3 The Braque Connection (6 page)

“In your opinion, would you say that these crimes were all committed by different people?” I asked.

Manny took some time to think about this. He looked at the list of names on the computer monitor. “Yes, eight murders committed by eight different killers.”

“Then we should look at the element connecting the killers, not the victims,” I said.

“Mind explaining, please?” Phillip asked.

“Well, it’s logical. The only thing connecting these eight victims of violent crime is the weapon of choice. The questions we should ask are who owned the weapons and where they obtained those weapons. If these weapons were supplied by the same arms dealer, it might take us closer to–”

“Kubanov,” Colin said. “Maybe we should start the investigation with the assumption that everything is connected to Kubanov and look for his connection to the weapons.”

“A valid point,” I said. “The main problem is that in the last six months we have found no concrete evidence pointing to Kubanov being involved in the arms trade. All we have is anecdotal proof. I need more data.”

“The search for cases with similar ballistic profiles is still fresh,” Manny said. “I should get more results today and tomorrow. Then we can separate the wheat from the chaff and get to those cases which are really connected. I’ll have you drowning in data by tomorrow afternoon, Doc.”

For a moment no one spoke. Knowing Manny, his thoughts were consumed with the case. That was why he used two phrases I was not familiar with. I assumed he spoke metaphorically when he promised to drown me in data. I hoped he would keep true to his word.

“I’m going to get started with tracking those emails.” Francine straightened to her full model height. Her standard high heels made her even more eye-catching. “Does anyone have anything else to add? If not, I want to get to my computers.”

“You might want to hear this.” Tension in Phillip’s tone caught my attention. He clenched and unclenched his hands, but caught himself and flattened his palms against his thighs. “I just finished a video conference with Kathleen McCarthy.”

“The owner of the butler house?” Vinnie asked.

“Yes.” Phillip nodded.

“Did you record it?” I asked.

“Already emailed it to you,” Phillip answered. Many times a recording like that had rendered suspicious contradictions in the client’s account of events. Such inconsistencies were easy for me to notice by analysing their body language while being questioned. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she was hiding anything.”

“What did she say?” Manny asked.

“The Braque painting that Colin had stolen from her house–”

“–allegedly stolen,” Colin said, his voice low.

“Allegedly stolen,” Phillip said with a nod. “That specific painting was a forgery.”

“How is that possible?” I asked, ignoring the sharp inhalations of those around me. “The painting was vetted before Rousseau & Rousseau insured it.”

“Apparently, she was in need of some cash flow three months ago, and decided to sell the Braque. She had an interested buyer who insisted on authenticating the painting using his own people. They said it was a brilliant forgery, maybe the best they had ever come across. It was quite a challenge for them to prove that it was not the real Braque.”

“The question is then whether she bought the forgery or whether someone had broken into her house and had replaced the original with the forgery.” Colin frowned. “That also means the butler was killed for a forgery.”

“I looked at her file and went over the provenance information and the authentication certificates.” Phillip pulled at the cuffs of his suit jacket, a gesture belying the confidence in his tone. “I’m as sure as I can be that we insured the original Braque.”

“Which painting of his?” Colin asked.

“The Harbour of Normandy.”

Colin’s expression mirrored mine. Disbelief.

“Just like your Braque.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than Colin’s eyes narrowed. He caught his sharp inhale quick enough to make it almost imperceptible. His exhale was controlled. He was displeased.

“Your Braque? Since when do you own a Braque, Frey?” Manny sat up, his eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry.” I leaned slightly towards Colin. “I didn’t know you didn’t want me to say anything.”

“Say anything about what?” Manny’s voice raised. “Start talking, Frey.”

“Back off, Millard. I was going to tell you in any case.” Colin gave me a half smile. “No harm done, Jenny. After what Phillip just told us, it would’ve been stupid to not consider that painting part of this… I don’t know what this is. A case? A conspiracy? A setup?”

“What about your painting?” Manny enunciated each word as if it were a separate sentence.

“Years ago I painted Braque’s Harbour in Normandy for my safe house. It was one of my best reproductions ever.” There was pride in Colin’s tone. “It had been in my safe house for eight years. Until yesterday. When I saw the Harbour of Normandy hanging in my bedroom, I knew that it was not mine. Someone had replaced my forgery with a lesser forgery.”

“Oh, wow,” Francine said. “Now we have the stolen original, the McCarthy forgery and the safe house forgery. Ooh, it sounds like a delicious conspiracy.”

“Dude, none of this makes sense.” Vinnie’s face twisted in confusion. “Someone breaks into your place to replace your forgery with another forgery. The butler gets killed and a forgery of the exact same painting is stolen. What are the odds?”

“I don’t think such odds are calculable, Vinnie,” I said. “But I think it is safe to say that it is extremely unlikely. This definitely draws a connecting line between the butler and Colin. What that line implies is unclear to me at this moment.”

“Where’s the painting?” Manny asked. “The safe house forgery?”

“With a friend.” Colin’s lips compressed into a thin line. “I’m not telling you where that painting is, Millard. I’m having it checked out. Jenny might not like that we don’t have irrefutable proof, but I’m convinced Kubanov is behind this. That leads me to think that there is a reason he put that forgery in my home and I intend to find out why.”

“Your friend bloody better not be destroying evidence, Frey.”

Colin’s laugh and expression communicated disdain. “I assure you, he’s more skilled than most of your ham-handed CSI-wannabe scientists. If there is any code, any hidden message, anything on that painting, he will find it. He might not be able to interpret it, but if something is out of place, he is the one who will notice it.”

I was leaning back in my chair. Already I had inadvertently broken a confidence. I didn’t want to say anything about the statue that Colin had brought back. It was now up to Colin to share that information with Manny.

Watching Vinnie and Francine’s reactions was interesting though. The lack of surprise and their attempts at looking disinterested indicated they knew who Colin had taken the painting to. I thought it prudent to not verbalise my observations.

“You will keep me updated.” Manny didn’t ask, he ordered.

“Only because you ask so nicely.” Colin’s smile carried no hint of sincerity. “But I do have another little gift for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Remember the Tang Dynasty marble lion?”

“Of course I do. If the ugly thing was not an antique and out of my price range, I would’ve bought it and put it on my mantelpiece.” Manny looked at Phillip. “Frey had that statue in his hands when I arrested his sorry arse. It was like being handed a trophy.”

“Only to have it taken away, old man.” Vinnie shifted against the doorframe. “How did it feel to lose your big prize?”

Manny ignored him. “What do you have for me, Frey?”

Colin swivelled his chair and pulled open one of my drawers. I bit down hard to not lecture him on allocated spaces. We’d had that conversation numerous times, yet he still ignored my requests and used my drawers to store his things. At least he was neat.

“Did you steal that?” Manny’s accusation snapped me out of my irritation. He was staring at Colin holding the statue he had brought from England. It was in a sealed plastic bag.

“I found it in my safe house.” Worry lines formed next to his eyes and on his brow. “As much as we have been investigating Kubanov, he has obviously also been investigating us. He knows more about me than I thought possible. My safe house was a closely guarded secret. Yes, I know you found it, but it wasn’t easy, right?”

Manny nodded.

“If you were able to locate my safe house, I suppose Kubanov could as well. What really chaps my arse is how he knew about this.” Colin shook the statue. He was becoming more agitated. “I certainly never told anyone that I had this in my hand when you arrested me. Can you see where I’m going with this, Millard?”

The tension in the bodies occupying my viewing room elevated to an uncomfortable level. Manny blanched at Colin’s question, his face losing colour. “As much as you annoy the living tar out of me, Frey, I would never sell you out to someone like Kubanov.”

“Oh, I know that.” Colin wasn’t trying to bait Manny as usual. He was controlled, his tone smooth yet threatening. “What I’m wondering is how careless you have been with the information you gathered on me. And don’t pretend that you don’t have a file on me.”

For a long while Manny didn’t answer. His internal struggle was mostly controlled, but I caught glimpses of the micro-expressions revealing the choices he was busy making. I knew he had come to a decision when the
orbicularis oculi
muscles under his eyes contracted and he gave a curt nod.

“I have two files on you.” Gone was the irritation and sarcasm. This was Manny at his professional best. “One is on the Interpol system. It has mostly generic information on you, but nothing that would lead back to your connection to Interpol or to Doc. The other file is only on paper. Those are my notes, newspaper clippings and copies of suspicious reports that I had gathered in the last fifteen years. Some of it might not relate to you, but most of it I’ve come to know was my gut telling me the truth. That file is in a place no one will find or have access to.”

The significance of this moment was not lost on me. Nor on Colin. Manny had surprised us all with this level of trust.

“Have you shown the second file to anyone?” Colin asked after a few moments.

“To me,” Phillip said. A wry smile curved his mouth when everyone turned to him. He looked at me, an unfamiliar apologetic expression lingering. “I pressed Manny with everything I had, even our friendship, to get information on Colin. I knew there was no way to persuade you to not go after that first case with the murdered students. I was horrified when Colin had first broken into your flat and you showed an uncommon interest in working with him. Once Manny knew that Colin was in on the case, I pushed him for assurance. I needed to know you were safe. Seeing the file on Colin satisfied me.”

“Even though you didn’t know he was working for Interpol?”

“I just needed to know there was no violence connected to his crimes.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say.” I really didn’t. I was deeply offended that everyone constantly felt the need to protect me. Yet on an academic level I understood the motivations for their actions were concern and affection. It left me conflicted.

“It was an irresponsible move, Millard.” Disapproval depressed the corners of Colin’s mouth. “Who else had access to this file? Someone must have seen your personal notes and used this against me.”

“No one else ever saw that file and we both know that Phillip would never put Doc’s life in danger by revealing my notes. But let’s not continue arguing this point. What do you want me to do with that statue?”

Colin stared at Manny until the slight relaxation of his mouth told me he had decided to not pursue this issue any further. “Give it to your forensic guys to analyse.”

Manny cleared his throat. “My ham-handed CSI-wannabe scientists? Why won’t you give it to your criminal friend?”

“Firstly, he’s not a criminal. Secondly, he owes me only one favour. And lastly, his forte is in paintings, not sculptures.” Colin handed the statue over to Manny.

“It looks like the real thing.” He turned it over and weighed it in his open palm. “This doesn’t feel like it. I’ll get it to the lab.”

Colin, Manny and Phillip started discussing the different forensic tests needed to analyse the statue. I lost interest and turned to my computer. I wanted to analyse the information Manny had emailed me. I had an overwhelming number of questions and limited information—information that only led to more questions
.

Chapter SIX

“Twenty-seven? In the last twenty months? Isn’t that a lot?”

“I won’t be surprised if there are more, Doc.”

I had spent the rest of yesterday afternoon sifting through the information from Francine, Manny and Phillip. I had also spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the tattoo on my arm, hating the violation of my person. I had barely sat down with my coffee five minutes ago when Manny had barged into my viewing room and ordered me to open a folder on the server our team shared.

I lifted my coffee mug and took a blissful sip. With Colin’s influence, Phillip had invested in a new coffee machine. Not only was the machine superior, but the coffee beans Colin brought were of the highest quality.

“Doc, are you listening?” Manny hovered next to me, agitated. He pulled a chair closer and fell into it. Only now did I see him holding a few printed pages. “I need your full high-IQ attention here. I got most EU countries to cooperate. I even got the FBI to hand over files on cases with similar ballistic evidence. I spent the whole evening eliminating cases that were not related.”

“How sure are you they are not related to the butler?”

“I’ve been doing this job for longer than you’ve been alive, missy.”

“That is a gross embellishment. If you have been working as a detective for thirty-four years, then you must be at least fifty-three. You are forty-eight, far too young to make an outrageous statement like this.” My voice tapered off at the end. Manny’s expression was informing me that I had overstepped the line. “You were just trying to make a point that you have much more experience than me and therefore are more equipped to make informed judgements on the relevance of a case.”

“Now she’s telling me what I was saying,” Manny said, looking at the ceiling and breathing heavily through his nose. He dropped his head and glared at me. “Hellfire, you can test a man’s patience. May I continue now with the cases, missy? Good. As with the first eight cases I had found, these are different in most ways. The demographics of the victims vary far too much to find a pattern. Most of the victims are from a lower income class.”

The glass doors between my viewing room and the team room whooshed open and Colin walked in, followed by Vinnie. The latter stopped just inside my room and leaned against the door. It always appeared as if he wanted as much distance between him and Manny as possible. Colin walked closer, carrying his coffee mug. “Morning, Millard.”

“Frey. I was just telling your girlfriend here about the twenty-seven cases I think are related to the butler’s case. It’s on the server, so you can read all the details, but the gist of it is that there is no connection. These victims are worlds apart. There are three unemployed men, two of whom are suspected to have organised crime ties. Julie Sim was a woman who owned a small bodega in Miami and had no criminal ties at all. She wasn’t Hispanic, so I don’t quite know how she came to own a bodega.”

“My God, you are small-minded.” Colin sat down on his chair, shaking his head. “Being Hispanic is not a requirement for owning a store.”

“Hmm. Well, Lesley Roberts and Rita Freudenberg were working-class people without any direct connection to any criminal activities. Jason Brat, Kenny DuRand and Alex Reed were US citizens with close connections to the drug world. Apart from the butler, there were only three others from the shiny side of the tracks. That would be the rich neighbourhoods, Doc. There was J Conner Beatty, a plastic surgeon, Jennifer Hymes, an executive, and Susan Kadlec, a professor of art history from a university in Prague.”

Had I not grown bored with the recital of names and looked at Colin, I might not have caught the micro-expressions tightening the muscles around his eyes and mouth. First there was shock, immediately followed by deep grief. He had known Professor Kadlec. After yesterday’s mistake of speaking too fast, I bit down on the inside of my lips to prevent myself asking him about it.

Manny hadn’t noticed anything, still looking at the list in his hands. “Then there was Dakhota Wilson living in Spain. The detectives were convinced that her spouse had her killed.”

“A spouse assassination?” Vinnie’s tone indicated humour. “What did she do? Burn the rice?”

“She married a much younger man, then lost all her money in a bad investment the young gent had suggested after they immigrated to Spain.” The corners of Manny’s lips turned down. “He most likely told her he loved her and that she was beautiful no matter her age. She desperately wanted to believe him and gave in to that need. He used her for her money and just before she went bankrupt had her killed. The insurance payout was over three million dollars.”

“Why so sour, old man?” Vinnie’s smile attempted innocence. It failed. “Did one of your previous wives try to off you?”

Manny glared at Vinnie. “I don’t have time for you today, criminal. One of these days though. One of these days it will be you and me.”

“I still maintain that we have to find the murderers,” I said, hoping to avoid another one of their petty arguments. “The strongest common factor here is the ballistic evidence, the weapons they used. It is therefore safe to infer that the supplier of these weapons might be someone we would do well to find. The best way to do that is to speak to the killers. But first we have to find them.”

Manny snorted and lifted the printed pages. “Seriously, Doc? You want us to solve twenty-seven murders?”

“Yes.”

Manny waited. When I didn’t elaborate, he rolled his eyes. “These cases have been thoroughly investigated. They are unsolved cases because there was not—”

“Did you only look for unsolved cases?” I asked, not caring about his weak arguments.

“Yes.”

“What if a case with ballistics like this was solved? What if more than one case were solved? What if these killers are in prison? We will be able to interview them immediately and possibly find a link. No, not possibly. I’m convinced we will find a link.”

Manny was quiet for a moment. “You are right, Doc. I will get onto that right now. Although I don’t have high hopes. I had put out a request to the law enforcement agencies for cases that fit our profile, and I only got cold and unsolved cases.”

“Look again. I don’t have as many years’ experience as you, but one thing I do know is that there are many simpleminded criminals. It is unlikely that if we have twenty-seven unsolved crimes committed with these types of guns, there aren’t at least three or four killers from other cases who got caught.”

“Right. I’ll get onto that.”

“Was there anything in these cases that had a connection to Kubanov or any of his people?” Colin asked.

“I ran all of the names we found in the last six months against these cases and came up empty. Nada. Nothing. No connection.”

“We have to find the killers.” Even though I hated repeating myself, this was one instance when it seemed necessary. “If you don’t have anything else of value to add, leave me alone to look into these unsolved murders. I’m confident I will find something the detectives have missed. Something that will lead us to the killers.”

“Go nuts, Doc. It’s your party.”

I frowned. “There isn’t a party. I never have a party. I prefer to celebrate my birthday quietly.”

“Wait. What?” Francine stormed into the room. She must have been listening from the other side of the open door. “You never have a party? Never? Not even for your birthday?”

I slowly moved my head from left to right in negation. Her strong reaction and the expressions of sadness and pity surprised me. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Everyone should celebrate their birthday with their friends and family.”

“My parents wouldn’t agree with you.” It had only taken one disastrous birthday party at the age of five for my parents to declare an embargo on future celebrations. “They believed one should never show such narcissism.”

“Is that what you believe?” Francine demanded.

I gave it some thought. “No, I suppose not. Since I didn’t grow up celebrating my birthday and never had friends, I just never had the need for something as frivolous as that.”

“Frivolous? Frivolous?” Francine flapped her manicured hands around. “This cannot be allowed.”

“Do you have something to report, supermodel?” Manny’s exasperated question thankfully interrupted her rant.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Like a chameleon, she changed from dramatic woman to sleek hacker. I recognised that look. “I managed to track the emails Genevieve sent to herself. It was done from a 4G device. The good thing about 4G is that it is IP-based. The bad thing about this specific 4G device… well, they managed to mask their IP address.”

“Can you trace the device?” Manny frowned. “Do you know what device she used?”

“I can’t tell if it was a laptop, tablet or smartphone.” Francine uttered an unfeminine, but decidedly frustrated sound. “The other bad news is that the device is no longer switched on. I can’t trace it.”

“So you have squat.”

“No, I don’t. Okay, maybe I have squat from the emails, but I did clean up the photos Genevieve took.” She nodded at my computer. “I emailed it to you.”

I opened my email, clicked on the attachments and brought both photos onto the monitors. I squinted at the photo with the two out-of-focus shapes, then the one with the blueprint. “It still looks like nothing.”

“That’s not nothing, Jen-girl.” Vinnie stepped away from the door and walked closer to the monitors. “That is a blueprint for a gun.”

“What kind of gun?” Manny asked.

Vinnie took his time to answer. “I can’t tell. The photo doesn’t give enough detail. It is definitely a handgun.”

“Bloody hell.” Manny rubbed the back of his neck. Any further comment was interrupted by the ringtone of his smartphone. He took it from the inside pocket of his jacket and scowled at the screen. “I have to take this outside.”

Without waiting for a reply he left through the wooden door to the hallway. If he avoided the team room, this call had to be confidential in nature.

“Girlfriend, you and I are going to sit down and have a good talk about parties. Don’t think I’m going to forget about this.” Francine muttered a few more things under her breath as she folded her arms across her chest.

I knew she was going to follow up on this topic. I was not looking forward to it. I turned to Vinnie, who was still studying the blueprint photo. “What else can you tell me about the photo?”

“Not much.” The micro-movement of the muscles around his mouth and eyes and the slight lifting of his shoulder alerted me to the lie. He had a suspicion, but didn’t want to share it. After some thought I decided to give him the time or space he needed to process his thoughts. I knew he would share important thoughts or findings.

“Was this the best you could do with the other photo?” Colin asked, looking at the two indistinct shapes. “Any idea what this is?”

“To be honest, I spent more time cleaning up the blueprint photo. I might be able to clean this one up some more. There seem to be some shapes far in the distance.”

I turned to her. “Please try to get as much as you can from this photo. I don’t know if I took the photo because there is significance in it, or because I had some other reason in my drugged state.”

“I’ll get right on it.” She winked at me and walked to the team room with strides that had turned many heads in the streets. Vinnie mumbled an excuse and followed her, the doors sliding shut behind him. He was planning something. I knew him well enough to recognise the signs. I could only hope he would remember to stay safe.

The sudden quiet in my viewing room was welcome. Colin was busy with an instant messenger chat at his desk and I had time to think. I looked down at my arm, considering my next step. It was hard to look at the intricately drawn symbols on my skin and not give in to the almost crazed compulsion to remove it. Even if it meant removing my skin.

At least twenty minutes passed as I stared at my arm until my eyes lost focus. And that was when I saw it. Cleverly hidden in the whorls were numbers. I grabbed a pen and wrote down the numbers in the order they appeared on my skin.

“What have you got, Jenny?” Colin sat down next to me and put his smartphone on my desk. For once I didn’t complain. This was more intriguing.

“Numbers.” I wrote down the last two numbers and shoved my arm at him. “Look.”

He took my arm with both his hands, tilting it back and forth. “I don’t see it. Show me.”

With my index finger, I followed the lines of each number as I pointed them out. “See, this is a five, this a seven, this nine.”

We looked at my arm in silence. Altogether there were twelve numbers.

“Another code?” Colin asked, still holding my arm.

“Undoubtedly.”

“The results are in.” Manny came in from the team room and stopped when he saw Colin and I bent over my arm. “I hope you two are not snogging. Please tell me you are inspecting that tattoo.”

“We are.” I pulled my arm free from Colin’s hands and showed it to Manny. “There are numbers here.”

A few long strides and Manny was in front of me. He made a growl-like noise when I wouldn’t let him touch me. He leaned in to look as I showed him the twelve numbers.