.
“So, when Donny gets here, what happens next?”
“We give him his money and get rid of him, then you and I take the painting to a hotel and leave it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Short and simple.”
Twenty minutes later, Mike’s voice sounded in my ear. “A van just pulled up in front of the house. Must be Donny.”
Through the bug, I heard the doorbell ring inside the house. People greeted each other, then they all trooped out to the van and transferred something into Nyquist’s van. What I couldn’t hear, Mike described it to me. He was parked a block away, watching through binoculars.
I waited until the three men came back into the house.
“Here’s your money,” Sanderson said.
“Damn, a hundred thousand credits. Jeff, I’ve never seen that much money in my life.”
“It’s only the beginning,” Sanderson said. “Just hang on and be patient. There’s more where that came from.”
I climbed the fence back into the alley and made my way to the street where Mike picked me up. We drove around the corner as Donny’s van pulled away from the curb. We followed him, and I called Wil to tell him the painting would soon be heading toward the hotel.
Donny drove to a bar.
Mike parked the car at the far end of the parking lot and turned to me. “Well?”
I shrugged. “I never really saw him. Tell me about him.”
Mike brought out his phone and showed me a picture. “Early to mid-thirties, shorter than either Sanderson or Nyquist, slender.” Donny looked as though he might be Hispanic or Italian. Maybe another Mediterranean ethnic group. Dark hair and mustache, olive complexion. One of the pictures included his left hand and he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“I’ll let him get a couple of drinks in him,” I said. “What do you think? Blonde, brunette or redhead?”
He thought about it. While we were waiting, a car drove up. Two women who looked to be Hispanic in their mid-twenties got out and went into the bar. I took careful note of how they were dressed.
Mike shrugged. I shrugged and turned the rearview mirror so I could see myself. I decided on five-foot-five. Straight black hair pulled into a high ponytail. Olive complexion with high cheekbones and a cupid’s bow mouth. Brown eyes. Slender with a bubble butt and boobs that were prominent but not too large. A sleeveless white wrap blouse, s
kintight coral Capri pants, and black four-inch stilettos. I imaged more makeup than I would ever wear. When I finished, I looked at Mike.
“What do you think?”
He was staring at me with his mouth open. “Holy Mother of God,” he breathed. I didn’t know he was religious. I also realized that he’d never seen me build a persona, only morph to Jasmine and back to myself.
“It’s not real,” I said. “It’s just an illusion. I can’t really see it all, so when I get out of the car, let me know if anything looks weird. You know, like I have my ass on crooked or something.”
He barked a laugh and then chuckled.
I had to hold the image of the person I wanted to be in my mind, the whole image, from every angle. Then I projected it and pretty much forgot about it. I didn’t have to spend much conscious thought to maintain it as long as I stayed awake.
Picking up my purse, I got out of the car, turned a pirouette, and walked back and forth a couple of times. Mike grinned and gave me a thumbs up.
“Wish me luck.” I strutted around the corner and headed for the bar’s entrance.
Inside, I looked around as my eyes adjusted. As I expected, it was a dive bar, but a clean one. The smell of Mexican food caused my stomach to grumble. Other than the bartender and a waitress, I counted twenty people, and the place could have held five times more. Donny sat at the bar, flirting with the two women I’d seen walk in.
I had an advantage, and I knew it. There wasn’t any reason to build a realistic persona. Beautiful was the default. I pulled myself onto a barstool and ordered a margarita, inwardly chuckling at the irony.
“I haven’t seen you in here before,” the bartender said as he looked me over.
“I’m in town visiting my cousin and her husband. She said this place is okay.” I didn’t try to fake an accent. I spoke classroom Spanish, but there wasn’t a chance I could fool a native speaker.
“Where are you from?”
“Atlanta.” Much safer than Dallas. They would expect me to speak Spanish if I was from Dallas.
Chameleon Uncovered Page 17
