Gauguin Connection, The (22 page)

Vinnie was already halfway to the kitchen when Colin answered, “That would be great. Thanks, Vin.”

“He has completely taken over my apartment.”

“Is that a problem?” Colin glanced at the kitchen before studying me.

“No,” I answered after taking time to find how I truly felt. “He’s neat and non-intrusive.”

“Rare qualities in a man.” The soft wrinkles forming in the corners of his eyes clued me in that he was joking. I was actually about to agree with him, but answered him instead with a small smile. We held each other’s eyes until he shifted his body. A series of minute facial muscle movements warned me that he was going to say something he considered of great importance.

A succession of pings crudely broke the moment. I didn’t take my eyes off Colin and saw how he changed his mind. His focus shifted from something internal to the computer. “What was that?”

“Connections.” I turned to the computer and looked at the lines of information that the software programme had delivered. I didn’t know if Colin understood what all the little white letters on the blue background meant, but found myself too stunned to ask. It was hard to believe what I was looking at. This might just be that one thing that Manny and I had been talking about. The one thing that would connect all the different elements we had uncovered so far.

My mind was working full speed. I turned my internal Mozart to top volume and leaned into the cerebral activity. Nothing else existed at that moment. Not Vinnie placing Colin’s coffee on a coaster next to him. Not Colin softly calling to me. What mattered most were the pieces of the puzzle moving to their places on their own volition. At the crescendo in the middle of the second movement, a thought popped into my head and I acted on it.

I entered another search order into the software and waited, all the while letting Mozart lead the way. I didn’t hear anything from the two men. Whether it was because I had blocked them out or they were silently waiting for me, I didn’t know. Nor did I care. I was rocking back and forth to the music in my head and looking expectantly at the computer screen.

Another ping and a second window with search information popped open. I maximised the window, simply to see this golden find fill as much space as possible. “Oh my.”

“Jenny?” Colin’s warm hand lightly touched my forearm and slowly brought me back into my skin and into the room. “What have you found?”

I stared at him through the haze of excitement. “An address.”

His eyes widened and his jaw slackened. After a silent few heartbeats, both Vinnie’s and Colin’s eyes moved to the computer screens. Their eyes narrowed and they frowned. “Jenny, tell us what we’re looking at.”

I inhaled very deeply. I was going to explain. That required simple vocabulary, sentences and focus. I changed windows to the results of the first search and pointed out a few lines in between all the script. “Every single one of those artists was on one of those cruise ships at some point in the last eight years.”

“Motherfucker.” It was the first time that Vinnie had used such strong language in front of me. It was usually reserved for the kitchen while I was working. He must have been as shocked as I was.

Colin’s expletive followed immediately, his head moving from side to side in shocked denial. I changed windows to the result of the second search and tapped lightly on the screen. “I was wondering about romances like Danielle had with her Russian boyfriend. Of all the artists, only two ever shared their rooms. Danielle was one. The other was Karin Vittone. She shared a room with a Mark Smith. His address is on the manifest.”

“Where does the fucker live?” The menace in Vinnie’s voice reminded me that he was more than just a non-intrusive houseguest.

“Here. In Strasbourg.”

“Judas fucking Priest.” Colin leaned back in his chair. “I’ll go visit the bastard.”

“Both of you are jumping to conclusions that he is a guilty party.”

“How can we not?” Colin asked. “Just look at everything we’ve found so far. The fact that Mark Smith shared a room with one of the dead artists makes him at the very least a person of interest, but most likely a suspect. I’ll go check out his house tomorrow evening.”

“What do you mean ‘check out his house’?” A cold feeling crept through me.

“He means break into the
fuc… the suspect’s house, Jen-girl.” Vinnie spat out his disgust at this person. Obviously, innocent until proven guilty was not something he lived by.

“You can’t break into his house. It’s illegal.” The comical look on both the men’s faces brought reality crashing around me. “Of course. You are a criminal who breaks into places and steals things.”

“Jenny.”

“Oh, don’t use your warning tone of voice on me. Do you want all the reasons why this is a bad idea?”

“Will you make me a list?” The relaxation around his eyes stopped me cold.

“Are you making fun of my lists?” My voice gradually rose until the last word came out as a squeak.

“A little.” He grew serious. “Your lists, however, are what have gotten us this far, so I’m very happy with your lists. But”—he stopped me as I reached for the notepad to start on all the reasons why he shouldn’t break into Mark Smith’s house—“I am going to look at this house, list or no.”

“Let him do this, Jen-girl.”

I glared at Vinnie for interfering and then closed my eyes. A few bars of Mozart and I was calmer. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll go tonight and just look around. Check out the neighbourhood, the security and a general look around. Tomorrow evening I will break into his house and look around inside. I want to see who he really is.”

“What do you mean?”

“A man is much more than just a name.”

“Not that I think Mark Smith is his real name,” Vinnie interrupted.

“Neither do
I. We’ll have to see if it’s his real address.” Colin shook his head. “Some people are such incompetent criminals. Anyway. We all reveal a lot about who we are by how we live. Our homes give away a lot of inside information on our lives, likes, habits and the like.”

Suddenly I was very curious to see Colin’s home. And Vinnie’s. I already knew what my apartment said about me. I wasn’t hard to decode. Then I thought again about Colin’s plans for the next two nights. “I don’t like it.”

“I’ll be careful, Jenny.”

“If you get caught, don’t come back here.” I couldn’t stop the petulance tainting my voice. Vinnie chuckled and Colin’s smile reached deep into his eyes.

“I won’t get caught. I’m too good for that.” He turned to Vinnie. “Did you get the phones?”

“Oh, yes.” Vinnie got up from the table and grabbed a large paper shopping bag from next to the coffee table. I hadn’t even noticed him putting it there. He handed it to Colin. “There are three in there. Bought in different stores.”

“Good.” Colin dug into the bag and took out three different boxes containing cell phones. He handed me one, but I refused to take it. “Take it, Jenny.”

“No. I already have a smartphone.”

Colin sighed. “I know. This is a phone that cannot be traced to you, Manny, Phillip or anyone else.”

“Why do I need this?” I narrowed my eyes when Colin and Vinnie exchanged a look. “What?”

“Someone’s been trying to wiretap your phones.”

“My phones?”

“Your home phone and most likely your cell phone,” Vinnie said. “Two days ago there was an unscheduled visit from the telephone company to your building. Since then your phone has a different buzz.”

“And now I need another cell phone? Why?”

“Jen-girl, don’t you ever watch any cop shows or movies? Ever?” Vinnie rolled his eyes when I mutely shook my head. “You’re strange. If you watched anything other than the news, you would know that we need these phones to communicate without anyone else knowing about it. And it seems like there are a lot of people interested in knowing about this.”

I took a moment to process the information and took the box from Colin. “Okay.”

“I’ve already set it up. It has Colin’s and my numbers on it.”

“Don’t use it to contact anyone but us,” Colin added.

“I never use my smartphone.” I broke off and tilted my head. “Not to phone people anyway.”

“Her telephone skills are not the smoothest,” Vinnie whispered loudly to Colin, who only smiled.

I took the cheap phone out of the box and looked at Colin. “Will you phone me to tell me that everything is okay tonight?”

He nodded.

I shook the phone at him. “And tomorrow evening? If anything happens, you’ll phone?”

“She cares about you, dude.” Vinnie smiled. I felt like throwing my new cell phone at his head. He must have sensed my displeasure, because his smile died and he tried to force his face into a neutral expression. He failed miserably.

“Ignore him.” Colin moved closer to the computer. “Can you give me the address, please?”

With a sigh I wrote down the address on a post-it note and handed it to him. He looked at it for a few moments and then handed it back to me. Apparently I was not the only one with a good memory.

No matter how much I convinced myself that I didn’t believe in gut feelings, a tightness in my torso made me feel very uncomfortable about Colin’s plan. A tightness that didn’t want to go away.

“Vinnie, I don’t like this.” I didn’t know why I was whispering. No one could overhear my telephonic discussion while I was in my soundproof viewing room. “I don’t care that he phoned me last night and told me that this will be easy. He’s still entering someone’s house illegally.”

“Colin will be fine, Jen-girl. I’m going to say this one more time: he knows what he’s doing.” He dragged out the last part as if I was slow in comprehension. “Now get off the phone and do your work. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”

“Fine.” I didn’t wait for a response and just closed the new cell phone to disconnect. Vinnie and I had been arguing ever since Colin left us last night. I wished that I had had more time. Then I could have analysed this bad feeling I had about Colin breaking into Mark Smith’s house. But all my time was consumed with finding more connections in this case. And the connections seemed to be forthcoming. With Colin’s help yesterday, I had found two more artists who had been murdered. Both had been on cruises.

Now I was ready to look into the financials of the Foundation for Development of Sustainable Education. It had been in my inbox when I opened my email this morning with a sarcastic note from Manny. He was angry again and I didn’t know why. I hadn’t done anything new to annoy him. Maybe he had received another phone call from Chief Dutoit.

First things first. I went to the music files on my computer and selected the playlist I favoured when dealing with more challenging cases. Once Mozart was floating through the room, filling every available space with its purity, everything in me stilled. Like always, it felt like my thoughts, my life, my entirety snapped into focus. I opened the first financial report and started working through it.

As per usual when I was absorbed in something interesting, time drifted away from me. It was the gentle swoosh of the viewing room door opening and closing that brought me back to the present. I glanced at my watch and was shocked that it was just past four o’clock. I had been working through these financials for the last eight hours. It had been very productive. I turned to my visitor with an elated sense of achievement. Which was promptly replaced with annoyance. I was looking at a very disapproving face.

“Why have you not contacted me, Doctor Face-reader?” Manny pulled a chair closer and sat down next to me. I looked over his shoulder at the door, hoping that Phillip would be following him to buffer this conversation, but alas. The door remained disappointingly closed.

“Why would I contact you?”

“Because I asked you to. On all seven messages I left on your bloody cell phone.”

“I’ve told you that I don’t use my cell phone.”

“Then why do you have one?” He stopped me when I opened my mouth to give him the lengthy explanation of recording people in public places. “No, I actually don’t want to know. Could you please turn that racket down?”

I looked at him blankly.

“The music, missy. The music.”

I turned Mozart’s Fugue in G minor down to a soft din in the background. Manny continued frowning, so I switched it off.

“Tell me that you’ve got something new. My boss is riding my arse, Leon is riding my arse because
his
boss is riding his arse, and I’m sick of it.”

The way he threw himself back against the chair and closed his eyes in a pained expression prevented me from inquiring about the arse-riding. I made a mental note to remember this new expression and ask Vinnie about it. I assumed its meaning and liked it. I also liked the idea that I could take away the stress lines marring Manny’s face. I didn’t like other people placing so much pressure on him. Why I would feel this was a worrying mystery.

“We have the names of sixteen murdered artists, most of whom were amateurs. These murders took place in the last eight years.”

I had Manny’s full attention. He was sitting up in the chair now. Not a single stress line on his face, only interest.

“Every single one of them was on a cruise ship that travelled along the Baltic or North Sea routes. Only Danielle and another artist ever shared rooms on the ships. Karin Vittone, the other artist, shared her room with one Mark Smith.”

Manny remained silent for a very long time, staring at the wall behind me. Then he lifted his eyes and gave me a smile. The first genuine smile I had seen on his face. “I could kiss you right now.”

My eyes stretched in shock and I pushed with my feet to roll my chair away from him. “Please don’t.”

His smile was immediately replaced by a scowl. “It’s just an expression, missy.”

I realised how my reaction must have looked and closed my eyes with regret. “Manny, I’m sorry. I’m not good with this. With relating to people. With speaking to people without giving offence. I’m especially not good with physical contact.”

My mind flashed back to the few times that Colin had touched me and Vinnie had ruffled my hair. Vinnie I had wanted to hit over the head, but not because he had touched me. Rather because he had messed up my carefully styled hair. Colin’s touch didn’t cause any negative reflexes.

“Genevieve!” Manny’s annoyed voice broke into my thoughts. “Would you please not get lost in your head. Phillip is not here to help me if you go all weird again.”

“And people say I have no diplomacy.” I smiled. “It’s actually refreshing to know someone ruder than I.”

Manny grumbled something about uppity little geniuses and sighed. “Please tell me everything you’ve found so far.”

I did. I told him everything that I had discovered yesterday with the exception of Mark Smith’s address. I knew that it was wrong and that at one point I was going to pay dearly for it, but what else was I supposed to do? If I told him about the address, he would send people there and Colin would be discovered.

A heaviness settled in my mind with the thought that I was aiding and abetting a criminal. Even worse, I was withholding vital information from a law enforcement agent. This was going to land me in jail.

“What about the Foundation’s financials?”

“They’re perfect.” I ignored Manny’s groan of disappointment. “Too perfect. That is never a good sign. Especially for a charity. In any large organisation there are anomalies in their financials. It is to be expected. But here”—I pointed at one of the monitors against the wall—“everything is perfect. Which made me very suspicious.”

“Please tell me you found something else.”

“I did.” I flinched a little at my admission. I didn’t want Manny to want to kiss me again. When he didn’t threaten me with such grateful behaviour, I continued. “Yesterday I delved deeper into auctions. I honestly don’t know how many auctions there were on the cruise ships since I could only work with those that were advertised.”

“Fair enough.”

“Everything about the auctions, the marketing, pamphlets, everything was very average. Nothing to raise any questions.”

“But something got your attention.”

“Would you stop interrupting me?” My sharp reprimand surprised and then angered Manny. His lips disappeared into a thin line. I felt free to continue. “Thank you. Yes, something got my attention. I have established that twenty-seven of the thirty-three companies I’ve identified used the same legal and accounting firms. Those same two firms are listed on the Foundation’s expenditure statements. That connects the ships to each other and to the Foundation.”

“That’s fantastic. A concrete connection.”

“There’s more. On every cruise that held an auction, three percent of the profit was promised to the Foundation. So I cross-checked the dates of the cruises. Look here.” I aimed my laser pointer at one of the ten monitors. “On the sixteenth of July last year, the
Krolewska
cruise ship held an auction. The
Krolewska
is owned by Zeek, a company owned by Kozlevich. If you look over here”—I pointed at the monitor to the left—“you’ll see that on the nineteenth of July, three days later, the
Krolewska
donated fifty thousand euro to the Foundation. The next day, Zeek donated a hundred and fifty thousand euro to the Foundation.”

“Holy mother of all that is pure.” Manny stared wide-eyed at the monitors. I wished that I could have taken a photo of his face. It was textbook disbelief. “I take it that this is not the only instance.”

“Indeed not. This exact system was used with eight other auctions that I’ve found so far. Three days after the auction was held, the cruise ship donated an amount to the Foundation and the next day that amount was tripled by the company that owns that ship. The combined amount of all these so-called donations so far is over five million euro.”

“A lot of money, but in the grand scheme of things, not that huge.”

“True, but did you know that the Foundation received over eighteen million euro last year in donations, grants and all other kinds of funding?”

“What?”

“Did you know that—”

“I heard you before. Where did they get that much money from?”

“That is what I want to check next. I’m sure there are some legitimate donations, but I’m going to look deeper. Now that I have a pattern, the first donation and the tripled donation the next day, I’ll look for more transfers like that. But I found something even more interesting.”

“I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“I didn’t know you had heart problems.” Alarmed, I leaned closer, looking for signs of physical discomfort displayed on his face.

Manny leaned back in his chair and frowned at me. “You are sometimes so weird I have to wonder if you are human. I do not have heart problems. It’s an expression. Please, just tell me what else you’ve found.”

I put this new expression on the list to ask Vinnie about. A grimace settled around my mouth. I didn’t like what I was about to tell Manny. “Since I had the auctions with their dates, I decided to cross-check it with the dates of the deaths of the artists. Shortly after each auction—sometimes a day, sometimes a week, but never more than ten days—an artist turned up dead. I have found five situations like this.”

“Holy mother.” If there were an analogue clock in my viewing room, I would have heard the seconds tick away the long silence between us. “Send this all to me. Everything.”

“I’ll write up a report and send it to you early this evening.”

“I simply cannot believe that one of the most high-profile charities in Europe, helping tens of thousands of people every year, can be involved in this. This is going to cause an international political situation. Many top officials in Europe lend their support to the Foundation.” He exhaled slowly, puffing his cheeks. People did this to calm down after a negative experience, or in this case, a negative realisation. “To top it all, it seems like the Foundation is run by goons.”

“Who is this Mister Goons?” I hadn’t seen that name anywhere during my research into the Foundation.

Manny stared at me open-mouthed. “Have you absolutely no vocabulary outside of your academic dictionaries?”

“I’ve never found it imperative to my work.” That had most certainly changed in the last two weeks. “What or who is a goons then?”

“Lowlife criminals.”

“Oh.” I dragged out the sound, wondering how Vinnie and Colin would respond to being called goons. Time to refocus. “What is the connection between the EDA, Eurocorps and the Foundation? I’ve looked for something, but all I’ve found are numerous functions attended by officials from the two agencies. There are also many articles mentioning donations, support and involvement from the European Commission, EDA and Eurocorps. Do you know anything about this?”

“Since the beginning of the EDA, the Foundation was its favoured charity. I’ve been forced to attend more black-tie functions for this charity than I care for.” His nose crinkled in disgust. “I always thought having these elaborate functions was such a waste of money. Money that could be put to better use to help more people. But such is the politics of charities.”

“What about Eurocorps’ involvement?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask Leon.” He took out his cell phone, touched the screen a few times, held it between us and waited. It rang four times.

“Manny.” Leon’s voice was even deeper over the phone.

“Leon, I’m with Doctor Lenard and you’re on speaker.
It this a good time?”

“Hold on.” We heard a muffled order for someone to return in half an hour and a door clicked closed. “I’m back. What’s happening?”

Manny looked at me and lifted his eyebrows. I lifted my eyebrows back at him. His eyes narrowed and he huffed. He rolled his eyes and then spoke towards the phone. “The doc and I were talking about the Foundation’s connection between the EDA and Eurocorps. How long has Eurocorps been involved with the Foundation?”

Obviously Leon was up to date with everything so far, because he didn’t pause to answer. “The first time I heard about the Foundation was, let me think, about seven years ago. It was Brigadier-General Crenshaw who pushed us to go to that first event. It was the year after I joined Eurocorps. I remember this because he was really making an issue of it.”

“The same Nick Crenshaw from the Iron Curtain division? The same Crenshaw asking too many questions about the weapons theft?” Manny asked.