by KJ Kalis
Eli straightened up from the hunched-over position he had taken over each canvas, “Honestly, this would be much easier if we had easels, but at least the light is good.”
Kat looked at the paintings that were spread out on the tables. Some of them were larger than others and although they looked to be from a similar time, the style of each one seemed to be a little bit different. “Are you thinking these belonged to Hailey?”
Eli nodded, “I believe so. Several of these look identical to the ones I spotted in her apartment a few days ago.” He picked up one of the canvases and turned it over, looking at the back, his fingers lightly pressing on the side of the canvas without wrapping his fingers around it. “You’d never know that this was a replica.”
Kat furrowed her brow. She hadn’t noticed when they looked at the artwork while it was in Hailey’s apartment that the back of the work had been altered as well as the front. It looked as though someone had used some sort of solution to age the canvas so that even from the back it would be difficult to tell if it was an original or not. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I mean, these look like the pieces of art we saw at Hailey’s, but I would never know whether this was an original or not.”
Eli smiled. “I will tell you that whoever trained Hailey did an excellent job. I’m not sure who taught her to age the canvas but is done quite masterfully. It’s a shame that she’s no longer with us.” He set the canvas back down on the table and pointed. “See the brushwork and the thin layers of paint? Exceptional...”
Kat nodded. The only thing she had to compare it to was some of the work she had seen in art museums over the years. While Eli continued to look at the canvases, Kat took a deep breath. Her head was swirling. So many things had gone on over the last couple of days. From the time she arrived in Savannah, she hadn’t stopped moving. Now, she was in London, with missing artwork, a dead psychiatrist, and a dog that was alerting on drugs that didn’t seem to be there.
Kat lifted her head and looked around. Eli was still studying the canvases, looking for what, she didn’t know. Henry and James were digging through another one of the crates, unloading more pieces of artwork. She watched Eli scurry across the floor from the tables to where Henry and James were stacking more canvases along the wall. “Careful,” she could hear him say, “We don’t want to damage these pieces.”
Kat chewed her lip, watching the artwork get unloaded, Eli supervising. She still couldn’t quite wrap her brain around what was going on. Why would someone steal student artwork out of an apartment if it weren’t valuable? And, if they were trying to hide drugs, why would they spend the money to ship so many pieces of art? Not to mention, where were the drugs? Kat shoved her hands in her pockets, frustration filling her. There were no drugs. They had searched the boxes from top to bottom, scooping out every single one of the packing peanuts. There was nothing there.
Kat walked over to Eli. “Hey, does this artwork look like Hailey’s, too?”
“Most definitely. It looks like they shipped all the artwork that was in her apartment.” He tilted his head, “it’ll take me a little time to verify this, but that’s what I would guess.”
Henry stepped off to the side and joined Kat, brushing his hands off on his pants. “What do you make of this?” he asked her.
“I’m not sure.”
“The fact that the drug dog alerted on the art is interesting, don’t you think?”
Henry had a way of making something exciting sound completely boring. “Interesting?” Kat said, “Perplexing is probably the word I would use. Henry, nothing about this case fits together.”
“Really? I think it fits together quite nicely.”
“What?” Kat felt a small twinge of anger run through her shoulders. What was Henry trying to say? She knew they had butted heads the last time that she was in London, but how was it that he thought he knew everything that was going on?
Henry raised his eyebrows, “It’s quite brilliant if you ask me.”
Kat shrugged, “All right, what’s your theory?”
“The art forgery business is an enormous one. My guess? Someone saw Hailey’s talent and decided to leverage it for their own good. How the drugs fit in, I’m not sure yet.”
“We didn’t find anything in the crates.”
“I know that.”
“So, why do you think drugs are even part of the equation here?”
“Bear smelled them. I have yet to meet a K-9 that is wrong.”
Kat’s mind drifted to home. Her heart ached for her dogs, Van and Jack. She was on a wild goose chase as far as she could tell because Van wanted to get some sort of a story out of this. She wasn’t sure that was a possibility no matter what Henry said. A little flare of annoyance ignited in her. It was Van’s fault that she was here. That was the challenge when you worked for your husband, she supposed. She pushed the thought aside, “You think this is all about art forgery?”
Henry looked confused for a minute, “You don’t know how big of a business art forgery is?”
Kat shook her head no. She’d been learning on the job. She looked back at Henry, “Wouldn’t someone know that these were student pieces of art?”
Henry shook his head no. “Not necessarily. And if they didn’t figure it out, each piece could be worth hundreds of millions… “
23
Christopher Lavaud leaned back in the chair. He’d arrived in New York having finished his work in Savannah.
He sat in his suite at the St. Regis Hotel. There were times that he chose to stay at smaller, less opulent hotels, but after the last few days, he felt he deserved a higher level of treatment. When he called the hotel, he spoke directly to the manager, someone he had known for ten years. Without any discussion, the hotel had opened up their finest penthouse for him and had it ready when he arrived, a limo moving him from the private airport to downtown, the driver not speaking a word. That was the way Christopher liked it.
He gave a generous tip to the driver and bag man. He knew they would unload his luggage and get it up to his room. The manager, a small man with round glasses, met him in the lobby. “Lovely to see you again, Mr. Lavaud. Here’s your room key. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”
Christopher nodded and walked off. He went directly to the elevator, pressed the button labeled PH, and inserted his key card. The doors closed as the mechanism recognized the permission to go to the penthouse level, a quiet whirring carrying him up to the fourteenth floor.
Christopher got off the elevator, quietly padding down the hallway, the thick carpet cushioning his every step. The doors to the penthouse were at the end of the hallway. He inserted his card in the key slot and heard the door click as it unlocked. He pushed the door open and quickly closed it behind him, in case there were any peering eyes from the other rooms. He hadn’t heard any of the doors creak open as he passed, but you could never be too careful.
He had barely set his wallet down on the top of an antique chest that was right by the door when a soft knock came. Christopher cracked the door, the bellman outside. He only nodded and handed the man another generous tip, quickly closing the door behind him. Christopher was in no mood for visitors.
The St. Regis was one of the oldest and most traditional hotels in New York City. Positioned by Central Park, it was easy to access some of the most notable places in the city just by walking. But that wasn’t why Christopher was in New York. He shook his head and glanced around the penthouse.
The hotel manager had done his job. The penthouse was beautiful, even opulent. A mix of dark and light furniture contrasted with the white walls. Lemon yellow furniture filled the center of the suite, a large couch with loose pillows accented by a claw-footed wooden table that faced a fireplace. Floral rugs dotted the carpeted floors. Just past the couch was a large bank of windows that overlooked the shopping area below. Christopher slid the door open onto the patio and looked down. He could see clusters of people walking up and down the sidewalks going in and out
of some of the boutique shops that flanked the St. Regis. To his left, he could see a large green open space. Though he couldn’t see it, he could smell the scent of the river water, the moisture heavy in the air. He walked back into the suite, sliding the glass door closed behind him. If it had been a little warmer, he probably would have left the door open to get some fresh air after being on the plane, but it was just too cool.
Looking around the suite, Christopher walked back past the couch and to his left, down a short hallway. The unit had two bedrooms and two full bathrooms. It was more like an apartment than it was a hotel room. He cracked the door to the first room, seeing a queen bed, covered in a floral that looks to match the rug that was by the couch. Across the hall, there was a full bathroom, marble from floor to ceiling. He walked down the hall and as it ended, he entered the master suite. The master suite had a king-sized bed covered in a down comforter with six pillows stacked three deep on each side. A small settee had been placed at the foot of the bed, probably to allow people to keep their luggage close by. There was a chair with a footstool positioned diagonally in the corner right next to a door that opened to an enormous closet. Christopher wasn’t staying long enough to fill the closet, but he appreciated the design. The other door inside the master suite led to the master bathroom. Covered in matching marble from the first bathroom, there was an antique tub, a two-person shower with rain effects and a two-person sink. Thick navy-blue towels were hung from hooks nearby along with two white robes.
He walked back out of the master suite and back down the hallway to the living room area. On the opposite side from the bedrooms, there was a full kitchen, a six-person table, and a desk that was built into the wall. Christopher opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. He cracked the top and took a long drink. It always amazed him how dehydrated he was after spending just a few hours on a plane, no matter how much he drank while he was in the air.
He took the green bottle with him and sat on the couch, staring outside. Most of the time, he enjoyed traveling. It was a big part of his life. Having been raised in Paris, moving throughout Europe wasn’t any bigger deal to him than it was for someone in the United States moving from state to state. He enjoyed the changes in culture, the language differences, of which he spoke seven, and the experiences, from the most mundane to the exotic. But this wasn’t a trip where he would get to enjoy any of his interests.
Things had been going well with his art acquisitions until the last few weeks. He sighed, kicking his loafers off and leaving them on the floor. The source that the art professor in Savannah had found for him had been doing great work. All of his customers seemed to be happy with what they had received. If they were happy, he was happy. But then, things changed. The arrangement that he had with his importer got complicated and the girl became demanding. Christopher glanced down at his hand, realizing that he was clenching his fist. He didn’t like complicated deals. In his experience, they generally went bad.
He stood up and started to pace, walking laps back and forth between the couch and the kitchen before deciding to open the door out onto the patio. He walked outside and looked down again. Fourteen floors were high enough up that it gave him a good view, but it didn’t change his circumstances.
Every now and again, Christopher needed to change suppliers. He was constantly developing new contacts in the art world. What he had found about people in art is they either wanted money or fame or both. Appealing to their baser needs generally got him what he wanted. Unfortunately, his main client was giving him a bit of a hard time and he still hadn’t figured out how to completely remove himself from the situation. Eliminating the artist and the psychiatrist had been his first step. Those were solid business decisions. His mind wandered to the boy who had committed the stabbing. Would he talk? Christopher guessed that he wouldn’t. The psychiatrist had told him that the child was badly scarred from the way he’d been raised. And even if he did, who would believe him? The worst that would happen to him is he’d end up in a psychiatric hospital for children. That was probably not the worst outcome for the kid.
Getting rid of the psychiatrist had been an unforeseen issue. He had hoped that a beating would keep him quiet but based on his behavior when the police had arrived at his condo, Christopher knew that it was only a matter of time before Oskar decided to tell all. Not that there was a lot to tell. The local bookie he had cultivated didn’t have Christopher’s name or identity. He’d received instructions from an encrypted chat service that Christopher liked to use and the deposits into a Cayman Islands bank account that would keep him quiet. The money he earned for taking care of the psychiatrist was well more than Oskar owed him and completely covered the risk for him and his team.
Christopher shook his head. His team. Who was he kidding? The local bookie he worked with in Savannah was nothing more than a two-bit criminal with a couple of thugs on his payroll. Christopher had bigger concerns.
The people that Christopher worked with were powerful and influential. Some more than others. Some were downright dangerous. They were people of means. Some decisions they took to better their lives were shady at best. Christopher knew, if he was honest, that he fell into the same camp, but he knew that there was more in it for him than just the money. He enjoyed the strategy and the game. He put both hands on the smooth round metal railing that surrounded the patio and leaned against it. The deals he put together were much like chess matches. In order to win, he needed to be several steps ahead of his opponent. In this case, his opponent had gotten ahead of him. The question was, how would he get the upper hand again? He’d need it if he hoped to stay alive…
24
After spending hours at the customs building, Henry finally took Kat and Eli back to the hotel. “We will revisit this in the morning,” he said. “There’s no point in standing there all night long while they try to figure out the problem. A new shift of agents will take over while you two get some rest.”
As much as Kat wanted to stay to help figure out why the drug dog had alerted on the crates, she was so tired she wasn’t thinking clearly. Once back at the hotel, Kat gave Eli a quick wave as he headed up to his room. She felt restless. A walk and some fresh air would help. The long plane ride and the hours spent in the customs building had drained her.
The area around the hotel had clean sidewalks, trendy restaurants and small boutiques one after the other along the roadway. As Kat started to walk, she realized how narrow the streets were. It was nothing like in the United States, where cars seem to have more room to maneuver. As she walked, she noticed that the cars were parked end-to-end on both sides of the street, hardly giving any room for traffic to pass through. Somehow, it still did. She passed a restaurant and then a bookstore, watching the people as she walked.
Darkness had descended on London, the tall buildings arching up and away from the streets. Streetlights cast a dim glow over the sidewalks, the stores and restaurants that remained open pressing light out from inside of them. As she walked, a man and a woman, their arms linked, passed her. A mom with two young kids holding each of their hands walked by as well. Even though the night was cool, there seemed to be many people out and about. Kat stopped into a souvenir shop that was still open and browsed for a moment, passing t-shirts and tiny replicas of London’s famed double-decker buses. She picked up a t-shirt, some candy and a toy for Jack and Van and quickly paid for them, heading back out of the store, continuing her walk.
As Kat crossed the street, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She quickened her steps and then decided to stop in front of a furniture store that was closed, pretending to peer in the window. It was a basic counterintelligence move that she learned along the way. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted a man wearing a black hoodie and a pair of jeans across the street. He was pretending to look at his phone, but Kat wasn’t sure. A tingle crawled up her spine. She turned and walked back toward the hotel, hoping to be able to get back inside the lobby before the
man could get to her. As she turned, she saw movement. The man had crossed the street and was coming towards her. Kat spun, her heart tightening in her chest, and started walking the other way as quickly as possible. She didn’t know what to do. She was going in the opposite direction of the hotel and had no idea where she was. Without thinking, she stepped out into traffic, almost getting hit by a car, the angry driver laying on the horn. “Sorry, sorry!” she said as she trotted the rest of the way across the street.
At least she was on the same side of the street as the hotel. She glanced back across the street and saw the man weave his way through traffic, moving gracefully. Kat knew she’d never be able to outrun him. She scanned the crowd in front of her, hoping to see a police officer or someone that would help. The few people that had been on the street had all disappeared. Kat was alone. Terror gripped her. Who was this person? Why was he following her?
She turned away and walked faster. As far she could tell, she was probably at least five blocks down from the hotel. Even if she ran, she knew she’d never be faster than the man that was following her.
Kat dodged around a couple walking the other way, her eyes scanning the street. She wanted to turn around and look to see where the man was, but she kept going, afraid to see how close he was.
At the next corner, Kat darted to her right, taking a side street. She started running, hoping she’d be able to dodge into an alleyway before the man found her. Off to her left, she found one. She ran, the smell of rotten trash and urine hitting her nostrils. She didn’t have time to think about the smell. There was a large dumpster, black with a green lid shoved up against the side of the alley. She darted behind it, crouching down to see if the man would find her. Kat’s heart was pounding in her chest and her hands were shaking. She glanced behind her and saw that the alley ended in a brick wall. She was trapped. If the man found her, there was no way out.
