Wanted: A Leopold Blake Thriller (14 page)

“Why are we assuming the others were picked at random?” said Leopold.

“You think there’s a connection?”

“We can safely assume that killing the director was an easy way to link me to the murder, but what if the sniper had more than one target? The first, Dubois, was meant to ensure my capture and incarceration, and the second… well, that’s the question. What else do we have on these people?”

“I’ve got full bios attached to the email.” Mary turned to Gerard. “You got a printer around here somewhere?”

The bodyguard handed her a slip of paper. “Here’s the wi-fi codes. I checked the network for bugs already. Once you’re in, you can send the files to the printer wirelessly.”

She tapped a few keys on her phone. “Done. Where can I pick them up?”  

“The study is down the corridor at the far side of the apartment. Follow me,” He led them through the living room and down the hallway. “Help yourselves.” He opened one of the doors and waved them through.

The study was impressive, featuring an array of razor-thin computer monitors, wall-to-wall bookcases, and a plush seating area opposite the desk. The room smelled like furniture polish and leather.

Leopold spotted the printer and pulled out the stack of paper from the tray. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”  

“I’ll be watching the front door,” said Gerard. “There’s an intercom on the wall if you need me.” He slipped out.

“Wow, this place is
incroyable
,” said Sophie. “Look at all these books.” She ran her finger along their spines. “Homer, Virgil, Dostoyevsky, Francis Bacon. Quite a collection.”

“Any James Patterson?” asked Mary.

“It doesn’t look like it. Although, who knows – maybe he has an ebook collection hidden away on a Kindle somewhere.”

“Can we get back on topic?” said Leopold. “We need to find a connection between these victims. Here,” he spread the paper out on the coffee table. “You two read through these, and I’ll get onto the computer. I should be able to get us some outside help.”

He waited for them to take a seat and went over to the desk, settling himself into the chair. He tapped the space bar and the trio of LED monitors jumped into life. Accessing the operating system, Leopold fired up the internet browser. “Anything yet?” he asked.

“There’s quite a lot here,” Mary replied. “It’ll take some time. What are you looking for?”

Leopold punched in a postal code. “You and I both know a little something about police procedure. Rousseau isn’t going to stop hunting me down until I’ve found enough evidence to clear my name. Or until I’m dead. I’d rather avoid the latter option.”

“We need to figure out why Dubois was targeted. I mean, he must have been killed for a reason, right?”

“Right.”

“Did you find anything while you were at the Louvre?”

Leopold nodded. “One of the Da Vinci paintings, ‘The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne’, had been replaced with a fake. Jerome and I were in the middle of tracking down some leads when all this mess started.”

Mary looked over at Sophie. “And I’m guessing this young lady was first on your list.”

“I had nothing to do with any paintings being stolen,” said Sophie. “I had taken a few days off, that’s all. Sick leave.”

“You don’t look all that sick to me.”

“I’ve had other things to worry about.”

Mary turned back to Leopold. “Well, whatever happened to that painting, if Dubois was involved that at least gives us something to go on. But without proof we’re a little stuck.”

The consultant smiled. “So let’s go find some proof.”

“Where?”

“If Dubois had anything to do with the theft, he’ll have the original painting stored somewhere. Somewhere he’d be able to keep a very close eye on at all times.”

Mary leaned forward in her chair. “Like a storage locker? Or a safety deposit box? There must be thousands of those in the city.”

“This is far too valuable a prize, especially to an art lover like Dubois. No, he’d want to keep the painting close by, somewhere only he had access.” He tilted one of the monitors toward the others and tapped the screen. “If I were him, I’d keep it at home, somewhere out of sight.”

“That’s Dubois’ place? It’s huge. Where would we even start looking?”

“Sophie, you knew the director well.”

She nodded.

“Did you ever visit him at home?”

“
Oui
, of course. His wife used to teach me to cook when I was a girl.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, it’s… it’s just difficult thinking that I’ll never see him again.”

“I know it’s hard, but try to think back. Did you ever see anything in his house that might look like a place to hide something? Something he couldn’t afford to lose.”

She thought for a moment. “The house is quite large, but if I know Jean, he would want the painting to be kept somewhere special. Somewhere that would feel right to him.”

“And do you know where that might be?”

“Jean kept a lot of artwork. It was quite a collection. He even had his own private gallery on the top floor. I guess if he had something to do with this missing painting, he would keep it there. But I still find it hard to believe he would do something… so terrible. He was a good man,
Monsieur
Blake. He had his faults, but he was still a good man.”

“Even the best of us can make bad decisions,” said Mary. “At least, from the sound of it he had nothing to do with the murders. And if we can track down this painting, maybe we’ll get some answers.”

“He would never hurt anyone,” said Sophie, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“But it looks like he got mixed up with a bunch of people who would,” said Leopold. “Killing Dubois was just the start. Whoever’s behind this wanted me and Jerome out of the picture, too. Along with anyone else who gets in the way.”

“In the way of what?” asked Mary. “That’s what we’re missing here. All I do know is that prison isn’t exactly the safest place to be, even when you’re not being hunted down. It would be all too easy to arrange for one of the inmates to take you out and it would look like just a random act of violence.”

“Except that I never made it to the prison,” said Leopold. “And now whoever’s behind all this is going to be working on a contingency plan.”

“That would explain why that man attacked us in the parking lot,” said Sophie. “He might have been following us the whole time.”

“I did notice something earlier,” said Mary, taking her seat once again. “On the drive from the airport, a car was following us. It might have been nothing, but I asked the precinct to run the plates. The results should be in here somewhere.” She flipped through the stack of paper. “Look at this.”

Sophie took the printout and read it aloud. “Black Volkswagen Passat, registered to Marius Schwartz of Berlin, Germany. No outstanding tickets or warrants.” She looked up. “So what’s the big deal?”

“Read the next part.”

“Marius Schwartz, born in Frankfurt, Germany, in 1974…” she paused. “Died of a heart attack nearly a year ago.
Merde
.”

“So either Herr Schwartz is driving from beyond the grave, or someone didn’t want to take any risks with his real identity,” said Mary.

“I guess we’re not going to get that vacation after all,” said Leopold.

“We’d better get this information to Gerard.”

“Get him in here, we don’t have much time. We need to figure this out before Jerome winds up in the middle of a prison riot. Thanks to me, he’s walking right into a trap.”

Chapter 26
 
 

MARTY JACKSON LAY on the thin prison mattress and felt the steel springs dig into his spine. The guards had called lights out hours earlier, but something in the air was keeping him awake, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Elsewhere in the block water was leaking onto the floor. In the silence, the drip, drip, drip of water on the hard tile was impossible to ignore, meaning another night of staring at the ceiling was in the cards. Again.

Letting out a deep sigh, Marty squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force his brain to stop whirring. He pictured open fields, blue skies, and anything else he could think of that might soothe him off to sleep. A crashing waterfall. Birdsong. The smell of money.

The sound of approaching footsteps was not on the list. Nor was the screech of his cell door sliding open. He sat up in the top bunk and watched as three men entered, two of them wearing guard’s uniforms. The third guy was a good six inches taller than the others and built like a pro-wrestler. His skin was black enough that Marty struggled to make out his shape in the low light, but it was obvious the man was huge.

“
Ta gueule.
Lie back down,” one of the guards ordered, his English a little rusty. “New prisoner transfer.”

The officers unlocked a set of cuffs and the giant man rubbed his wrists. The two guards left the cell and the bars slid closed behind them. The big guy looked up.

Marty shuffled to the edge of his bed. “You speak English?”

No reply.

“C’mon, buddy. I don’t speak a word of French, you’re gonna have to meet me in the middle. What’s your name?”

The stranger ignored the question and sat down on the lower bunk, making the bed frame creak.

“We’re gonna be here a while,” he continued. “You gotta talk to me eventually. I’m Marty Jackson, currently on year two of a five year stretch. What you in for?”

No reply.

“I was sent down for extortion. Alleged, of course. Whatever you did to get yourself here, I’m sure you’re as innocent as me.” He lay back down. “Anyways, I’ll look forward to talking some more in the morning.” Marty closed his eyes, letting his new roommate settle in for the night. The dripping noise had stopped and the cell block was silent.

Marty ignored his better judgment and sat up again. “Listen, buddy. It’s gonna be bad enough for you in here without going out of your way to piss people off. Take it from me, man. Try to show a little respect. There’s guys in gen pop that’ll take great pleasure in making an example out of you.”

Still no reply.

“Fine, you’re on your own.” He flopped back onto the bed and tried to get comfortable. He heard a rustling noise and opened his eyes again. The stranger was standing up, eyes level with the top bed.

“In the morning, show me these people,” he said. “I’d like an introduction.”

And then he was gone. The bed frame creaked and Marty screwed his eyes shut, his pulse thumping in his ears. Something about the stranger’s voice sent chills down his spine. He tried to think happy thoughts.

None came.

Chapter 27
 
 

REINIGER DROPPED THE stick shift into fourth gear and floored the gas pedal, feeling the turbocharger kick in and press him back into the driver’s seat. Now away from the crowded roads in the center of the city, he felt more comfortable putting his foot down and putting as much distance between him and the
Commissariat Central
as possible. The two liter diesel under the hood growled as the turbo eased off, and Reiniger settled into a comfortable cruising speed as the road opened up ahead. A call came through the car’s speakers and Reiniger activated the VW’s built-in telephone. The incoming number was blocked.

“You’re behind schedule.” The voice on the other end of the line came through loud and clear. “Update me on your progress.”

“I delivered Blake and his bodyguard into police custody, as requested.”

“You’re stalling. I have eyes on the situation. I know what happened. Can I trust you to rectify this?”

“Blake and a third individual, a young woman, escaped from the holding cell, presumably with help from the bodyguard. They rendezvoused with Sergeant Jordan.” He paused. “Their whereabouts are currently unknown.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Tell me your location.”

Reiniger shifted into sixth gear and eased off the gas a little. “The police interrupted. I’m en route to the office now.”

“Negative. Blake has property in the city. I need you to head there.”

“I’ll need an address.”