Gauguin Connection, The (7 page)

“You do not have me.” Each word was slowly pushed through my teeth. No one laid claim to me. It was detestable.

“Oh, I think I do. You are untainted by all that power, bureaucracy and traditional thinking. You’re also intrigued by the connections.” He moved to the edge of my reading chair and rested his hands on his knees as if ready to push himself up. “You will come up with the necessary physical evidence and connections to catch the bad guys and end this.”

“Bad guys?” I had to smile at his use of that term. “Aren’t you a bad guy?”

“You know that I’m not.” He spoke with total confidence in his good character. I narrowed my eyes and considered this. He interrupted my pondering with concern pulling the corners of his mouth down. “I don’t know how, but the EDA is up to their necks in this. Why else would there be so many forgeries and deaths in all the places that the EDA can be found?”

“Conjecture. They are the European Defence Agency. Of course you’re going to find their presence throughout Europe.”

“Maybe.” He thought for a moment. “Have you looked into the Russian guy who killed the girl? Have you looked for a Russian connection?”

“A Russian connection? Is there one?”

“Find it,” was the only answer he gave me after a staring at me for a long while. “There is also a lot more about that girl than meets the eye. You should see what you can find out about her. While you are at it, look into ships too.”

“Ships?” This man was infuriating me now with all his cryptic suggestions. The Russians, the girl, ships. Why could people never just say something straight out? He had told me a lot, yet I felt like I had only received the first four words of a paragraph. Not one sentence was complete. It was confusing, frustrating and deliciously challenging.

He got up and turned to the guest bathroom, ignoring my question. “I really have to go. It was wonderful meeting you. It’s going to be fun working with you.”

I jumped up from my chair and glared at him. “There will absolutely be no working together. Do you really think that I will work with you?”

“Of course. You’re going to need me.” He started walking away from me. “Walk me out.”

I was hard pressed to not go on the offence and attack him with some of my self-defence training. It would release a lot of the residual anger whirling around in me. I managed to breathe through it. “The front door is in the other direction, Colin.”

“I know,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m going to leave the way I came in.”

I followed him to the guest bathroom at the back of my apartment and gasped at the gaping hole in the ceiling where he had removed the cover leading to the ventilation system.

“Don’t worry. I’ll put this back so neatly, you won’t even know that I’ve been here.” He effortlessly lifted himself into the man-sized hole, disappeared for a moment and then peeked back. “Don’t bother securing this entrance. There are at least another six ways that I can enter your apartment.”

“You could always just ring the doorbell.”

“You would never open the door for me.” He gave me a genuine smile. “It’s really been a pleasure, Jenny.”

His head disappeared into the darkness of the ventilation system. A moment later the cover closed the hole and it was as if there hadn’t been a thief in my home. An intruder insisting on my trust and co-operation.

“My name is Genevieve,” I said to the bathroom ceiling. A shudder rolled through me and I walked back to the living area. The only evidence that he’d been in my apartment was the untouched cup of camomile tea on the dining room table. And the ruined newspaper in the reading area. I took the cup to the kitchen and carefully looked around. There wasn’t even a stray fingerprint on the marble counters. They were as spotless as when I had left my apartment two days ago. Not that it mattered. I had an overwhelming urge to clean my whole apartment from top to bottom, scrubbing away any possible trace of Colin Frey’s presence.

Episodes like I had experienced the last few days reminded me that regardless of all my knowledge and training, I was still vulnerable to losing control. It humbled me. I looked through the kitchen cupboard with its neatly organised cleaning products and chose a few to start my cleaning spree.

While I was putting on a fresh pair of rubber gloves, I accepted the fact that the only part in me rebelling against the case and all its elements was my intense and instant dislike of change. My fear of change was constantly at war with the cerebral parts of me. This was no exception. The excitement of finding new connections and patterns barely overrode that fear. But above all, I had given my word to Phillip and Manny. I never went back on my word.

But was I going to invite a criminal into my life? I had enough confidence in my abilities to believe that I could find the pattern and make the necessary connections without his help. I took the soft cloth that I kept especially for marble surfaces from its holder and started to polish the kitchen counter.

A small smile pulled at my mouth. When I needed to have something stolen, or reappropriated as he called it, I would ask for Colin Frey’s help. Until then, I was going to look for those six possible entry points and make sure that they were secured.

I sat back in my chair and stared at the bank of monitors in front of me. I felt like pulling at my hair in frustration, but settled for a deep sigh.

It was noon and I had been at it for five hours. After a restless night, I had left my sparkling apartment very early to start my search for some connection with the girl. The EDA database had proved to be completely useless and no matter which approach I took, I couldn’t find anything to connect the girl to the poets, the EDA or even the Gauguin. Not having her name made for a very short search.

There had to be something else. I hated to admit that I had allowed Colin and all his cryptic clues to influence my usual manner of working things out. The balance that I had managed to find between my natural way of working and the input of my education and experience had stood me in good stead until now. Why would I change that?

With a decisive change of posture, I cleared the monitors and my mind. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. Without anyone there to pull my thoughts into another direction, where would I look next? I went through the list. The girl had led nowhere, so that was out. I had found out everything possible about the Gauguin, including its connection to Colin. The weapons were not my concern at the moment, not while Manny and his friend continued their investigation. Again Colin had managed to sneak in here, connecting himself with his suspicions. The Russian murderer was of no real interest to me, but Colin insisted that there was a connection. Then there were the ships that Colin had hinted at. And the Russian connection that only he seemed to know about. I groaned. All I had received from Colin was frustrating non-clues.

My eyes flew open and I frowned. The one thing connecting all the dots I had just listed was not a thing; it was a person. Colin. And that was the thread I was going to pull until I could unravel this mystery. My fingers hovered over the computer keyboard while I decided which of the clues to follow first.

It felt like only an hour later when the door to my viewing room whooshed open.

“You haven’t eaten today.” Phillip walked in with a plastic bag emitting the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeaway.

“It’s not healthy food.”

“And we both love it.” He smiled knowingly when I rushed to put a large sheet of paper on the desk. I might love Chinese takeout, but it left horrid grease stains. Taking care to use no other space than the large sheet, he unpacked enough little boxes to feed a party of five. “I thought I would get a big enough selection for whatever you were in the mood for.”

My stomach chose that moment to growl its need for sustenance. I opened a few of the small boxes and smiled. “Ah, chicken lo mein. Perfect. Thank you, Phillip.”

He took his time to choose his meal, dragged a chair closer and sat down with a tired sigh. “It’s been a hard day.”

“What’s the time?” I broke apart the chopsticks and started eating the greasy chicken dish.

“It’s three o’clock.” He looked up from his food. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve discovered quite a few things.” I noticed Phillip shaking his head. “Oh, you mean how am I doing after the last few days. I’m fine. I’m focussed again, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“But I do. You’ve been here since six-thirty this morning and you haven’t taken a break.”

“You’re checking up on me.” I hated that I had once again lost track of time. The knowledge that Phillip was keeping an eye on me also didn’t sit well with me. I hoped that the stabbing pain in my heart region didn’t show on my face. “Don’t you trust me anymore? That whole episode won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Of course I trust you. And I don’t care if you have another episode, as you call it. At least we know how to handle it. All I care about is that you look after yourself. I don’t want you to lock yourself in here again for two days.” His voice was gruff.

“Well, that won’t happen again either.” I pointed at my computer. “I set an alarm for eating and going home. I decided to skip lunch today, but the moment it is time to go home, I’m going home.”

Phillip chuckled. “Only you would do that.”

“What? Set an alarm? It’s a logical solution.” We ate in companionable silence for a while, until a ping from my computer sounded through the viewing room. “I hope that is my manifests.”

“What manifests?”

I turned to my computer and opened my email inbox. “Oh, it is an email from Manny.”

“You emailed Manny?” Suddenly Phillip was sitting up in his chair, sounding troubled.

“Yes,” I answered absently while I waited for the email to open. My computer was too slow. I seriously had to consider upgrading it. “I wanted to get all the shipping manifests from Russia to Europe.”

“Why?” He sounded even more troubled.

“Oh. Manny seems to be using sarcasm again. Does that mean he’s angry? And he says that he can’t give them to me.” I didn’t understand this.

Phillip sighed heavily. “Let me have a look at that email.” He looked at one of the wall monitors when I put the email up there. It took him longer than necessary to read through it before he sat back in his chair with closed eyes.

“What?”

“I think you should allow me to do all the communication from now on.”

“Did I make a faux pas?” It would be the only explanation why Phillip would suggest this intervention.

“Writing to someone who barely knows you and struggles to trust you that you expect all shipping manifests in your inbox by the end of the day is not a good way to encourage friendly co-operation. And you didn’t even say hello or goodbye.”

“It’s superfluous.” The moment I said it, I realised how wrong it was and lifted both my hands, palms up. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. I was just so busy working through all the possible links that I didn’t take the moment it needed to be more polite. I’m sorry.”

“No wonder Manny got his hackles raised. I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you, Phillip.” He always protected the world from me.

“So, tell me about the ships.”

“That is a possible lead that I want to follow up on.”

“Why? How do ships fit into this? And ships from Russia to Europe?”

“Um…” My breathing became much shallower and I had to focus not to touch my throat in a pacifying gesture. “I received a tip.”

“Genevieve, it is not like you to not answer a question concisely. What happened?”

“The poet broke into my house.” The words just poured out of me and the relief of telling the truth was tremendous. I relayed all the details of Colin’s visit including the six hours of cleaning that had followed. Throughout my rushed report of what took place, Phillip looked increasingly distressed until I felt compelled to stop. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” His voice shook with controlled emotion. “What’s wrong? A thief broke into your apartment and sat down to have a chat with you is what’s wrong. You couldn’t phone the police is what’s wrong. You allowed him to stay in your apartment is what’s wrong.”

“I read him. I could see that he wasn’t there to do me physical harm.” I wondered if I had made a mistake telling Phillip. He was uncommonly upset.

“Genevieve, your confidence in your abilities is well placed, but in a situation like this you should always run.”

“But then I would not have learned so much. His visit might have been unsolicited and unwelcome, but it was enlightening. He said quite a few things that helped me find some new information today.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to ask, but how did that thief help?”

“Well, he said something that made me think he’d been stealing back art for at least eleven years, so that is how far back I’ve looked. There are most likely more, but the ones I found were reported in the media. The owners were all very grateful. So far I’ve found reports of forty-seven artefacts discovered, recovered, identified and magically resurfacing.”

“Forty-seven?” Phillip’s eyebrows almost touched his receding hairline.

“Yes. Some of them had reportedly been stolen during some or another conflict and others in robberies. He seems to be stealing back artworks and delivering them to their rightful owners.”

“A modern-day Robin Hood.”

“What a wonderful analogy.” My momentary smile was quickly replaced by a frown. “But he’s still a thief.”

“True. But didn’t he also say that a few of those works were forgeries?”

“Not many of the works that he recovered. Most of those seemed to be the authentic pieces.” I turned to my computer, changed a few windows until I found the right one and put it on one of the large wall monitors. “On fifteen occasions, as you’ll see here, he said the pieces were forgeries and he was right each time.”

“Then he must have an incredible eye for a fake.”

“I don’t think he’s a professional expert. Maybe he’s developed his discernment because he’s a criminal. Maybe he forges some artefacts himself and that’s how he can recognise this.”

“You should ask him when you see him again,” Phillip said absently.

“I will not see him again.” The mere thought of that criminal breaking into my apartment again and lounging in my reading chair outraged me. “I told him that he was not to return at all. Ever.”

“Calm down, Genevieve. It was a careless comment.”

I took a calming breath. “He also told me about thirteen deaths of artists that he knows about.”

“Thirteen?”

“Yes. I followed that line for a while, but couldn’t find anything more. I think that I should tell Manny to look deeper into that.”

“I will tell Manny.” It was an order.

“Of course. I will just offend him.” I sighed. “Also tell him to get the ballistic information on these cases.”

“He was one of the best military investigators in his day, Genevieve. Trust him to do his job.”

I made a noncommittal sound. “I decided to look for more artwork with the reasoning that maybe the poets had recovered even more works. Then I started seeing another pattern. A different pattern. A lot of previously lost and stolen artworks mysteriously turned up at auctions. These works were not all lost during a period of conflict. It is a combination of heists, single burglaries, long-lost pieces and so on. These were sold at art auctions held by very reputable auction houses.” I named a few of the auction houses.

“I’ve recommended a few of those to clients.” He swallowed a few times. “Genevieve, are we in trouble?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you are finding artworks that had been insured by companies similar to ours. Artworks that were authenticated by the same institutions we use. Artworks that are forgeries. I’m beginning to worry about the pieces that we’re insuring.”

“I haven’t found anything from Rousseau & Rousseau yet, but the way it looks, there’s a high probability that something we’ve insured might be a forgery.”

“We always worked with that risk. I just hoped it would never actually happen. Tell me what else you’ve found.”

“I started looking for reports on how these pieces were found, but none of those connected to Colin. They all just mysteriously appeared.”

“Interesting. But is there a connection between all of this and our case? You,
we
, can’t afford to be wasting time on whimsical searches.”

I gasped. “Whimsical? How could you say this is whimsical? Of course there is a connection.”

“Okay. Then tell me more about the mysteriously rediscovered artworks that are not connected to your thief.”

“He’s not mine.” I exhaled angrily through my nose and waved my hands in the air as if to remove this topic from our conversation. “What I discovered was that during interviews, a few of the owners said that their artworks were found by private investigators. This came up in eight different cases. None of them wanted to name the agency or investigator working for them. I found that extremely strange. Not many people are so private that they don’t want to let on who worked for them. There are people like that, but statistically it is improbable that such a large number of the people interviewed would be equally secretive about who had found the art for them.”

“And you don’t think it is the poet?”

“Colin? No, he’s not involved in this.”

“Why not?”

“For a start, he would have been too busy stealing back his own artworks to be doing this work as well. It wasn’t even worth thinking about further.”

“I don’t follow your logic.”

Often I had to explain my reasoning to others. Every time it was exhausting to simplify my logic enough to make it understandable. “I did a lot of cross-checking. While the poet was in one country, these specific art pieces were discovered in another country. And Colin exposes forgeries, he doesn’t sell them.”

Phillip thought about this. “Weren’t those forgeries he named of high quality?”

“Indeed, they were. They were masterpieces in their own right. Many of them passed the authentication process with flying colours.”

“If they were sold as reproductions, they most likely would’ve fetched a very healthy sum on the open market.”

“Most likely.”