2 The Dante Connection (8 page)

“No, that’s–” He had the decency to look abashed when he saw my sceptical glare. “Okay, it’s true, but I only want you to be safe. I honestly do have to go to the market to get some stuff for dinner, so it’s no hassle to get your package.”

I resented his logic and the convenience. With a lack of graciousness in my tone, I relented. “Fine.”

Vinnie took the key to my mailbox and listened carefully to my instructions. One of the reasons I had chosen this specific company to have my mail delivered to was the anonymity. The shop front provided normal copy and print services twenty-four hours a day. The mailboxes were located in a secure room to the left. I had a key-card that gained me entrance to the mailbox room and a key for my specific mailbox. The only time I had ever had contact with someone in the shop front was the first day when I had collected my key-card and keys. Since then I only received an email whenever mail arrived. They wouldn’t even notice if it were Vinnie who picked up my mail instead of me.

After some more shared looks with Colin, Vinnie left.

“What are you not telling me, Colin?” I asked.

“Oh, there are so many things that I’m not telling you,” he answered with a smile. I did not appreciate his humour. He sobered when I just stared at him. “This unexpected package is suspicious, Jenny. Vinnie wants to make sure that everything is okay before you handle it.”

“Isn’t this an overreaction?” I asked.

“It’s not a big enough reaction,” Francine said. Her tone warned me that she was about to say something of utmost importance. I stilled and readied myself to listen and observe. “As you know, I am known for my suspicions about larger entities at work.”

“Francine, you’re paranoid and think that everything is a conspiracy,” Colin said.

“You say potato.” She shrugged. “Because of my personal beliefs, I became even more suspicious about the break-in at my great-uncle’s place. I didn’t suspect the guards, because I had vetted them.”

“By hacking into some law enforcement agency’s system and running a background check on them?” Colin asked.

“Of course. They all came out clean. I worked through a list of who I thought could have had something to do with this. The whole event was simply too well organised. The thieves must have had some inside information. That led me to the security company. It took some time, but I found the traces in the data. Someone had hacked into their system and had spent an extended period in Uncle Franco’s account.”

“Your great-uncle’s name is Franco?” I asked.

“Yes.” She blinked a few times and returned to the topic. “The hacker is not all that good. I managed to locate him.”

“You found him?” Colin asked. “You know where he is?”

“I know where he was.” The corners of her mouth pulled down a bit through the swelling. “When I got a trace on him through his hack on the security company’s system, I found his little nest. He tried to hide where he was with zombie computers and proxies, but I found him.”

“Where is he? We should tell Manny.” My suggestion elicited frowns from both of them.

“He’s gone. When I got his IP address and I got into his computer it was easy to get his address.” She gave a half shrug. “When I contacted my guy at Interpol, he was still too pissed off with me to act immediately to catch this guy. By the time they got to his apartment, he and his computers were in the wind.”

“But can’t you locate him again?” I asked. “You got into his computers before, you can do it again, right?”

She looked defeated. “The short answer is no. The slightly longer answer is that he has not switched on his computers again, so it’s impossible to trace him that way.”

“But there is another way?” I had heard it in the tone of her last sentence.

“I hope so. When I got into his system, I copied everything. It is as if I have his computer on mine. I know where he’s been, the sites he visits most often and I’m keeping a watch for him to return there. The moment he logs in to one of those sites, he’s mine. I will find him again.”

“Didn’t he find you too?” My question brought a scowl to her bruised face.

“Yes. But not by remotely hacking my system. He had to have broken into my place. I will get that son of a bitch. I would just like to know how and why he targeted me.”

“Wait,” I said, thinking of all she had told us. It was outrageous in its improbability and lack of facts. “Two weeks ago your great-uncle goes on holiday and his place is robbed. You suspect something, hack into the security company’s computer system to find that they had already been hacked. Somehow the hacker now knows you know. He breaks into your super-secret apartment to get physical access to your computer, which he hacked. He then uses that information to lure you to a party to kill you.”

“Exactly!” She sat up. “So you agree with me that there is a conspiracy.”

“What conspiracy?” I squinted. “Wait, I didn’t agree to anything. I’m merely considering the feasibility of this presumed sequence of events. I also wonder why you were considered enough of a threat to eliminate. I don’t see a conspiracy.”

“Well, I think that there is some conspiracy and I plan to find it.”

“So where do I fit into all this? Why am I in danger?” I asked, thinking about her incoherent ramblings on the way to the hospital and her earlier proclamation.

She glanced at Col
in. I didn’t see his expression, but hers told me that I wasn’t going to hear the real reason. “My gut is telling me that the hacking into my uncle’s security company and the hacking of your company is connected. And before you shout at me, I know you don’t believe in gut feelings, but my gut has never been wrong.”

“I don’t shout.”

She smiled. “No, you don’t. But you do get offended at anything that is not factual. I promise you that I will find that facts to prove that my gut is right. Until then you just have to be careful.”

“Why did you hack into my computer initially?” I asked.

She squirmed a little and exhibited more nonverbal signs of discomfort. “Um, I, um, have to know what is happening in the lives of the people I care for. I just check every now and then to make sure that you are safe.”

“Do all of you think I need protection?” I asked through clenched teeth. “I have seven years of self-defence training, I have a superior intellect. I might not function so well socially, but I am not completely useless.”

“None of us think that you are, Jenny.” Colin rested his elbows on his knees and looked intently at me. “When people care about someone, they will do anything and everything to protect that person.”

“But I don’t need protection.”

“This douche just tried to kill me,” Francine said. “He’s been in your system, so yes. I think that you need protection.”

“Jenny, look at what we have so far.” Colin was using his reasonable tone. “Burglaries that show similarities, a red flower at each crime scene tying them together, a hacker who got not only into the security company’s system, but also yours and Francine’s. It also looks as if all the burglaries were ordered, as if someone is behind this all. Think, Jenny.”

I pressed my fingers against my temples. I didn’t want this to be true, but Colin was right. “Fine. I’ll concede that it looks like this might be a syndicate. But there is still so much we don’t know. So far there is nothing that connects the victims. I looked through all the police reports today and there is nothing similar. Except that these houses were supposed to be protected and that the most valuable artwork in the house was stolen.”

We started arguing back and forth about what was known about the case. I got bored after ten minutes. After fifteen I withdrew into my head. Maybe a few pages of mentally written Mozart would make that connection that had been knocking at my consciousness since this afternoon. A breath before the connection passed into my consciousness, Vinnie’s insistent calling brought me out of my head. I glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I cooked you dinner.” He snorted, turned around and walked to the dining area. Colin and Francine were already seated at the table. I hadn’t realised I had been in my head for such a long time. I joined them at the table.

“I also got your package. I left it in your apartment,” Vinnie said as he started dishing up for each of us. The helping he put on my plate was three times as much as I could consume, but I refrained from commenting. Something else was much more pressing.

“How did you get into my apartment?” I asked.

“Oh. Um. Well.” He winced.

“We all have keys to your apartment, Jenny,” Colin said.

“How? I changed the locks after you left me.” The looks on both their faces told me everything I needed to know. “Of course, you are thieves who are experts in breaking and entering. How often do you go into my apartment?”

“Almost never,” Colin said. I believed him. “We only go in after some service people have been in. To make sure that there aren’t any bugs in your place.”

“Stop, just stop talking.” I carefully put my cutlery on my plate. I had such tight control over my movements that my hands were shaking lightly. “I’m going to my apartment. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

Ignoring their protests, I grabbed my handbag and computer bag from the sofa and went to my apartment. There were too many things for me to process. Personal things which included my new neighbours, my new housemate, the access they had had to my apartment and everything else. Since I had never liked agonising over emotional situations, the bits of information and that connection wanting to break through to my consciousness were much more appealing. Maybe an hour in my bathtub would help my cognitive processes. It might also relax my tense muscles.

Chapter SEVEN

The bath had not been as relaxing as I had hoped. Usually a good book would be enough to settle me for the night. Not tonight. I forced myself to go to bed by eleven, knowing that tomorrow I had to be ready for my meeting with Manny. I also wanted to be rested so that I could figure out what the meaning was of the shared looks between Colin and Vinnie. But by three in the morning, I was remaking my bed for the fourth time. I had twisted the sheets out from under the mattress.

I looked down at my bed, contemplating whether it was worth getting back in. I decided it wasn’t. There was work that could be done instead of me twisting and turning in bed all night. This break in my routine did not sit well with me and I walked into the kitchen, the corners of my mouth pulled down. First priority now was coffee. I placed my favourite mug under the coffee machine spout, flipped the switch and waited.

“Can’t sleep?” Colin’s voice right behind me startled me into a shriek. I swung around, glaring. He lifted both hands, palms up, and was trying his best to hide his laughter. “Sorry, Jenny. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I mentally wrote five bars of Mozart’s String Quintet No. 4 in G minor while staring at Colin with narrowed eyes. He was standing two feet away from me, barefoot, dressed in sweatpants and a white undershirt. Sleepwear. When I felt calmer, I turned back to the coffee machine in time to stop it before it filled the mug too much. I took my coffee and leaned against the counter.

“When did you come in? And where?”

“About an hour after you left. Through the window. That might be why you didn’t hear me.”

I was not getting into another argument about him using the front door. I walked around him to the dining room table. My computer bag was on its usual chair, the first one from the right. “I was actually hoping that you had changed your mind.”

Colin followed me, pulled out a chair and sat down, his right leg stretched out in front of him. Only now did I notice the mug in his hand. Had he also been suffering from a sleepless night?

“You seriously thought I would change my mind?” he asked.

I sat down across from him, placed my mug on a coaster and started unpacking my computer bag. “No. I knew you had made your decision. I did, however, have an irrational moment of hope.”

He didn’t respond. I paused in my unpacking to look at him. I couldn’t see any sign of offence or hurt, so I continued. I placed my work laptop in front of me, but didn’t open it. I put a notepad in front of the computer and carefully aligned three pens to the right of my laptop. I rested both my hands on top of the laptop and looked at him.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He started to answer, but I stopped him by shaking my head.

“I can see that you are going to lie. Don’t do that. Not if you want me to trust you again.” As it was, I was far too comfortable with him in my space. Not until this moment had I paid attention to the fact that I was only wearing ankle-length pyjama pants and a snug purple t-shirt. It was not revealing in the least, but it felt normal to sit at my dining room table with Colin at three in morning, both of us dressed in our pyjamas. I didn’t want him to break the trust slowly rebuilding by the lie I saw forming on his face.

He sighed. “Truth?”

“Please.”

“I haven’t slept much in the last four months.”

“Since you were captured and tortured?”

“Yes.” He swallowed and looked out of the dark window. “It’s easier when I am awake.”

“You have bad dreams.”

He straightened and looked at me with a false smile. We had reached the end of this topic. I could respect that.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

I tapped the laptop. “I was going to go over my notes about the burglaries, but now I don’t know if it is such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because of that hacker.” My top lip lifted slightly in disgust. “If he has access to my system, then he’ll know what I’m looking at.”

Suspicious muscle movement on Colin’s face had me narrowing my eyes.

“What did you do?” I asked.

His smile held guilt and humour. He nodded at the laptop under my hands. “I took this to Francine last night. She did all kind of magic things to make sure no one will ever hack your computer again.”

“But she can get in. That is not no one.”

“True.” He shrugged. “I would rather have her on my side than anyone else.”

I didn’t know what to say without referring to Francine’s conspiracy theories and her activities that were borderline and sometimes outright illegal. “Is it safe enough to look at my notes?”

“Yes. She said that not even Kevin Mitnick would get into your computer now.”

“I don’t know who he is.”

“Only one of the most notorious hackers in the world.”

“Oh.” I thought about this. “Could he be a suspect?”

“Last I heard, he was running a security company and had written some books about hacking. I think our guy has a more personal investment in this case. The point Francine was making was that your computer is extremely difficult to hack now.”

“Oh. Good.” I opened my laptop and turned it on.

Colin left the table for a minute and returned with a book from my bookshelves. From the bookmark sticking out, it appeared that he had already read one third of it. He didn’t dog-ear the book nor did he break the spine. I approved of his handling of my books. He settled across from me and started reading. I opened the files that I had saved the day before and stared at it. Nothing new came to me. The hard copy case files were still in my computer bag. I read my notes six times and still that connection didn’t want to come. I leaned back in my chair and sighed.

“What?” Colin looked up from his book.

“There is a pattern here that my mind is seeing and I’m just not getting.”

“You separate yourself from your mind?” He put the book on the table.

“Of course not.” Yet again I had to explain myself in simple sentences. It was not easy. “My subconscious notices a pattern or an anomaly when I go through data. It takes time for my subconscious to process that data and communicate it to my conscious mind where I have the words to express what it is that I’m seeing.”

“Oh,” he said and looked towards the other side of the room. “Does everybody’s brain work like this?”

“Everyone’s neurological patterns are unique. For most people this is similar.”

“Interesting.” His eyes fixed on something close to the front door. “Hey, did you forget about your package?”

“What… Oh yes, the urgent package.” I twisted in my chair to follow Colin’s gaze. Vinnie had placed the package on one of the wingback chairs in the reading area. It was quite large and flat, wrapped in heavy-duty brown paper. I got up and walked over. On the package was a strong handwriting, the kind that would usually be done by a man. My address was written clearly in a thin black marker. A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t like surprises.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Colin was standing next to me, also staring down at the package.

“I didn’t order this.”

“So someone just sent this to you out of the blue? Who would have your mailing address?”

“I have bought a few things online that I had shipped to that address.” I frowned at the flat, square package on the chair. “I didn’t order this.”

“So you keep saying. Well, Vinnie had it checked for electronic devices and some other things.”

“What other things?”

Instead of answering me, Colin picked up the package. “Why don’t I open this for you?”

“Okay.” I watched as Colin shook the package and tilted it from side to side. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to guess what’s inside.” He smiled at me. “Want to go first?”

“It’s a senseless exercise. Just open it.”

His smile widened and he inspected the wrapping. “Got scissors? We’ll have to cut through this.”

“In the kitchen.”

He followed me wordlessly to the kitchen. I retrieved a pair of scissors from its designated place in the second drawer from the left. He took it and carefully cut away the tape that held the paper at the back of the package. It took a full minute to remove the layers of brown paper. Except for my name and address, there was no other writing on the package. No indication where it had come from. Only layers of brown paper. I immediately put the paper in the recycle bin, out of view. We were left with a flat brown box.

Colin had to cut the flap open since it was also taped closed. By this point I had no idea what to expect, so when he pulled out a framed painting I only raised my eyebrows. I flattened the box and also put that in the recycle bin. I turned back and found Colin studying the painting.

“I did not order that,” I said. I realised that repeating myself served no other purpose than revealing my confusion. Yet I had a desire to say it one more time. I didn’t. “What is it? Is it an original?”

“This is the Beata Beatrix by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.” He leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “No, this won’t do.”

He took the painting to the reading area and turned my reading lamp so that he could place the painting in the light for maximum viewing. I quietly followed him and stood there feeling redundant. I had no art expertise to draw on. In the six years that I had worked at the upscale insurance company, I had learned quite a bit about art. But my knowledge sadly only extended to the names of the most expensive artists and valued works of art. Those I would be able to recognise on sight. This applied to a limited number of works. A very limited number.

My expertise was reading and interpreting nonverbal communication cues. And psychology. For almost all human behaviour, I could give an academic explanation of its possible origin. Right now I could give an in-depth analysis of all the cues that led me to believe that Colin was fast forming a conclusion. It wasn’t difficult to see the confidence he exuded in inspecting the painting. He knew what he was looking at and looking for. I didn’t. I had no knowledge of authentic paintings versus forgeries. He did.

“This is a masterpiece.”

“It’s real?” Surprise lifted my voice.

“Nope. It’s a masterful forgery.” He straightened and looked at me. I knew that look. It caused a feeling of my heart dropping into my stomach. In actual fact, my heart was palpitating from a rush of adrenaline. “This makes me think of all those paintings that were done for Piros in our last case.”

“But Piros is now in prison.” I had followed his trial closely. He would not experience freedom until he died. He had been sentenced to seven successive life sentences. And that had been only for the civilian cases. The international cases against him as a military official were still ongoing. “It can’t be him.”

“I’m not saying that it’s him, Jenny. All I’m saying is that it makes me think of one of the artists who forged work for him while he was running his art crime syndicate.”

“Then who painted this?”

He turned back to the painting and looked at it for a few moments. He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Why send it to me? What does this mean?” Questions were piling up in my brain. Suddenly I felt naked in my pyjamas. I wanted to wear something that I could run away in.

This irrational thought brought a stop to the chaos in my mind. I needed to look at this calmly.

“I don’t know, Jenny. All I know is the inspiration of this painting. Well, not this painting, but the original painting. Dante Rossetti was not only an artist, but he was also a translator. He translated many Italian works of poetry, including Dante Alighieri’s
La Vita Nuova
.”

“That was written by Dante in the thirteenth century.” As a teenager I had had an interest in medieval literature. It had lasted only three months, but Dante had made an impression. I did not remember any of his early work though. My fascination had been with his later pieces. “It was long before his more famous Divine Comedy, right?”

“Exactly. He wrote that combination of prose and verse as a very young man in love with her.” He pointed at the painting. “Beatrice Portinari was the main focus of his poetry in that work, Dante’s love interest from childhood. Rossetti completed this oil on canvas painting in 1870.”

“I don’t know whether to call it strange or interesting that both their names were Dante.”

“The medieval poet’s full name was Durante degli Alighieri, known to most as Dante. The nineteenth-century artist was named Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti. He preferred to be called Dante in honour of the poet.”

“Do you think this is significant?”

Colin shrugged. “No. Yes. Maybe. But this painting is interesting.”

The young woman depicted on the canvas was sitting in front of a low wall with light streaming in from a window behind her. Her face was lifted upwards in what looked a meditative or praying pose, and her open hands rested on her lap in a seeming petition. A red dove offered her a poppy flower. In the background to the left was a shadowy figure holding what looked like a flame in her hand. To the right, deep in the shadows, was a male lion.