3 The Braque Connection (15 page)

“When you say it like that, I don’t know what to think,” Colin said.

“I just got an email with the preliminary reports from the McCarthy crime scene. They will do more tests, but so far it’s been determined that it was your DNA under the butler’s fingernails. But that was the only place they found your DNA.”

“Wait.” Colin’s tone held a warning. “Just how is it that they have my DNA to compare anything to? And how did you get those results so quickly? Doesn’t it take weeks or months to get a full report on someone’s DNA?”

“That is where we benefit from working directly under the president.” Manny’s smile was insincere. “I ask, they do. That is the orders they have.”

“My DNA?”

“I took your coffee mug when we just started working together. But don’t worry, Frey. It’s registered under William Strode.”

“One of my aliases?” Colin gave a reluctant laugh. “I’ll have to give this one to you, Millard.”

I knew that this was the closest Colin was going to come to thanking Manny for protecting his identity. Manny seemed to also know this. He just nodded. “They also found DNA not belonging to any of the family members, the butler or to you. Since they don’t have anything to compare it to, it will take a bit longer to analyse, or whatever science magic they do with it. Oh, and there was a hair found on the McCarthy forgery they are also testing.”

“Does this mean Colin is cleared of that murder?” I asked.

“No. It means that Scotland Yard is looking very hard for William Strode in connection to a homicide. Doc, this is one case you might also want to have a look at to see if you can solve this. It would be the easiest to get your boyfriend cleared if we had the real killer.”

I nodded, not knowing where I would start with that murder case. I got lost in my head for a few minutes considering my options. An aromatic plate of pasta placed in front of me brought me back to the table. Dinner was being served. A few minutes later, everyone was served and we were eating Vinnie’s delicious pasta, accompanied by sparkling water. After all the drugs in our system, it was agreed that we would be cautious with our beverages for the next few days.

The conversation returned to the protection of privacy and governments spying on private citizens. When Manny and Francine raised their voices, I went back into my head and assessed all the evidence we had so far. As soon as we finished dinner, I was going to get back to working. The next case I was going to look at would be the McCarthy butler.

“Doc!”

I looked up to see Manny standing, his feet pointed to the door. “You’re leaving.”

“I have to organise interrogations for all these killers. And I have to check on my teams at the warehouse and Hawk’s house.” He lowered his head and gave me a serious look. “Go to bed early. We can take this up again in the morning. We’ll have a team meeting at eight.”

I got up and walked with him to the door. “You look uncommonly tired. You should take your own advice.”

“As soon as I can, Doc. As soon as I can.” He took a deep breath and left with a tired half smile. It had been a long day for him and I was responsible. We all were. Still holding the front door open, I made the decision to try harder at not being the cause of Manny’s stress and fatigue. I was going to pay more attention to including him, and also encouraging the others to treat him with more respect.

“We’re also off, Jen-girl.” Vinnie stopped in the doorway. “The old man gave some good advice. Go to bed early. We can work on this again tomorrow.”

“I agree.” Francine walked to us, carrying her computer bag. “I’m going to soak in a hot bubble bath now. I can’t remember the last time I went to bed before midnight. Today I’m going to do just that.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning.” I watched them leave and was about to close the door when Colin stopped me.

“I’m also going home.”

Disappointment created the feeling of my heart dropping a few centimetres in my chest. “Why?”

He pointed at his face. “I have a killer headache and I don’t know if it is from Vinnie’s steel fists or from the drugs. I just need to lie down and hopefully sleep for eight hours.”

I looked at him, searching for any sign of underlying motivation for him leaving me. He must have seen something on my face, a regretful smile pulling at his lips, but not reaching his eyes.

He moved closer and put his uninjured hand on my cheek. “I’m tired, Jenny. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Okay.” My voice was an emotional whisper. I hated it.

He moved his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me closer for a passionate kiss. I really wanted him to stay, but didn’t want to cause him any discomfort. I trusted him enough to take his words at face value.

Only when I closed the door after him a few minutes later did I realise it had been days since he had asked to break through the wall of our apartments. My heart dropped even lower in my chest.

I locked all the locks to my front door, straightened my spine and walked to my bathroom. Cleaning the shower with a toothbrush was what I needed right now to kill the time until I went to bed. Hopefully it would take my mind off Colin and clear it for tomorrow. I needed to put an end to this case. To put an end to Kubanov.

Chapter THIRTEEN

I looked up from my notes on the round table when Phillip entered the team room, followed by Angelique. She was carrying a tray with coffee and croissants. I was too relieved at having Phillip in the room to be concerned about the older woman’s nervous body language. If after seven years she still found me terrifying, I didn’t see the point in appeasing her. As soon as she emptied the tray, she scurried out. Phillip sat down next to me and cleared his throat. “If the rest of you would please be seated, we can start.”

“Is the coffee safe to drink?” Vinnie glared at the steaming mugs in the centre of the table. “What about the croissants?”

“All the perishables in the kitchen have been replaced.” Phillip added milk and one spoon of sugar to his coffee. “I will drink this first if you need proof that it’s safe, but can we please start? I have a full day.”

Vinnie and Francine watched Phillip take the first sip of his coffee before they helped themselves. I had been surprised when they had been in the office before Colin and I arrived. We were all seated in the team room, ready for an early morning meeting. Everyone looked much more rested than when they had left my apartment last night. I had also had a good night’s rest after scrubbing my bathroom and the guest bathroom.

The one cup of coffee I’d had at home this morning was not enough, but I couldn’t bring myself to take one of the mugs on the table. I looked at Manny. “What did the crime scene investigators find yesterday?”

“Where?” He tore the corner off his croissant and put it in his mouth. “I had one team here, one in Hawk’s warehouse and one in his mansion.”

“I would first like to know about the findings here,” I said. “Did you find our coffee mugs?”

Manny shook his head while he swallowed. “Yes, but all the dishes had gone through the dishwasher. We checked Frey’s special coffee and that was without any drugs. The coffee machine was checked inside out. Clean. The water, clean. Nothing in the kitchen or your viewing room had any traces of drugs.”

“Then how did it get into our coffee?”

“My guess is that your mugs had been laced with it.” Manny looked at Colin. “Did you notice anything strange when you made the coffee?”

“I can’t remember making that coffee.”

“You know what this means, right?” Francine tapped her manicured nails on the table. “This is an insider job.”

“This is incredibly hard to comprehend,” Phillip said. The
triangularis
muscle depressed the corners of his mouth. “I can’t imagine anyone in this office being in league with the likes of Kubanov. Everyone agreed to be double-checked yesterday. This is a team of dedicated professionals.”

“What about their financials?” Francine asked. “Have you checked those?”

Manny’s expression changed the longer he looked at Francine. He was an astute observer of people, a natural body language reader. “What did you find, supermodel?”

“Whatever do you mean, Manny?” She placed her hand over her heart and fluttered her eyelids.

Manny didn’t speak. He leaned a centimetre closer to her and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Francine waved her hand in the air and pursed her lips.

“Nothing. Yet. I was helping Genevieve yesterday with the cases, so I didn’t have a lot of time to look deeper. On the surface everyone looked fine.” She started tapping her nails on the table again. “But there is always more. I will be checking today.”

Phillip lifted his hand to stop Manny when he inhaled sharply. “Francine was not violating anyone’s privacy rights. A condition of employment at Rousseau & Rousseau is complete transparency with personal finances. This is a business where it is easy to fall victim to numerous temptations offered.”

“As long as you lot remember our conversation yesterday.” His warning elicited a few snorts and grunts, but no objections.

“Have you received the results from our blood tests?” I asked.

“Yup, you and Frey were drugged with Diazepam. The lab guys said that Frey had enough in his system to explain his memory loss. You had much less, just enough for a relaxing nap.”

I took a deep breath. Twice in one week my system had been filled with a chemical I didn’t agree to. Diazepam, like other benzodiazepines, could affect cognitive function for up to six months after ingestion. The only positive sides were that it had a relatively low level of toxicity in overdoses. Not that we had been overdosed. Just being dosed was bad enough for me.

I brought up Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 24 in C minor in my mind. After a minute of mentally listening to it, I felt calmer, my heart rate no longer elevated. I was ready to talk about the insights I had gained while cleaning my bathrooms.

“I have something else that is not useful yet, but might mean something. Francine, can you open the rousseaus website?” I played with the cuff of my sleeve, not happy to again look at stalker photos of myself. I was still wearing long sleeves to cover the bruises on my upper arms and the fading henna tattoo. My skin had become red and sensitive from the strong scrubbing I gave it at any opportunity.

“Oh hell, I haven’t even had time to look at this,” Manny said as photos of me filled the monitor. “Too much happening. Explain this, Doc.”

“This is a slideshow with photos taken over the last seven weeks. I know this because of the leaves on the trees and my clothes.”

“She remembers what she wore on specific days.” There was awe on Francine’s face.

“The photos are displayed in chronological order and nothing in the photos has been altered.” I had made sure of this, but had asked Francine to double-check. The photos were untouched.

We watched as one after another photo of me slid across the screen. Vinnie and Manny’s breathing was becoming heavier with agitation. Phillip was paling.

“He’s a sick fuck.” Vinnie’s words were slow and angry. “What’s up with the frames?”

I merely glanced at the ornately drawn frames that surrounded each photo. What had started as an awareness while talking to an unconscious Colin had turned into full-blown results while cleaning my two bathrooms.

“Those frames are the most, maybe only, important part of this website.” I pushed up my sleeve, drawing everyone’s eyes to the light tattoo on my arm. “Do you see the similarity?”

“Holy Mary. Did you find hidden messages on the frames as well, Doc?”

“Numbers. The first photo’s number is three-one-zero-three-zero, the second is five-one-one-three-six, and so on. Francine helped me yesterday, but the numbers didn’t take us to other websites, GPS co-ordinates or anything else.”

“How many photos?” Phillip asked.

“Thirteen photos and thirteen different numbers. I’ll keep looking for the meaning behind it.” I knew the message of these sets of numbers were within my reach. Firstly, I could feel my mind working at it. Secondly, Kubanov would only send a code he knew I could decipher. His need for acknowledgement overrode the risk of giving away too much too soon.

“I found footage of the kidnapping.” Francine lifted the tablet and waved it. “It took days, but I found a small shop with security cameras facing the street that caught some action.”

“Which kidnapping?” My stomach felt hollow.

“The first one.” She swiped her finger across the tablet screen. “I’ll put it up on the projector.”

Phillip had had the best technology installed with Francine’s guidance. This included a screen that rolled down from the ceiling to cover half of one wall. We turned to the wall and watched as Francine opened a video file.

“I got this footage three towns away from your cottage, Colin. This was last Thursday evening a few minutes before eleven, as you can see on the time stamp. I just got it, so I haven’t cleaned up any images. It’s not good quality and doesn’t give me enough to identify anyone. Apart from you two, of course.”

“How did you obtain this?” Manny asked. “And I don’t want to know this to prosecute you. I’m really interested.”

“I’ve told you before. There is a network of people willing to do the legwork if you need something. I put out the word that I was looking for a man and a woman who looked drunk and were helped by military-type men dressed in black.” Francine tilted her head. “What? Genevieve is not the only clever one here. I was working on the basis of our last cases and used those parameters to create a profile.”

“And these people helping you are all hackers?”

Francine leaned slightly back, away from the interrogation. “They are people who helped me and that is all you need to know. I asked specifically for anything in a fifty-kilometre radius around Colin’s cottage and this was what I got.”

She clicked on the play button and grainy white and black images filled the screen. The view was from inside a shop that looked like it sold everything. On the shelves were toys, electronics, books, even jewellery.

“This is a second-hand shop.” She zoomed in on the view of the street, which were quite wide thanks to the shop windows and the angle of the camera. She had been right. The quality of the footage was poor. Few cars were parked in front of the shop. To the left was a large SUV, dark in colour. The movement entering the screen on that side was the only sign of life on the street. Francine paused the film.

“It is difficult to watch.” She looked at me. “Really difficult, so be ready.”

A drunk man was being helped by a well-built man with military bearing, dressed in black, a cap pulled low over his brow. Francine had been astute in her descriptions of what to look for. I recognised Colin as the drunk man from his shoes. Vinnie frequently teased him that he was a shoe snob. He only wore designer shoes—even his boots and sneakers were only the best brands. He was wearing the Bertuli Oxfords, dark brown leather shoes he had proudly showed me a few weeks ago.

A couple entered the screen behind Colin and the man. It took me a full two seconds before I recognised the writhing woman to be me. My gasp drew everyone’s attention away from the screen. I didn’t take my eyes off the screen, just weakly waved one hand to indicate that I didn’t want their concern. Whether they understood or not was not as important as what I was witnessing.

On the screen was a textbook example of an autistic meltdown. I had only ever seen children behaving in such a manner. I was totally out of control. Even though my movements were highly disoriented and sluggish, I was kicking and punching the man holding me. The more he attempted to control me, the worse I became. Some of my reactions evidenced my seven years of self-defence training. None of it was effective.

Autistic meltdowns were difficult for anyone to deal with. In my case, it had happened a few times as a child when I had been over-stimulated. Too many people speaking to me at once and a new cleaning lady putting everything out of place had been two major triggers. My more common coping mechanism was to shut down, to go into my head and write Mozart. What was taking place onscreen was the first meltdown I’d had as an adult.

It was not difficult to deduce what had triggered the situation everyone was looking at now. The body language of the man trying to control me became increasingly agitated until he backhanded me. My head snapped back and I fell on the pavement. There was no sound to this video, but it was clear that I was screaming. My face contorted as I screamed and continued attacking the man. Watching this felt as if a belt fastened around my chest, constricting tighter and tighter. I looked away from my thrashing image to look at Colin’s image on the video. What I saw made me smile and I took note of the time stamp.

The rest of the footage was more of me in a complete meltdown, the man punching me a few times until he threw me into the back of the SUV. He closed the door and leaned against it, heaving. Unknowingly, that was the one thing he had done right. Each individual deals with meltdowns or shutdowns differently. Being given space, as the man had done by isolating me in the car, was what I had needed. Until Colin, no one could touch me during a meltdown or a shutdown. His presence and touch made me feel safe, calmed me down. In lieu of that I needed space.

The two men conversed with agitated body language for a few minutes before the one dealing with me opened the door to check inside. His body language relaxed and they shoved Colin’s limp body in next to me. A few more exchanges and they also got in the car and drove away.

“Is there any audio for this?” Manny asked after a few moments of shocked silence. His voice was low and gruff with anger.

“No, but I know a guy who knows a guy who can lip-read,” Francine said. “I already sent him the footage and he’ll get back to me tomorrow at the latest.”

I didn’t realise my hands were clenched in tight fists until Colin put his hand over mine in a firm grip. “You got in a few really good kicks and punches.”

“I haven’t done that since I was a young child.”

“We’ll get those fuckers, Jen-girl. They’ll get their own.”

I gave Vinnie a weak smile. Their anger was better than pity. It didn’t make me feel weak and helpless. I was honest enough with myself to admit the deep comfort and relief I felt with Colin’s hand over mine. I had missed his presence last night.

“Francine, can you take the video to eleven fifty-four and sixteen seconds?” I asked.

Francine did that and paused it. “Slo-mo?”