Gauguin Connection, The (27 page)

“It’s possible and very easy to do, Jen-girl.” Vinnie stopped explaining when he noticed Manny’s interested look. “Or so I saw on Discovery Channel.”

I laughed. “Now he is lying.”

“Jen-girl, please don’t give my secrets away.” Vinnie squirmed next to me.

“Vinnie is right. Planting fingerprints is not exactly rocket science. It seems like someone is trying to set you up, Doc.”

“Which means that someone is feeling very threatened by what Genevieve is discovering.”

“But how do they know what I’m discovering?” I started counting people on my fingers. “Phillip is not telling anyone. Neither are Vinnie and Colin. You and Leon are the only ones with bosses and other people asking about this. Since Crenshaw has been murdered, it can’t be him, so who else might be connected to this whole thing?”

Manny’s shoulders slumped. “It has to be someone within the agencies. Either the EDA or Eurocorps. As it is, Eurocorps is going to have troubles with Crenshaw’s murder. Most likely they will be able to spin it into something much less malevolent.”

“First the attack and warning in your apartment and now this. Why is this happening?” Phillip asked Manny.

“My gut tells me that someone wants to discredit the doc. She doesn’t have much else to lose except her reputation.”

“That’s harsh, Manny.” Phillip was defensive and I wondered why he thought Manny had insulted me. It was all true.

“If they manage to cast enough doubt on her integrity, whatever she uncovers can easily be made inadmissible in court. And they will win again. Now that I’ve shown you mine, show me yours, Doc.”

“Show you my what?”

“Oh, God, this is going to drive me insane.” He actually grabbed and pulled at his short hair. “It is now your turn to tell me everything that you’ve kept from me.”

It took me only fifteen minutes to fill him in on all the bits I hadn’t told him about. “See, I wasn’t withholding that much from you.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Manny’s lips thinned and his pupils constricted. Now was the right time to use my insights to win his favour. I blurted, “Piros is going to kill all the artists on Friday.”

All movement stilled. I might as well have been looking at a paused scene of a video. Manny blinked slowly and leaned towards me. “Explain to me in easy, short sentences how you know this.”

I reached into my handbag hanging on the back of the chair and took out the programme. I placed it on the table and pointed at the front page. “What does it say?”

Manny glared at me. Phillip, who knew my methods well, answered me. “Should I read everything?”

“Yes.”

“The Foundation for Development of Sustainable Education’s sixteenth annual gala fundraiser. Twenty-seventh June, seven o’clock. La Maison Russie, 213 Rue des Jonquilles.” Phillip looked up from the programme. “Interesting.”

“What is interesting?” Manny’s impatience indicated I had to explain.

“Jonquilles is the French word for daffodils. Rue des Jonquilles is Daffodil Street.”

“No fucking way!” Vinnie stared at me with open awe. “That whole thing the Russian murderer was shouting, the red will end all twenty-seven daffodils? This is it? He was saying that Piros will end everything on the twenty-seventh at Rue des
Jonquilles?”

I had planned a more eloquent delivery, but Vinnie’s excited questions were equally effective. Manny’s eyes bulged. He slammed his hand on the programme. “You think it’s going to happen at this event?”

“This is merely an educated guess,” I said. “But it makes perfect sense. Despite the lack of irrefutable evidence, the Foundation is linked to the deaths of all these artists. In conjunction with what we’ve learned so far about Piros, the RNT and the auctions at sea, it seems a logical conclusion. Add to that the thugs who broke in here, saying that Piros had something big planned for the flower house. You told me how flower-rich La Maison Russie is. And it’s on Daffodil Street.”

“It’s not a far reach to conclude that La Maison Russie is the flower house,” Phillip said thoughtfully.

“Given what you’ve told me about Piros, the probability of him being there is very high.” I nodded at Manny’s alerted look. “Not only is he a master strategist, he exhibits symptoms of megalomania. The delusions of grandeur, of having great social and political power are evident in the role he is purported to have played in some riots and revolts. There is also the violence and manipulation for which he has a reputation. Megalomaniacs often suffer from poor self-esteem. His need for validation would dictate his presence for this action. He would stand somewhere, from his position of power, and watch his plan come together.”

“That’s all nice and dandy, but
Chulkov said that the red will end all twenty-seven. We’re assuming it doesn’t mean that Piros will destroy twenty-seven paintings or close twenty-seven businesses, right?”

“Even in English we talk about ending someone when murder is on the table, arsehole.” Vinnie, always so gentle with me, looked like he wanted to crush Manny.

“I’m not a linguist, but I’m fluent in English, Russian and French,” I said. “Looking at it from numerous angles, this is the only interpretation that reasonably makes sense. The red will end all twenty-seven very possibly means that Piros will end the artists on the twenty-seventh.”

“How do you know it will be the artists?”

I took the programme, found the right page and laid it open on the table. I pointed to the text. “In this article, it says that the auction will be preceded by an awards ceremony for young accomplished artists. The Foundation has invited sixty-seven artists from all over the world. Awards in seven categories will be given and after the auction they will be treated to a weekend in the French Alps. I posit that they will not reach or return from the Alps.”

“Sixty-seven young artists?” Manny’s eyes were huge. “This is worse than I thought. I’ll have to run this by Leon.”

“Can’t you cancel this event?” I asked. “That would prevent Piros from ending anything.”

“That’s a hasty option and maybe not the best. I don’t have the guest list, but I can assume that the place will be crawling with important EU officials. Cancelling the event without, as you called it, irrefutable proof is not an option. We need an alternative plan. Continue doing what you do best. Find us some more connections, more evidence. Leon and I will plan operational strategies.”

We sat in pensive silence for a few minutes. The excitement of the last twenty-four hours was weighing heavily on me. I really needed that hot bath and my bed. Then I would be able to analyse this again. Usually I didn’t need to take time off when I was working through challenging problems. That was because it was exclusively a cerebral exercise. This time it had involved being taken to a dirty, messy police station in a disgusting police car. And all the physical proximity during this case had my mind begging me for a reprieve.

I was just about to excuse myself when Phillip broke the silence. “What are we going to do to keep Genevieve safe?”

Manny turned to me, narrowed his eyes and tilted his head a fraction. “Would you agree to not leave your apartment until this thing is over?”

“What if it takes months?”

“Oh, dear God, I hope not. My health would not survive that.” He rubbed his hand hard over his face. “Let’s hope we find Piros, the art forgers, the weapons and the bloody traitor so this can end. Very soon.”

“I’ll agree to one week.” Staying in my apartment was not going to be punishment. It had taken me years, but I had surrounded myself with things that made me feel safe and at home.

“And I’ll be here.” Vinnie folded his arms in a gesture not to be argued with. It took almost a full minute before the three men grunted their agreement on my safety. This might have pointed to some kind of truce, but it was resentful, reluctant and without any mutual trust.

“Phillip, could you please bring all my computers later on? I’ll need them by”—I looked at my watch and did a quick time calculation—“three o’clock this afternoon.”

“I’ll bring them around. You just make sure that you get enough rest.”

“We’re not done yet.” Manny looked put out that Phillip and I were making arrangements for later. He clearly wanted to continue this discussion. “Who killed Crenshaw? If you’re so sure it wasn’t Frey.”

“Of course it wasn’t Colin. What would be his motivation? Really, Manny, I thought you were more intelligent than that.” I held up my hand at the three different reactions. Vinnie chuckled, Phillip inhaled to undoubtedly mediate and Manny, well, he just looked angrier. “I’m too tired to censor myself, so you’ll have to accept this or go.” I really wanted them to go. I waited, but no one left nor did they say anything. I sighed. “I’m not a murder investigator, but if I look at it logically—”

“How else would you ever look at it?” Manny grumbled. I ignored him.

“— I would have to start my suspect list with Piros. I wouldn’t suspect him of actually pulling the trigger. He most likely ordered his private army of mercenaries to do his dirty work. They did steal my fingerprints and planted them at the crime scene. Logical deduction leads me to the conclusion that Crenshaw’s murderers are the same thugs who broke into my apartment and manhandled me.”

“Yet once again nothing would be traced back to Piros. The guy is a strategic planning genius. In the almost two decades that his name has been floating around Europe, nothing ever pointed to anyone specific.”

“Then he most likely is a very good chess player,” I said absently. The change in Manny’s breathing made me look at him. “What?”

“Chief Dutoit is a good chess player. And he’s been breathing down my neck about this case. I’m sure I have at least five missed calls from him by now.” He stopped himself with a humourless laugh. “I’m talking utter hogwash. It wouldn’t be the Chief. I think we’re all just tired and are reaching now.”

“Talk for yourself, Manny. My mind is clear. Tired, but clear. I do, however, think that you should leave so that I can rest.”

Vinnie moved next to me, pulling himself up in his chair and so making himself look bigger than the giant he was. “Yes, I think it’s a good idea to let Jen-girl rest. You should leave.”

Years of dealing with all kinds of criminals must have made Manny immune to intimidation, but Phillip looked perturbed. “I think it’s a good idea. Manny, let’s go.”

It took another five minutes of reassuring Manny that I would not keep anything relevant from him again. But it took only a scowl from Vinnie to reassure the men that I would be safe at home, under his protection. The moment my front door closed and Vinnie locked all five locks, I almost cried with relief. I didn’t think I would be able to stay awake through a hot bath. Maybe just a quick shower before I gave my body the rest it was screaming for.

I walked out of my bedroom and was met with the wonderful aromas of coffee and caramelised onions. Vinnie was cooking.

“Good afternoon, sleeping beauty.” Vinnie placed a heavenly mug of coffee on the counter and I grabbed it. He also placed a plate with oatmeal cookies on the counter.

“Vinnie, if there is only one reason why I am happy that you live here, it is for the coffee that always awaits me when I wake up. How do you know when to start making it?” I brought the mug up to my face and inhaled the strong aroma. I took a careful sip of the hot brew.

“You’re a rather loud shower diva, Jen-girl.”

“A what?”

Vinnie turned away from the food cooking on the stove. He was able to mask the smile, but he didn’t have control over the muscles of his eyes. They cause laughter lines to deepen. “You sing really loudly, and I must say not too badly, when you shower. That is enough warning for me to get busy in the kitchen. You’re also quite easy to time. You spend ten minutes in the shower, ten doing whatever you’re doing before the hairdryer comes on and you’re out of your bedroom ten minutes after that. All in all, I have about thirty minutes to get myself going and your coffee ready.”

I stopped drinking my coffee and stared at Vinnie. “I’m that precise?”

“I don’t know if you should sound so proud about this, Jen-girl.” He turned back to whatever was cooking in the pots, picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the contents of the larger pot. “But you certainly are scheduled. Nothing wrong with it, of course.”

“Of course.” If it hadn’t been for Vinnie’s non-caring shrug, I knew that I would’ve felt the same tightness in my chest as when my parents always condemned my peculiarities. With Vinnie there was no censure, only fresh coffee.

In the week that Vinnie had been staying with me we had never talked about anything other than the case. I suddenly wanted to know more about the gentle giant who so unobtrusively was sharing my space. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I tried to come up with a conversation starter but came up empty.

So many years of studying psychology and writing papers on human interaction had done nothing for my own skills. I realised that I was sorely lacking in the skill of making friends. A skill that came naturally for the vast majority of people. Staring at Vinnie’s back I decided that I could worry about this gap in my skill-set at a later stage. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

“Did Phillip bring my computers?”

“Yup. He came about an hour ago. They’re on the dining room table.”

“Were you rude to him?”

Vinnie glanced over his shoulder at me with a wide grin. “He’s not the one I have a problem with. It’s that filthy fed who grinds my gears.”

“He grinds your gears? Does that mean he irritates you?”

Vinnie snorted. “To put it mildly. The guy irritates the hell outta me.”

“Manny? What’s your problem with him?” I walked to the dining room table and placed the plate of cookies at a safe distance from my computers for a later snack. The computers I arranged for optimum usefulness with the notepad in the centre. The way I liked it. When Vinnie didn’t answer me, I looked up to see him watching me. “What?”

“You’re amazing, Jen-girl. The way you know exactly how things should be.” The wistful look on his face matched the tone of his voice. Before I could tell him that I was only using logic to streamline everything, including the placing of my computers, he shook his head. “Never mind that. Millard is just a big bad wolf trying to intimidate anyone he can.”

“I actually think that he is very intelligent but prefers to hide it. That way he gets a lot more out of people.”

“Whatever.” Clearly Vinnie did not agree with me. He returned to his cooking. “You do your thing over there, Jen-girl. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

It didn’t take long for me to get lost in the new information waiting for me on the EDA server. Manny had kept his word and I had the full financials of the charity foundation for the last ten years waiting for me. There was also an email from Manny. He sarcastically asked me whether I would please lower myself from up high and take a deeper look at the weapons theft file. Why he was angry with me, I had no idea. I snarled at his email and wondered if his anger stemmed from his Chief pressuring him. It still gave him no right to be sarcastic.

“Don’t kill it, Jen-girl.” Vinnie’s voice next to me made me jump.

“Huh?”

“You’re looking at that computer as if you plan to kill it. Slowly.”

“It’s Manny.”

“Aha.” A wealth of understanding was communicated with those two syllables. Vinnie pulled out the chair next to me, moved it farther away to give me more space and sat down. “What’s he done now?”

“He’s angry with me about
his
”—I strongly emphasised the possessive pronoun—“lack of progress on the inquiry into the weapons theft. It’s not even his inquiry. The case belongs to Leon. He should be angry with Leon.”

“So what does he expect you to do?”

“Find out who stole the weapons, I suppose.” I sighed at Manny’s irrational demand.

“Jen-girl?” Vinnie waited until I looked at him. “I… uh… know this dude who knows a lot about weapons.”

“An illegal arms dealer?”

“That is one way to describe him.” Vinnie looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Anyway, I could ask him if he knows something about these weapons. But that means you’ll have to give me everything you know about these weapons.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” Manny’s sarcasm would increase exponentially if he found out.

“I promise it will never come back to you. I’ve been doing this for a while and know how to get information. Trust me with this. I’ll get you info.”

I took a deep breath and held it while I analysed the pros and cons of taking this action. The cons mostly revolved around Manny’s wrath, but also included the fact that such highly confidential information would be put out into the criminal sphere. I exhaled, took another deep breath and thought that on the other hand those weapons were already in the criminal sphere. It led me to a few more pros and I exhaled with a puff of air.

“Will you be careful with how you share this information?”

“Like I said, it will never come back to you.”

“Okay.”

“Email me the list of the weapons. It has all the specs, right?”

“Yes.” I emailed him the list from my computer, not wanting Manny to know that I was sharing anything with Vinnie. Had I emailed it from the EDA computer or even my work computer, all those cons would have rained down on me like a hailstorm. I had no illusions that Manny was now keeping an even closer eye on my activities. He would find out about this, I had no doubt, but I would prefer it to be later rather than sooner. After Vinnie had spoken to the guy he knew. “There. It should be in your inbox.”

“I’ll get on that now.” He got up. “Oh, yes, Colin phoned. He’ll be here later. Is it okay for us to wait with dinner until he comes? Then we can all eat together.”

“No problem.” I would just make myself another coffee to keep my energy up until dinner. I also had the plate of cookies Vinnie always seemed to keep in stock.

He disappeared to his room to contact his criminal cohorts. I was not going to allow myself to once again think and worry about the gray areas these people moved in. Then I would have to think how my association with these guys kept pushing me deeper into these gray areas.

I needed to get my mind off this and it wasn’t difficult. I decided to take another look at the Foundation’s financials, more specifically the previous year’s grants. Eighteen million euro from the EU was a significant amount and I needed to understand how one charitable organisation could receive so much.

No matter how I looked at it, the Foundation for Development of Sustainable Education came by their money in a legal manner. It was all above board. But it couldn’t be right. I checked their income. All legal donations, including the donations from the shipping companies. The donations were technically legal even if the money had come from auctioning off forged artefacts on a ship in no man’s land where the enforcement of laws was dubious at best. If it weren’t the donations, the income, it had to be their expenditure.

Their financials had been audited by an EU-appointed forensic accounting team, so I didn’t spend too much time looking for the misplacement of funds. Instead, I looked for patterns. Some people said that the devil was in the details. I always found the devil in patterns.

First, I looked at their activities to get an overall perspective. Despite my suspicions of this charity organisation, I was impressed. In the last decade they had built homes, sent numerous youths to university, started a music centre, opened thirteen food distribution centres and much more. Every project involved several participants, all seemingly well organised and efficient. I moved to the numbers.

I looked at the amounts spent, the projects the money was spent on, the companies subcontracted to complete the work for these projects. Nothing was amiss. It was all above reproach. But the pattern was there, I knew it was there. It was as if my brain had recognised it, processed it and now relaxed with that knowledge. I just needed that insight to move from my unconscious mind to my conscious mind. I walked to my sound system and programmed it to play Mozart’s Horn Concerto No. 3.

Seated again at my computers, I stared at the monitors while allowing the music to weave its magic over and through me. Nothing. I closed my eyes and stilled my mind. Nothing. It was there, I knew it was there. I crossed my arms tightly around my torso and focussed solely on the music. That was the only way my unconscious and conscious minds would connect. With Mozart.

“Jenny?” A familiar, safe voice kept calling me, pulling me back into reality. For a short while I resisted it, but he would not desist. “Jenny, come back to us.”

I opened my eyes to find Colin sitting next to me, his warm hand resting gently on my arms. Both arms were still tightly wound around my torso and I realised that I was rocking. I stopped, rather surprised that I had been doing that. “How long have I been rocking like this?”

“Vinnie says you’ve been like this for about two hours.”

“Oh.” Damn. I was only going to give my brain a short reprieve. Seemingly it had needed more time. But it was time well spent as connections started flooding my consciousness. “Oh!”

“What?” Colin jerked at my sudden exclamation.

I looked at his hand still resting on my arms and then up at his face. “You’re here.”

“Yes, I am.”

I shook off his hand and turned to my computers. “I will tell you later how angry I am with you, how worried I was and how happy I am to see you. But it will have to wait.” My hands were moving from one computer to the other and back while I was talking absently. I registered what I had said when Vinnie huffed his amusement from the kitchen. My fingers froze above the keys for a second, but I shook off the embarrassment that I had admitted to my emotions. The revelations coming with each file I was opening took precedence over my tight hold on all emotions.

The more files I opened, the more I was proving myself right. “It is so obvious. So very, very obvious. Why do people ever think that it won’t be obvious?”

“What is so obvious?” Colin made himself comfortable next to me and waited. He proved to be quite patient when it took me more than thirty minutes to get my facts straight. I had just made another list. Absently I noted that Vinnie brought him coffee and placed a fresh cup by my right hand. Colin was finishing off the last of the cookies that I had forgotten about.

“It’s all the same office. It’s statistically impossible for all of them to be at the same office.” I turned to him, beaming. I could not believe how easy it actually was. My moment of glory was short-lived when Colin leaned forward and waited until I not only looked at him, but was focussed on him, not still lost inside my own head.

“Jenny, you’re going to have to explain. I wasn’t here for your whole thought process.”

“Oh. Of course. Sorry.” I turned back to the computers and started pointing things out. “Here is the list of all the shipping companies. Included in the information I had about them was their company registration information. Here on this computer I have all the information and it states the office where the company was registered.
Volosovo is a smallish town eighty-five kilometres from St. Petersburg.

“Now, look at this. I was looking into the financials of the Foundation and found nothing wrong with the donations or their expenditures. For every project that they received EU funding for, they had subcontracted companies to complete these projects. These companies were named when the Foundation requested payment for the different legs of their projects. Nothing hidden and all above board. Look at my new list with those companies.”

“You made another list.”

“I did and you will not mock me when you see what I’ve discovered. Each of these companies was also registered at the same office as the shipping companies. What is the probability of eighteen of the thirty-three shipping companies we have listed and twenty other companies, including catering, interior design, engineering and construction companies, all being registered at the same office?”