2 The Dante Connection (9 page)

“Why do you say it is interesting?” I considered a red dove with a halo delivering a white poppy interesting. Colin’s reference might be different.

“It is a perfect replica. One of the best I’ve seen. Except for the lion.”

“What’s wrong with the lion?” I leaned closer to look at it.

Colin didn’t answer me. He walked to the table, sat down and handled my laptop as if I had given him permission. I hadn’t. I took a deep breath and joined him at the table.

“Look.” He turned the laptop, my laptop, for me to have a better view of the monitor. “This is the original painting by Rossetti.”

“Oh my.” I blinked a few times. “There is no lion.”

“Yup. No lion.” He slumped in the chair. “Why on earth would someone paint such an extraordinary work and get it wrong?”

“Because it is a message.” I pointed at the figure to the right of the painting on the monitor. “What or who is supposed to be in place of the lion?”

“Dante.”

“Hmm.” My mind wasn’t even giving me a glimmer of a connection. I continued to stare at the painting on the monitor. “And the person on the left?”

“That is Love. In Dante’s
La Vita Nuova
he constantly refers to her. Here he is looking towards her. In the book Dante mourned the unrequited love he had for Beatrice right up until her death. Rossetti painted this after his wife, Lizzie, died from a laudanum overdose. She died in 1862. Both this painting and the translation for
La Vita Nuova
were done after Lizzie’s death. He felt close kinship and understanding to Dante’s painful mourning of Beatrice’s death in that book.”

“It was more than just their names binding them,” I said absently. This was immensely fascinating, but I could not see any correlation to any of the previous two days’ events.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Colin asked.

I went through the whole story that he had just told me three times in my head. “No, I can see no connection whatsoever.”

“A connection to the burglaries?”

“You think there is a connection?” I asked in turn. “Please tell me if you see it, because I don’t see it.”

“I’m not seeing anything. But I do think this is far too coincidental to not be connected somehow.” He shifted in the chair. “The painting is here in Strasbourg.”

“The original painting?” My voice was a bit too loud. I cleared my throat.

“Yes. One of the more prestigious art galleries is holding a fantastic exhibition and this is their drawing card. It’s on loan from the Tate Museum in London.” His mouth indicated scepticism. “Someone from this gallery must know someone from the Tate. There is no other way that they would’ve gotten such a priceless piece of art for their exhibition.”

“Which gallery is it?” I asked.

“La Fleur Galerie on Grand Rue.”

My eyebrows shot up. I grabbed my computer and looked for a company email sent out earlier in the week. “La Fleur Galerie? This is becoming ridiculous with all these little connections. Aha, got it. Just like I thought. La Fleur Galerie is insured by Rousseau & Rousseau. I was asked to watch the interview footage of all the employees to check for any markers of dishonesty. La Fleur has done a lot in preparing for this exhibition and protecting all the artwork that will be on display there.”

We fell silent for a few minutes. My mind was turning over every tiny bit of information. As inconsequential as it might seem, even the smallest thing could help me solve this painting mystery. If we were talking about things seeming too coincidental, then I had another question. “Could this have something to do with your disappearance?”

Colin flinched as if I had punched him. His reaction was reflective and miniscule. But I had been trained to notice micro-expressions. I had seen his limbic brain’s honest response to my question. There was nothing he could say to make me believe he did not suspect some connection between the painting, the burglaries and his mission that had gone awry.

I watched him struggle with an answer. He must have known that I would call him out on a lie. He was debating what to tell me. I was hoping for the truth. The full truth.

My waiting got interrupted by a ping from my computer. My email account had at last opened and I had a new email. It was marked urgent, but that wasn’t what concerned me.

“What is it?” Colin asked. I glanced up from the computer and noticed the relief on his face that we could focus on something else.

“An urgent email.”

“Seems like there are lots of urgent things. Who is it from?”

It took a moment for me to answer. “Dante.”

“Shit. For real?” He leaned in to look at the screen. “This is getting way too out there to be anything but connected.”

I lifted a brow at his use of such informal language. He was clearly as taken aback by this as me. I opened the email and frowned.

Colin sat even closer to also read the message. He grunted. “What does this mean?”

“‘The vengeance of those wronged shall visit upon the observers of the purity of new beginnings. Mayhap the mother of all might be their saviour.’” I shrugged and shook my head. “I don’t know what this means.”

“Who would write something like that? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It made sense to whoever wrote this,” I said. In Oxford I had done an undergraduate year in abnormal psychology. This kind of behaviour had come up in a few discussions. The other students had called these people loonies. People who communicated through code, thinking they were of superior intellect, daring authorities to catch them and stop them. People who were dangerous.

It felt as if my heart dropped to my stomach.

Chapter EIGHT

“If you don’t like it, you can leave.” I was bored with this argument.

“You know I’m not going anywhere,” Colin said, the
buccinator
muscles stretching the corners of his mouth into a sneer.

“Then stop complaining. I’m getting dressed. Manny said he’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.” I had phoned him despite all Colin’s complaints. He had sounded strangely alert at this time of the morning and hadn’t wasted a moment. He was on his way. And I didn’t want to meet the grumpy Interpol man in my pyjamas. I closed my bedroom door a bit louder than was strictly necessary. Colin had annoyed me.

The moment I had suggested we contact Manny, he had exhibited all kinds of hostile nonverbal cues. And then refused to explain why he didn’t want me to phone Manny. This conflict between the men was fast becoming overbearing. It was a distraction that I didn’t appreciate. I pulled a neatly ironed pair of jeans from my wardrobe and a soft long-sleeved T-shirt from the top of a perfectly aligned stack.

I didn’t bother with make-up. I seldom did. At most I applied mascara and lipstick on a working day, but this was five o’clock in the morning. In my apartment. There was no need for frivolities. I did, however, spend two minutes carefully messing up my short brown hair. Everything else in my life was generally void of chaos, and my messily styled hair appealed to my rebellion against social norms.

Colin was also dressed and pacing the length of the open-plan living area when I left my room. His lips were pressed into a thin line. A sign of distress. Combined with the rest of his body language it was easy to come to a conclusion. I went to the kitchen to make more coffee. He joined me, leaning against the counter, arms folded and glaring at me. I was hard pushed to not roll my eyes.

“What would you have done? Who would you have phoned?” I asked softly. I didn’t want to argue any more.

“Not Millard.”

“That’s not an answer, Colin.” I turned to him and studied his face for a few seconds. “You know you can tell me.”

“I know.” He was silent for a long minute. “I can’t. I’m sorry that you have been dragged into all this, Jenny.”

“Into all what?”

“This.” He waved his hand towards the computer. “The burglaries, Francine’s attack, this mysterious package.”

“You didn’t do any of this. You have nothing to be sorry for.” I knew this to be true. He wasn’t responsible for any of the many reasons that had me making coffee and waiting for Manny at five in the morning. Then why did guilt and remorse flash across his face?

The doorbell interrupted any further analysis. Manny. He wasn’t aware of Colin’s association with Interpol. I shuddered at the thought of his reaction if he were ever to find out. In his opinion, Colin was a common criminal worthy of being thrown in prison. Knowing Manny as I did, he was not going to take kindly to being deceived for such a long period.

I opened the door and frowned. Manny was freshly showered and looked surprisingly awake. He had even shaved.

“Are you going to frown at me all day or let me in, Doctor Face-Reader?” He too was irked.

“Sorry. Please come in.” I moved to the side to allow Manny in. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, sure. Where is it?”

“By the dining room table.” After locking all five locks, I followed Manny to the dining area. Colin had brought an easel from his apartment and the painting was displayed on it next to the table. As we reached the table, Colin stepped from the kitchen.

“You.” Manny didn’t hide his displeasure. “What are you doing here?”

“I moved in with Jenny.” His smile was smug. He was masking his rage towards Manny with disrespect.

Manny turned to me, his face an expression of revulsion. “You’re shacking up with this delinquent?”

“I’m not sure what that means, but I think you are insulting me. Don’t.” I pointed my finger at Colin’s chest. “And you must stop provoking Manny. He’s here to help.”

If these men were wolves, they would have been snarling and snapping at each other. They were human, so they stood there glaring, neither one the first to break eye contact. God, I hated working with men. With people.

“Let’s focus on the painting and the email.” I wanted to go back to what I was familiar with. Analysis, data, facts. Not emotions.

“Missy, is this criminal really staying here?”

“He’s not a–”

“I’m staying here for a short time,” Colin interrupted me. Interesting. He actually wanted Manny to think he was a criminal. “My apartment is currently being renovated.”

I bit down on the insides of my lips. Lying never sat well with me and I was terrible at it. Colin was a good liar. A truly good liar. From Manny’s face, I knew he was suspicious, but almost convinced. Again he dismissed Colin and turned to the painting.

“This it?”

“Yes, this is the Beata Beatrix by Dante Rossetti.”

“Doesn’t look like much.” He leaned in to take a closer look, his hands locked behind his back. “So you say this is a forgery?”

“Yes.” Impatience was audible in my voice. I didn’t like repeating myself. I had told Manny everything about the painting and the email when I had phoned him.

He straightened and stared at me for a few seconds. Then he looked at Colin, grunted and sat down heavily on one of the dining room chairs. “I’ll have to take this in for the forensic guys to look for prints. Do you still have the wrapping and the box?”

“It’s in the recycle bin,” I said. “But I don’t want you to take the painting.”

“Missy, I don’t really care if you want me to take it or not, I’m going to.”

“You won’t find any prints on it,” Colin said. “Well, you’ll find our prints, but no one else’s. The frame is clean and I will bet my bottom dollar that there are no other prints.”

“Prints are not the only things that we can get from that painting, Frey.”

“Of course not.” Colin nodded in acknowledgement. “Trace elements can give us clues about the painter. The paint, the canvas, everything. Jenny, you’ll have to let Manny take the painting.”

I hesitated. “Okay, but I want photos of this painting.”

“I’ll even get my guys to print out a life-size photo of this one,” Manny said. “Does that work for you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Now tell me everything else.” Manny lifted his eyebrows at us. It would seem that our ten o’clock meeting had been moved forward.

I sat down in my usual chair and Colin in the chair next to mine. I fixed an unfriendly look on him when he put his arm across the back of my chair. His territorial display did not please me. I continued frowning at him until he removed his arm and straightened a bit. He didn’t move away though.

“We think that the burglary cases, Francine’s attack, this painting and the email are all connected,” I said, addressing Manny.

“Wait, hold up.” Manny pointed one finger in the air. “Firstly, tell me about Francine’s attack.”

“Jenny–”

“Colin, no.” I stopped him with an intense glare. “The last time I withheld information from Manny, you were suspected of murdering someone and I landed in jail. I’m not doing that again. He might be uncouth in many ways, but he is a good investigator. You know this.”

Colin responded by folding his arms across his chest and scowling. He looked at the painting and nodded his head. As if I needed his permission to continue. I longed for Phillip’s calming presence. He was the expert in handling people. Not me.

Manny inhaled to speak. Most likely about my insult and compliment in one sentence. I couldn’t let him say something that would provoke me into another faux pas or Colin into verbal assault. So I jumped in with the full explanation of everything that had taken place in the last forty-eight hours. Francine’s attack, her ramblings, the hacker and his possible connection to our burglary case and my computer being hacked. I didn’t tell him that Colin had bought the apartment next to me or that Vinnie and Francine were there at the moment. At some point it might become relevant, but it wasn’t a necessary detail now.

“And what do you think is the relationship between all that and the painting?” Manny asked, rubbing his shaved jaw.

“I can’t see any relationship,” I said. “Except that it is far too much of a coincidence that these cases, Francine, the hacker, the painting and the email all entered my life in the last two days.”

‘There’s no such thing as coincidence,” Manny mumbled. He briefly pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Okay, so what do you think the email means?”

I had gone over this a thousand times in my head. Still there was no significant insight. That connection still hadn’t clicked into place. I shrugged. “I genuinely couldn’t tell you. I have no context to interpret this seemingly nonsensical sentence. I’m not good with speculation and conjecture.”

“I am.” Vinnie spoke from the front door. I had to change the locks. Again. Even if it was only to stop these people for a day or two from having full access to my apartment.

“I’m even better.” Francine pushed past Vinnie and walked slowly towards us. Dressed in different yoga pants and this time a glittery silver top, she more resembled her usual supermodel self. The swelling in her face had gone down only a little, but it was enough for her high cheekbones to be visible again. “Some might call it conspiracy theories, I call it conclusions based on well-researched data. Hello, Manny. You’re looking oh so dapper.”

She sat down next to Manny and ran a manicured fingernail down the lapel of his jacket. He inspected her face for a second, not missing a single bruise. Then he leaned in until their noses almost touched. “Don’t fuck with me, little girl. You’ll lose.”

I could count on one hand the number of times I had heard Manny use strong language. Once again he confirmed to me his uncanny, and well-hidden, ability to see through people’s disguises. Most likely he also saw that Francine only responded to and respected strength. His way of conveying that point was with swearwords.

“A real charmer, isn’t he?” Francine smiled beautifully and settled in her chair. Her body language communicated approval of Manny. I marvelled at the games people played.

“What’s he doing here?” Vinnie was giving Manny the same look I had seen on his face months ago. That day he had crushed a mosquito feeding from his arm with a lightning-fast slap.

The loud groan of frustration I uttered surprised everyone. Even me. I waved my index finger at them. “I don’t want this… this juvenile behaviour in my apartment. I don’t know how to deal with it and frankly, it is boring. If you’re going to be here, behave like the intelligent individuals I know you are. Whatever it is you have against each other, act on it when I am not around.”

My outburst was clipped and louder than my normal tone. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Colin, Vinnie and Francine walked out and never came back. Once I had taken that tone with a schoolmate. The rest of the semester no one had spoken to me. At the end of that semester my parents had started homeschooling me. A similar situation had taken place at my first university. And at another university. That was why I avoided social interaction.

I knew Manny wouldn’t leave. He had a professional stake in the case, no personal interests. I raised my eyebrows at my three supposed friends. They had been the ones insisting on friendship. Not the other way around. I wasn’t trying to make friends. I wanted to solve a crime and a mystery.

“I’ll make breakfast.” Vinnie was the first to break the awkward silence. He gave Manny another mosquito-crushing look. “For all of us.”

The large man left my apartment while he muttered about my empty fridge and bringing food. I concluded that it was his way of conceding to my demands. Since no one else said anything or left, I accepted it to be their silent agreement as well.

“Where is he going?” Manny asked.

“To get ingredients for breakfast.” I turned my attention to Francine. “Colin told me you secured my laptop last night. Could someone have gotten past that security?”

“No.” She shook her head. “For that to happen, the hacker has to be better than me. That leaves a handful of candidates in the world. Why?”

The next five minutes were devoted to explaining the email to Francine. When Vinnie returned I had to repeat the story. It annoyed me, but gave me the opportunity to include the details about the painting. The thought of having to repeat this all again to Phillip later at work did not enthuse me. Francine grabbed my computer and tapped away on the keyboard, doing things I carried no knowledge of.

Vinnie got busy in the kitchen while Colin, Manny and myself tried to make sense of the email. We were just going around in circles, the men insisting on outrageous conjecture and Francine interrupting to add a theory that included a government conspiracy. This was exasperating.

“What do you mean?” Colin looked at me and I realised I had spoken out loud.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere. When I draw conclusions it is because I have a wealth of data to work with. We have an email, loosely connected robberies, a hacker and a painting.” The
levator labii superioris
muscles pulled my top lip up in disgust. “Everything you have just said is wild hypothesis.”