Depth (22 page)

FOURTEEN

FORGERY
. THAT WAS SIMONE’S
theory. That, and Henry and Linnea were so busy looking at each other, expecting betrayal, they never counted on someone coming for the painting without paying. They’d been in over their heads before they even finished conceiving the plan.

“It’s the Mona Lisa con,” Simone explained as they stopped for pretzels. “They find a lost painting, maybe stolen, something, but they know it’s valuable. So instead of auctioning it off to just one buyer, they get greedy: forge a whole bunch of them and sell them to all the buyers.”

“Wouldn’t their buyers find out, eventually?” Caroline asked. Simone bit into her pretzel and started walking towards the Four Seasons, Caroline keeping pace beside her.

“That’s why you do this with a stolen painting,” Simone said between bites. “No one catches on because no one wants to admit they bought a painting they know was stolen. In this case, though, people aren’t really interested in the painting. They’re interested in the information contained in the painting. So when they sell the painting—no one admits to buying it, because then people will try to find out where the painting is and steal it, or at least the information. Everyone keeps the painting secret.”

“But won’t they all just end up meeting at the location on the painting?”

“I imagine Marina and the St. Michels were betting that the location is a dud.” Simone took another bite of her pretzel and swallowed before continuing. “Just some random apartment building, nothing special. That’s what I’d bet on.”

“So people buy the forgeries, check out the location, see it’s nothing, and then go back to their lives, having lost however much money they were willing to spend.”

“Which is why they hired Marina. She works people—she got you to pay exactly your maximum for the painting, didn’t she?”

“The maximum my parents told me to pay, but yeah.” Caroline rubbed the space between her eyebrows. “I can’t believe they got me mixed up in this.”

“Everyone knows the painting could be fool’s gold, your parents included. Everyone has a set amount they’re willing to risk and have it turn out to be worthless. And Marina works people to get to that price. It’s a great scheme. No one gives a fuck about the painting once they realize it hasn’t led them anywhere. And if they do find out someone else bought it, well, the St. Michels and Marina—and their forger, whoever he is—are long gone by then. Plus no one wants to admit they bought a treasure map that didn’t lead anywhere.” Simone swallowed the last bite of her pretzel and licked the salt from her hand.

“So who killed Henry? Was it Linnea?”

“No. Henry and Linnea were going to turn on each other, and each knew it—that’s why Linnea hired me in the first place. But neither was going to try that till after the paintings were sold. For them, it was about the money. Linnea was killed by Dash, I’m almost positive. Someone hired him to get the painting. But she didn’t have it, or wouldn’t give it up.” Simone put her hands in her pockets, remembering Linnea. “Probably wouldn’t give it up. I’d say Marina has it, but then she would’ve just given it to the highest bidder, given everyone else their money back, and acted as though it were a normal job. It wouldn’t have been as big a payday, but she wouldn’t have had to split it.”

“So who’s left?”

“The forger.”

“And who’s the forger?”

“That’s what we’re about to ask Marina.”

Simone stopped and stared up at the Four Seasons. They’d arrived, and she needed to prepare herself for what she had to do. She wasn’t going to torture Marina, the way Dash had done to Linnea, but she wasn’t above punching her in the jaw, either. Marina was smart, though, and her primary instinct would be survival. With Caroline there, Simone could make a compelling case for pinning the whole thing on Marina and sending her off to prison. Hopefully, Marina would talk to avoid that.

“Let me do most of the talking,” Simone said as they walked up to the door. “I’m going to use you—your position—to intimidate her. Make it seem the law has her and she’s about to get locked in the hull of some prison ship for the rest of her life if she doesn’t cooperate. Bring out the legalese to back me up, if you need to; otherwise, stay quiet and look angry.”

“I thought you said I could hit her.”

“If the opportunity presents itself.”

“Okay, but my interpretation of ‘presents itself’ may be looser than yours.” Caroline walked into the elevator and hit 30. “She’s in room 3003.”

“You should knock. That’ll be better,” Simone said. She took her gun out of her boot, checked it was loaded, and put it back while Caroline watched in silence. The elevator rang, and the door opened. Caroline led the way down the hall.

“She really got to you when she pointed the gun at you, didn’t she?” Caroline asked in a low voice. Simone shook her head, then nodded at room 3003. Caroline held her fist up as if to knock, then looked at Simone. Simone leaned against the wall next to the door and nodded. Caroline knocked.

The door swung open. Simone couldn’t see Marina, but she could hear her.

“Caroline! Hey! You should have called, I would have put on some nice clothes.” Her voice was perky, but with an edge of anxiety Simone enjoyed hearing. “What’s up? Is this about the painting, ’cause I promise, I will get it to you, it’s just a little complicated because the sellers—” Simone stepped out from the side of the door, right behind Caroline. “Oh.” The false cheerfulness slipped off Marina’s face like silk lingerie. She stared at them both and sighed, half resigned to her fate, half bored. She turned around and walked back into the room. Caroline and Simone followed, closing the door behind them. Marina sat down on the bed and crossed her legs. She was in one of the hotel robes and nothing else. Her hair was wet and pulled back from her face, making her seem more exposed than Simone had ever seen her. She looked up at both of them. “I knew about your relationship, of course,” she said. “But everyone said how professional you were,” she was staring at Simone now, “how you never betrayed your client’s trust. I guess they were wrong about that. People have been wrong about a lot lately. Fuck people.” She leaned back, stretching her arms behind her to hold herself up and arching her chest slightly.

“Where’s the painting?” Simone asked.

“You know I don’t have it.”

“But you know who does.”

Marina sighed again and stood up. She walked over to the desk in the room. It was a large room, with a balcony. There were a few room service trays on the desk. She was probably afraid to leave too often. Afraid she’d be the next Linnea. Simone tracked her. There was no gun in sight. Marina picked up a pack of cigarettes from the desk and lit one.

“You don’t mind, right?” she asked.

“The forger, Marina?” Simone asked. “That’s who has the painting, right?”

“Figured it all out, did you?” Marina asked, exhaling smoke. “Yeah. The forger has it, I think. But I don’t know where the forger is. Or who.”

“You don’t know who the forger is?” Simone rolled her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m just the saleswoman. I didn’t do the hiring or even come up with the idea.” Marina turned and looked out the window, away from them, one arm holding the elbow of the other. She brought the cigarette to her lips and inhaled again. She exhaled slowly, so the smoke was like a thin sheet rising from her lips.

“Caroline here is deputy mayor,” Simone said, gesturing with her thumb. “You’re the last known person left in an art forgery con. Caroline, can you tell Marina what she’s won for that?”

“Forgery could be a good decade below deck,” Caroline said matter-of-factly. “The con will probably bring it to twenty-five.”

“Bring in someone like deCostas,” Simone said, “some poor innocent grad student you scammed . . . maybe even higher. If you’re really lucky, eighteen years with good behavior.” She glanced at Caroline, who nodded authoritatively.

“I’m always on my best behavior,” Marina said without turning away from the window. “And deCostas isn’t poor. He’s being funded by three or four governments. That’s why I went to him. Don’t you research your clients?”

Simone shook her head. “Why would governments fund him? It’s a fool’s errand.”

“Who are we to know that? We may think it’s bullshit. I do, you do—even Caroline here does, and she paid a lot of money for it. But what do we know? Have we researched it like he has? No. All I know is that that painting, even a copy of it, is worth a lot to a lot of people, even if we all know it’s just a bunch of salt.” She smiled, apparently thinking of how much money she almost had. But then her smile faded and she sucked at her cigarette again, almost desperately. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t know the forger. He’s someone Linnea brought in. Knew him from Europe, I guess. She had a stupid nickname for him. I think she was trying to make Henry jealous.”

Simone stared Marina in the eyes, and Marina stared right back, her cigarette held at her mouth, one arm crossed across her robe. Marina was the sort you could never actually trust, but Simone didn’t think she was playing a game.

“What was the nickname?” Simone asked.

“She kept saying My Little
le furgay
, or something like that. My Little Forger, My Little
le furgee
. In a silly voice, too. She had that heavy accent. I assumed it meant forger in Swedish or whatever.” She shrugged and leaned against the desk.

“That’s not Swedish for forger,” Caroline said. “That’s not Swedish for anything.”

“Well, sorry,” Marina said sarcastically, “I only speak Japanese, Chinese, Spanish, French, and Italian. Never took Swedish. Or Dutch, or wherever in the EU Linnea was from.”

“It doesn’t mean forger in anything,” Caroline said.

Simone looked over at her. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Caroline said, clearly offended at being asked. If it wasn’t a pet name, it was another sort of name. And Simone had a first name that needed a last.

“I’m going to step into the hall to make a call,” Simone said. “Keep an eye on her.” Simone walked out into the hall, activated her earpiece, and told it to call Danny. Inside the hotel room she heard a noise like a loud slap and furniture moving.

“I’m about to see a client,” Danny said. “What’s up?”

“I need an address: Misty LeFurgay. She’s somewhere in the city. Maybe a hotel.”

“How do you spell that?”

“However. But I need it now, if you can.”

“Okay . . .” Danny’s voice trailed off. Inside the hotel room there was the sound of furniture falling and metal clattering. “M. LeFurgey. That’s F-U-R-G-E-Y, by the way. She’s not in a good part of town.”

He gave her the address, and she thanked him before hanging up and going back into the room. The desk was on its side, room service trays spilled all over the rug. Marina was slumped against the wall where the desk used to be, still smoking, gazing up at the window, a large red mark on her face. Simone barely glanced at her.

“I got it,” she said to Caroline. “Want to come?”

Caroline turned to look at her, a big smile on her face. “Sure. Nothing left to do here.” She turned back to Marina, still smiling. “I expect my money back tomorrow. Early.” She left without waiting for a reply.

“Now would be a good time to leave town,” Simone said. Marina looked up at her wearily.

“I never really liked New York, anyway,” she said. She looked as if she might smile but instead brought the cigarette to her lips. Simone left her there.

“So where are we going?” Caroline asked.

“West Side. Sort of between where Linnea was seen buying drugs and where Henry was killed. Not a nice neighborhood. Lot of MouthFoamers. You might want to hide your wristpiece.”

“You have a gun,” Caroline said. “Why don’t you just display that?”

“I will.”

CAROLINE PAID FOR A
CAB,
and Simone had it drop them a few bridges away, where it wasn’t too seedy. It was midafternoon, and the sun pressed down, simmering the garbage that floated between the buildings and sending up a dirt and shit smell. Flies buzzed just over the waves, their paranoid hum rising up whenever the sound of the waves faded. Simone shaded her eyes with her hands and looked for the building Danny had directed her to. It was a short walk, over bridges littered with sleeping bodies and people in salt-stained clothes, their mouths white, their eyes glazed. Behind the buildings, off on the horizon, there was a massive storm cloud heading their way. They’d have to be fast.

She led the way, flashing her gun when any of the MouthFoamers glanced up at them. Caroline walked just behind her, eyes straight ahead, fearless. They wove around poorly finished bridges and, at one point, climbed up to the top of a building to get to a bridge that was higher up. The building they finally came to was gray stone, one of the Glassteel test cases. It was covered with the stuff so thickly it actually looked laminated, cheap and tacky, like a building made of wax paper. The door was open, so they walked in and up a few flights. Danny had homed in on this location from server and cloud usage, but he couldn’t find an apartment number; the closest he could get was that she was probably in the top northwest corner of the building.

The stairwells were metal things, crusted with salt and smelling of plastic and decay. Simone knocked on a few doors as she approached the northwest part of the top floor. No one answered any of them until they reached apartment G. There, the door flew open as though someone was expecting them.

The woman who opened the door was young and wore only a blue dressing gown tied loosely around her. She didn’t even look at Simone and Caroline but walked away from the door as soon as she’d opened it. The apartment was a large flat, empty of all furniture save an unmade bed, a dresser, an old leather sofa that was also being used as a bed, and a wooden chair in front of a small table. An easel stood by one of the large frosted windows that let in a cold, gray light. A few other windows were open, and wind blew around the room, wet with the ocean. The woman sat down on the wooden chair and crossed her legs, apparently waiting for Simone and Caroline. Simone saw nowhere else to sit, so she stood across from the small table, eyeing the woman. The woman stared directly ahead of her, not looking up. She was pale, and her skin seemed loose on her pointed features. Her hair was ash blonde and fell in long, frizzy waves in all directions. Her lips were dry, and the cracks in them were white—she was clearly a longtime MouthFoamer. She reached forward, took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the table, and lit one. The smoke from the cigarette floated around her, blending with her hair, fanning out around her like a nebula. Her eyes were the palest blue and didn’t seem to see anything.