Art and Murder (2 page)

In Paris, France, it was ten-twenty-five in the morning, nine hours ahead of Vancouver time, when Kerin Bastion ordered a coffee. It was only ten degrees Celsius, but the sun shone in a clear blue sky, giving a feeling of warmth and optimism.

Kerin was particularly optimistic, albeit nervous, as he looked out the café window. He was on the most exciting case of his career in the seven years he had been with the Police nationale, and today would be a pivotal moment in the investigation.

Three months earlier he had been selected to go undercover. The French judiciary had only recently approved the use of an undercover agent, or
agent provocateur,
as a lawful means to collect evidence.

Unlike North America, where criminals were familiar with undercover tactics, the criminals in France were naive by comparison. The top echelon of the Police nationale hoped to take advantage of the situation.

To impress their political watchdogs, the Police nationale picked an impressive target to illustrate the benefit of such a tool. An international crime ring had operated out of several European countries for years. Its members were known to have committed armed robberies of jewellery stores, armoured trucks, financial institutions, and various other businesses.

The crimes were often investigated as individual cases, and many jurisdictions had not come to realize the big picture. When the police did pick up their scent, the criminals moved elsewhere and were usually forgotten when more active cases surfaced.

Over the years arrests had been made, but only of low-end criminals who had contracted their talents out to the gang. Efforts to find where the stolen goods were going or identify the real bosses had met with little success — until recently.

A year earlier a French informant managed to ally himself with some local criminals associated with the gang. It was this informant who alerted the police that they were dealing with an international crime ring.

The informant said the criminal empire was not large. Perhaps fewer than fifty people, counting the street criminals who worked for the gang in different countries. He said the criminals he met in Paris were controlled by a man by the name of Roche Freulard. He was also told that Roche had a boss whose real identity was unknown to any of the local criminals.

Four months ago the informant was invited to a party and had a chance to meet Roche. What caught the rapt attention of the police was the informant's telling them that one thug at the party let it slip that the gang was responsible for the high-profile murder of an art collector, and also that some of the stolen paintings were for the personal gallery of Roche's boss.

A couple of months before that, a respected and well-known art collector in Paris by the name of Philippe Petit had been found bludgeoned to death in his home. Seven of his paintings were stolen, but to date none had been located.

Two days after the party, both the informant and the thug who'd let the information slip were found shot to death in an alley.

That action prompted a premature start to Kerin's undercover assignment, even though it would be another two months before judicial approval was officially given.

Kerin managed to befriend Roche by passing himself off as a high-class criminal who operated a car-theft ring that moved stolen cars, as well as other merchandise, around the world. When Roche asked
what
other merchandise, Kerin smiled and twirled a diamond ring around his finger. It was enough to bait the hook.

Roche began to confide in Kerin more and more with the idea of bringing him into the gang as an equal. He spoke of working for someone he referred to as the Ringmaster. Kerin had laughed at the title, but Roche shrugged it off. He said they were like a circus, with multiple troupes playing in different countries and moving frequently. He said the secrecy of their identities helped keep them safe from the police. That and using disposable phones.

“And do you have a title?” Kerin asked.

“Actually, I do,” Roche replied. “I'm known as the juggler, or sometimes the French juggler
.
I'm responsible for recruiting people to do the dirty work, as well as looking after the distribution of the goods in France. Sometimes I need to store them until it is safe, while other times the situation calls for a speedier distribution.”

“Hence the juggling act,” Kerin said. “Are there many jugglers in your, uh, company?”

“It varies. At the moment, there are five of us, counting my brother.”

“Anton is a juggler?” Kerin was surprised. “You once mentioned he was a cabinetmaker.”

“You've got a good memory,” Roche noted. “Yes, it is a recent development that he was brought into the fold.”

“I see.”

“Keep what I told you in confidence,” warned Roche. “The Ringmaster and the jugglers meet once a year to go over what we have done and see what we can do to help each other. That meeting should be happening soon. If you are accepted, you will meet the others then.”

Kerin smiled.
That is an opportunity I don't want to miss.

Despite Roche's apparent trust, Kerin was still subjected to an electronic search for hidden transmitters once in a while. Roche would apologize each time and say he was simply following procedure. As a result, Kerin never wore a transmitter, but meticulously made notes of all his conversations with Roche immediately afterwards.

Recently Roche had mentioned that the Ringmaster's birthday was coming up, so Kerin gave him a gold watch to pass along, acting like it was a trivial item. The truth was, the cost of the watch had cut a big hole in the investigative funds allotted.

The watch had a dual purpose. Besides gaining the favour of the Ringmaster, the watchband had a unique pattern of gold and silver. Unique enough, Kerin had convinced his bosses, that the man wearing it might be spotted and thus identified.

Unfortunately subsequent surveillance of Roche did not identify anyone wearing the watch, but today Kerin had a chance to please his disgruntled bosses back at headquarters.

A week ago Roche said he thought he might be garnering police attention. Kerin expressed concern, knowing full well that surveillance teams were targeting Roche. Fortunately it had an unexpected benefit. Roche blamed the police attention on the informant, who had allied himself to the gang and had been murdered prior to Kerin's arrival. He then asked Kerin if he would be interested in temporarily replacing him as a safety precaution and suggested Kerin might be able to use his own connections to move stolen goods.

Kerin could barely contain the exhilaration he felt. He remained silent.

“I have heard that many stolen cars from Europe or North America end up in Arab countries,” Roche said. “Is that true?”

“My best clients happen to be Arab,” Kerin replied.

“Those are countries where we would like to expand. Are you willing to help?”

Kerin hesitated, pretending to consider the offer.

“I can assure you that you will be well paid,” Roche said.

“Well paid?”

“Contingent upon your meeting with the Ringmaster for final approval.”

“I see.”

“Are you interested?” Roche prodded him.

“Yes, it sounds like it could be beneficial.”

Kerin was told that he would only meet the Ringmaster face to face once. After that, all communication would be made through Roche. Subsequent arrangements were made for Roche to meet Kerin today at a café, where he'd introduce the Ringmaster.

It was deemed unlikely that the Ringmaster would say anything to Kerin about the murders during the meeting, but identifying the Ringmaster would be a big step forward in the investigation. Once that was done, physical and electronic surveillance could be utilized, along with whatever other police investigative means were needed.

* * *

Kerin was pleased when he saw Roche parking his black Peugeot in front of the café, and a moment later greeted him when he walked inside. Roche declined to sit down and told Kerin that they would walk to another location to meet the Ringmaster.

A half-hour stroll later, they came to a park. During the stroll, Kerin had caught the occasional glimpse of his long-time partner, Maurice Leblanc, who followed on the sidewalk across the street.

Maurice was a tall, slender man with a black Fu Manchu moustache that grew to the bottom of his jaw. Kerin grinned to himself when he imagined that moustache twitching as it always did when Maurice was worried.
It's okay, Maurice, the meeting is still on.

Kerin caught the odd glimpse of other colleagues. They had divided up their eight-person surveillance team, leaving drivers in four cars while the others followed on foot. Two of the team members who'd been in the café switched back to their cars.

Once at the park, Roche received a call. After hanging up, he said, “The Ringmaster is coming, but is nervous about meeting you. I need you to answer a question.”

Kerin frowned. “What?”

“We can walk around the park as we talk,” Roche suggested.

Kerin fell in step with Roche. and waited for him to speak. Finally, Roche asked, “Where do you come up with your stolen property?”

Kerin stopped and faced Roche. “Jesus! You're asking me about that again? I told you about one of the heists in advance!” In reality, the heist was not genuine but a ruse to gain Roche's trust. A co-operative jeweller had agreed to say he was robbed and the police had released a fake news release.

Roche gave a sympathetic smile. “Do not be angry with me, my friend. I trust you completely — otherwise you would not be here. That was simply a question I was told to put to you. The Ringmaster will be along shortly. Please be patient.”

Kerin nodded, unaware that the Ringmaster was already watching with binoculars. Every look and gesture Kerin made was being closely scrutinized.

In the hotel room in Vancouver, Brandy sat up after Klaus had flung her onto the bed. She did her best to smile at Liam. “You know, seeing as it is your stag, maybe I could help you fulfill your fantasy of having three girls at once.”

Liam looked up from a Scotch he was pouring. “Really?”

“I know two other girls. They're really pretty … classy-looking. What d'you say I give them a call and get this party really rocking?”

Liam looked at Klaus and Clive. “That's a great idea!”

Klaus was skeptical. “Why are you offering to do this?” he asked. “What is it you really —”

“You guys have worn me out,” Brandy said. “Two extra girls will give me a break and it will be better for everyone.” She shrugged. “If you don't like the looks of them, you don't have to let 'em in.”

Klaus looked at Brandy suspiciously. “I'm not sure if —”

“Yeah, yeah,” Brandy continued. “It will cost a little more, but I'm sure cash or blow isn't a problem for you guys.” She gave a nod toward Liam. “Let's make his night really special.”
It's not like you plan on paying, anyway.

“Yeah, Klausie,” Liam slurred. “Like she says, it's my night. Come on, it'll be a blast!”

Klaus thought for a moment, then bent over so he was nose to nose with Brandy. “Okay, give them a call … but if things don't turn out good, I'll break your fucking neck and haul you out in a suitcase. You got that?”

I believe you. I've seen
Pulp Fiction
like ten times. I know people do stuff —

“I said you got that?” Klaus demanded again.

Brandy nodded, then went and picked up her purse. When she found the slip of paper, Klaus grabbed it from her and looked at the number, then used her phone and dialled it himself.

Brandy swallowed nervously. “Ask for Jackie.”

She was relieved when Klaus handed her the phone and said, “It's ringing. You talk to her.”

She did her best to give Klaus a reassuring smile as she sat in a chair and held the phone tight to her ear.

* * *

It was one-thirty in the morning when Corporal Jack Taggart grabbed the phone on the bedside table before it started the second ring. It was a common occurrence and he reacted quickly, hoping not to disturb his wife. It did, but Natasha was used to the calls and started to doze off again.

Jack was an undercover police operative who worked on an intelligence unit with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Vancouver. Along with his partner, Constable Laura Secord, they were like a constant open sore on the side of established organized crime families. For crime families that were not as well established, the sore was often fatal.

Undercover operations were only one of the tools they used in their battle against organized crime. Wiretaps were also used, but their most important tool was informants. To protect their own identities and those of their informants, undercover operators on the intelligence unit seldom went to court. It was up to their discretion if what they learned would be turned over to other units to further the investigation for court purposes.

Jack had an exceptional ability to gain the trust of informants. It was a trust that was well deserved. He protected his informants like a mother bear with her cubs.

“Jackie, it … it's me … Brandy.”

Jackie?
Jack heard the strain in her voice and knew she was in trouble. “I told you not to call me direct when you want to speak to Jackie,” Jack said, while turning on the bedside light and prodding Natasha with his foot. “Besides, I hate phones. You never know who could be listening.” He got ready to hand the phone to Natasha if need be.

Natasha sat up in bed. She was still groggy, but from the concern on Jack's face, she knew something was amiss. “I'm Jackie?” she whispered.

Jack put his finger to his lips for her to be quiet. “You hear what I'm sayin' about the listenin' bit?”

“You're okay,” replied Brandy, “which is why I called to let you in on a good thing. I'm in a room at the Emerald Hotel. Top floor, corner … uh …” She hesitated. “Room 1201. Got three guys looking to party.” She then lowered her voice as if speaking in confidence and said, “These guys are loaded. Think you and Laura would like in on it?”

“Three guys…. Do they have guns?” Jack asked.

“I don't think so … but …”

Jack heard her panting for breath and knew she was starting to hyperventilate. “Are you in immediate danger?” he asked.

“Not immediately … but soon,” Brandy replied, as if repeating someone else's words. “You should get here as soon as possible. Like within the hour.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about these guys?” Jack asked. “Say yes when I hit it right. Are they —”

“I think I told you about him … he's really rich. You said I had all the luck and you wished you could meet him.”

“You're with Clive?”

“Yes … but you need to meet him. He's really good-looking. So's his friend. Not a fat guy, either. He works out.”

“Klaus is there too?”

“You bet. These guys are real gentlemen and will treat you good.”

“We're on our way. Forty-five minutes tops.”

* * *

Brandy hung up and glanced at Clive as he turned up the music on the radio. Liam lay on his back on the bed and gestured with his finger for her to come to him. When she stood up, he pulled his penis back to expose his scrotum.

“While we're waiting, give my boys a good licking, will you, darlin'.”

Brandy nodded nervously, then got on her knees between his legs and complied with his request, unaware that Klaus was twirling a pillowcase behind her to use as a gag so that further, more painful acts could be performed without her screams being heard.