The Wild Beasts of Wuhan (12 page)

“Is he alive?”

“Well, there’s no record of his passing.”

“Is he in Skagen?”

“I have no idea.”

She began to weigh her options. “Is he talented enough to have done at least some of the forgeries?”

Locke didn’t respond right away, which pleased Ava. He was at least taking it seriously.

“I think he is,” he said.

“What else can you tell me about him? Age? Any physical description? Married?”

“Definitely married. He has seven children with a woman named Helga. Age, mid-forties. How does he look? Well, in the photo I have, he has a thin, rakish beard that runs around a very ample jawline. He is a rather plump man.”

“The data you have, what does it say about his residence?”

“Skagen, but the information is old. He could have had two more children, gained another twenty pounds, and moved to Norway by now.”

“Is Jimmy Sandman his legal name?”

“I think it is.”

“You think?”

“It does say he changed his name, but I have no idea if he actually did it in the formal sense.”

“Are you always this careful?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good, I like that,” Ava said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

( 13 )

She tried to get back to sleep and did manage to log half an hour here and there, but her mind was too active to sustain her slumber. She had been one phone call away from catching her flight to Toronto, and now she was locked in an internal debate about whether to go there or head to Denmark.

After the call from Locke, Ava had gone online to research Jimmy Sandman. She found most of the material that Locke’s assistant had uncovered, but not what she was really looking for — an address, a phone number, anything that could help her actually locate him.

Knowing he was already up, Ava phoned Uncle at six thirty and explained to him what she had found.

“It sounds flimsy,” he said.

“I know, but it’s all I have. Kwong’s dead, the O’Tooles are dead, and there’s no chance of getting anything out of Liechtenstein. The only path I can see is through this Sandman.”

“And you are not even sure he was involved.”

She had thought about that during her restless night. “No, I am sure, actually. It makes too much sense not to be true. Why would the numbered company wire money to O’Toole and Sørensen otherwise?”

“They did it just once.”

“I know, but there had to be a reason for that as well.”

“You sound as if you are trying to talk yourself into going to Denmark.”

“Uncle, even with the genuine paintings factored out, we’re looking at a seventy-million-dollar fraud here. I’m trying to convince myself that I have a chance to recover some of it.”

“And this Sandman is the link?”

“The only one I have, but I think he’s a good one. And if I can get to him, I’ll convince him to lead us directly to the people who orchestrated this.”

“Then I think it is worth pursuing. It should not take more than two or three days, and it will show Wong May Ling that you have taken your commitment to her seriously.”

“Seriously enough that I’m going to phone her in a few hours and tell her it’s time she called you to settle on a fee.”

“You are that confident?”

“No, of course not. You know I don’t take things for granted. But on the chance that I can get some money back, I want to have an agreement in place. It’s just good business, and May Ling knows all about good business.”

“When will you leave?”

“Today. I just need to put a flight schedule together. I have no idea how to get from here to there. My agent is still up, so I’m going to contact her when I hang up with you.”

“Let me know your schedule. We will take you to the airport.”

Ava had been using the same travel agent for years, and even in the age of online bookings she liked the assurance of having someone cover her back if she ran into problems. Squabbling with airlines was not on her list of favourite activities. She emailed her new destination and asked for options.

Half an hour later she had a reply. She couldn’t get to Skagen by air; the closest airport was Aalborg, about an hour’s drive away. Every schedule to Aalborg involved at least two stops, and all of them landed her via the same local carrier at 11:20 the following night, so it came down to airline and airport preference. She opted for Lufthansa and a Hong Kong–Frankfurt–Copenhagen–Aalborg route because it was a few hours’ less flying time.

Ava told her agent to book the flight, check her into an Aalborg airport hotel, and rent a car for her for the following day.

She phoned Uncle. “My flight is at one forty. Could you pick me up at eleven?”

“We will be there.”

She made herself a cup of Starbucks VIA instant coffee and collected the
South China Morning Post
that was waiting for her at the door. Iran. Afghanistan. Pakistan. North Korea. Thailand in some kind of upheaval again. On the cruise she hadn’t missed reading about any of it.

She thought about going for a run, but a quick look outside negated that idea. The sky was dark, the rain pelting down sideways as it crossed Victoria Harbour. Instead she emailed Mimi, Maria, and her father to let them know about her change in travel plans. She knew Maria would be disappointed and would start to worry again, so she stressed the urgency of the business that kept her away from Canada.

At ten o’clock she called May Ling on her direct office line. Briefing clients was a tricky business. Uncle believed it was always best to under-inform, to keep expectations to a minimum. If anything, Ava was even more closed.

“Ava, I was hoping to hear from you.”

“I’m leaving Hong Kong in a few hours. I have a small lead I’m following up on.”

“Where are you going?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Does it have anything to do with the banking information I gave you?”

“That was very helpful, thanks.”

“You must be making progress of some kind.”

“Actually, we managed to confirm that two more of your paintings are genuine. Someone from Harrington’s will probably contact you today with the details.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with your leaving?”

“No,” Ava said. “I have a small lead I have to follow up on. And I want to repeat the word
small
. It may come to absolutely nothing.”

“When will you know?”

“A couple of days.”

“And if it comes to something?”

“It would be a piece of the puzzle, nothing more than that. Certainly nothing conclusive.”

“And you can’t tell me?”

“It’s better if I don’t. There are too many ifs attached to it.”

“And if it comes to nothing?”

“Then my work for you is done.”

“I hope not.”

Me too
, Ava thought, and then said, “I’ll call you when I know something definite.”

She was packing her bags when she got a call from the lobby. Uncle was early. She quickly organized the rest of her things and rode the elevator to the lobby, where Uncle was waiting for her.

“I spoke to May Ling and told her about the other two paintings being genuine,” she said as the car eased out of Central.

“What was her reaction?”

“Hardly enthusiastic.”

“The fakes are weighing more heavily on them.”

“I also told her I was leaving Hong Kong, but I didn’t say where or why.”

“Wise.”

“I also think you shouldn’t call her about our fee — she’ll read too much into that. Let’s wait until I see what happens in Denmark. There’s no point in even talking about money unless I can find this Sandman.”

“I agree.”

“I arrive late tomorrow night, their time, so I won’t know anything until the next day at the earliest. Have you been to Denmark?”

“No. They make good beer — that is all I know,” Uncle said. “I do not imagine we have any people there, but I will see who is close by.”

“I don’t think I’ll need any people. These are artists and art agents and galleries I’m dealing with.”

“You never know.”

( 14 )

It reminded her of Vancouver — the Aalborg weather, that is. Cold, damp, lingering. It had been wet when she arrived the night before on the Cimber Sterling flight from Copenhagen, and it was the same in the morning as she rode a taxi back to the airport to get her rental car. The airport had been deserted and the rental booths shuttered when her flight arrived, so she had taxied to the Hotel Hvide Hus, where she spent most of the night wide awake, wondering exactly what she expected to find in Skagen.

The car rental opened at eight and Ava was there ten minutes later. The woman behind the counter was dour, almost grim, her conversation devoid of pleasantries. Ava had booked a BMW but there wasn’t one available; the woman informed her she was getting a Saab. Ava had asked for a GPS system; the woman said she didn’t need one, but Ava argued with her to get it.

The drive did turn out to be simple, almost a straight run on route E45, from Aalborg northeast to the coast and then north past Frederikshavn to Skagen, at the northernmost tip of the Danish peninsula. The countryside — what she could see of it through the mist and rain — was mainly marsh. The villages she passed, their homes and shops pressed tightly against the road, were uniform and neat: rows of brick houses, red tile roofs, and lace curtains hanging in almost every window.

She drove into Skagen at ten thirty, found the downtown area easily enough, and parked her car in a public lot that held only one other vehicle. As she got out she had a feeling of déjà vu. She could have been in downtown Banff, minus the Rocky Mountains. Skagen had the same touristy feel, its main street lined with souvenir shops, coffeehouses, boutiques, dainty restaurants, and, in this case, art galleries. She counted four within sight and headed for the nearest one. It was time to jump into the haystack.

A middle-aged blonde woman with a heaving chest was fussing with a group of small paintings. She took a glance at Ava and then turned back to what she was doing. There was no one else in the gallery. Ava stood, staring, waiting. The woman ignored her. Finally Ava said, “Can you help me?”

“The prices are on the works,” the woman said in heavily accented English.

“That’s not the kind of help I’m looking for.”

“Then what can I do?”

“Do you know a painter called Jimmy Sandman?” Ava said to her back.

“We called him Jimmy the Sandman,” she said.

Ava hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Then she noted the past tense. “Excuse me, did you say ‘called’? Has something happened to him?”

The woman finally turned towards Ava, a look of mild surprise on her face when she actually looked at her.
Is it because I’m Chinese?
Ava thought.
Is it the Adidas jacket and pants?

“Yes, he left town.”

“He moved away?”

“Years ago.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“No.”

“Does he have any friends, any relatives in Skagen I could speak with?”

“Jimmy was a strange man. Not many people wanted to talk to him, let alone be friends with him.”

“There must have been someone. Another painter, maybe.”

Ava watched as the woman searched her memory, almost painfully. “He and Jasper drank together sometimes.”

“Jasper who?”

“Kasten.”

“And where would I find Jasper Kasten?”

“At the Skaw.”

“Pardon?”

“
The Skaw
.”

“I did hear you. I just don’t what the Skaw is.”

“Come with me,” the woman said, walking towards the door. She opened it and pointed to the left.

“See that hill at the end of street? If you climb it you can look down on the Skaw. Jasper goes there every morning to paint.”

“How will I recognize him?”

“He wears a red anorak.”

The rain had thankfully let up, but the closer Ava got to the hill, the brisker the wind. It was a good ten-minute walk, which she found invigorating. Steps had been built into the side of the hill, which was actually an enormous sand dune. Up she went, leaning into the wind, glad she had worn her running gear. A roaring noise was coming from the other side of the dune, and the closer she got to the top the louder it got. She couldn’t imagine that it was just waves rolling in; the wind wasn’t that strong.

She spotted Jasper Kasten squatting on a camp stool, a canvas on an easel in front of him. His back was to her, his focus on the scene below: a huge expanse of beach. But it wasn’t the beach that seemed to hold his attention, and very quickly she saw why. The sea beyond was being whipped into some kind of frenzy, the water spewing into the air like a geyser. The roar she was hearing came from the same source, but now that she was closer she could hear a distinct screech coming from what seemed to be the centre of the geyser.

The cloud cover had broken, streaks of blue now appearing where there had been only a grey shroud. The clouds were moving quickly, leaving gaps for the sun to peek out, and when it did, it created a pattern of rainbows over the water. Ava was a city girl, most comfortable when she had concrete under her feet, but even she found the seascape breathtaking.

He didn’t hear her coming and she had to move into his line of vision to get his attention. He looked up, annoyed. He had pale blue eyes, thin lips, a pointed chin, and huge jug ears. “Mr. Kasten?” she said.

“Do I know you?” he asked in English, his manner easing.

“No, I was referred to you by one of the women in town.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“I’m looking for someone and they said you might be able to help me.”

“Who?”

“Jimmy the Sandman.”

“Good God, I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“So you know him?”

“Of course,” he said, looking out at the sea as if he had already lost interest in the conversation. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ava said.

“That there on the right, that is the Kattegat strait. It flows up from the southeast and the Strait of Denmark. And there on the left, that is the Skagerrak. It comes from the North Sea. They meet here, crashing into each other in some kind of perpetual war, neither of them ever making headway, just smash, smash, smash in futility. Some days are better than others. Today is almost perfect. The wind is strong; the light flickers.”