3 The Braque Connection (16 page)

“Slow motion, yes, please. Then pause it on twenty seconds.” I addressed everyone. “Don’t look at me, look at Colin.”

It was hard for my eyes to not be drawn to the panicked movements to the left of the screen, but I watched Colin’s image in the centre of the monitor. Looking at it a second time, his behaviour became even more obvious. His drunken movements, his relaxed muscles were too relaxed, too directed. He was much more in control of his body than he wanted these men to think. He swayed as the man put his shoulder under Colin’s arm and pulled Colin’s arm around his shoulders to make it easier to half-carry him. Colin staggered into the man with the momentum created and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. Disgust was clearly written on the man’s face and his body language.

On twenty seconds, Francine stopped the video. “What are we looking at?”

“Continue playing, but much slower now. Watch Colin’s hands.” A smile of anticipation lifted the corners of my mouth. Onscreen, Colin lifted his free hand to rest on the man’s shoulder so that it looked as if they were almost embracing. The man shrugged his shoulder to dislodge Colin’s hand. He rolled his head on the man’s shoulder and allowed his hand to drop to the man’s chest where he drunkenly patted the man.

“Oh my God, dude!” Vinnie burst out laughing. “Way to go! You’re a rock star!”

“What?” Phillip leaned closer to the screen. “What happened?”

Francine paused the video and took it back a few seconds. I got up and stood by the screen, ready with a pen. As Colin patted the man’s chest, I pointed with the pen to Colin’s hand. Francine had slowed down the replay more, which made it easier to see the dark shape Colin lifted out of the man’s breast pocket. The cell phone was visible for only a second when Colin’s hand dropped limply to his side. He fiddled with his trousers, his hand empty after the first touch. This time everyone else burst out laughing. Even Manny smiled.

“You totally robbed him.” Francine played the clip again, smiling widely.

“Once a thief…” Manny’s attempt at hiding his smile turned the words into a proud statement rather than a scathing insult.

I sat down next to Colin and couldn’t help my smile widening. He looked bewildered.

“I have absolutely no memory of doing that.” This brought more laughter. “But that was so smooth. My God. I really am good.”

“There’s something else.” I nodded to Francine’s laptop. “Can you bring up the photos that I emailed to myself? I want to show the first one.”

It took Francine only a few second to put the badly focussed photo up on the screen.

“I had no idea what it was supposed to be,” I said. “But now it’s clear.”

“I must have given you the phone,” Colin interrupted, excited. “You took photos and sent it to yourself.”

I nodded. “I am sure that this is a very bad photo taken from the back of the car. The two large shapes on the sides must be the headrests from the front seats. That photo was taken and sent to my email address a few minutes after this video was taken.”

Manny looked like he had won a prize. “Doc, even when you’re drugged out of your mind, you’re still smart. I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t.” I knew it was a harmless expression, but I didn’t like the thought. The nonverbal communication around the table was much lighter and more positive than a few minutes ago. I, too, felt the excitement of this breakthrough. We watched the video twice more in the next twenty minutes, looking for new clues, but found none. I was too distracted by my meltdown and needed some time to put distance between me and the footage. Since there wasn’t much else to discuss, our meeting was dismissed and I went to my viewing room. There was so much that still needed to be analysed
.

Chapter FOURTEEN

“Maybe we need to look for a government building with six sides,” Francine said as she walked into my viewing room. It was late morning and I was feeling agitated. I had not been able to gain any insight into the butler’s murder. I had looked at Susan Kadlec’s case again, rendering no further clues. The rest of the twenty-seven cases hadn’t led us to any suspects either. I felt extremely unproductive.

To exacerbate my discontent, my workspace was crowded with Vinnie and Colin sitting on either side of me and Francine stepping closer. The emails I had sent to myself were on the monitors to the right, the current topic of discussion. On the rest of the monitors were the other parts of this case.

Francine rested her hip on my table, but quickly stood up when she saw my expression. I had spent enough time with her to recognise the look on her face as the beginnings of some wild conspiracy theory. Vinnie and Colin fell into her trap. They found flaws in her reasoning and debated other possibilities, which she vigorously defended.

I ignored the familiar arguing and stared unseeing at the ten monitors against the wall. Each one showed a different aspect of the case. If I were to draw lines between the monitors, there would not be enough lines. I needed more lines.

“How are these things connected?” I verbalised my thought, which stopped the argument next to me. I pointed at the top left monitor, not caring if they were paying attention. “There we have the first abduction, my tattoo and the website, the numbers and the second abduction, then the numerous murders with bullets that have no striae, Colin being set up, Hawk’s murder—”

“—and the bloody painting,” Manny said from the door. “That frigging painting keeps popping up everywhere.”

I stared at the monitor in the centre with a photo of Braque’s Harbour of Normandy. It almost felt like an audible click that went off in my head. “Oh. Oh my.”

I pulled up a search engine and within a few seconds had another image on the monitor next to the Harbour of Normandy. “This is Braque’s Man with a Guitar, or better known as
L’homme à la guitare
, an oil on canvas, currently in the Museum of Modern Art in New York.”

“Isn’t that one of the phrases you emailed to yourself?” Francine asked, focussing on the monitor with my emails.

“Only part of it. In my email I wrote ‘
Homme a la’
, which could mean anything.”

“But you think it’s referring to this painting?” Colin’s question sounded more like a statement.

I didn’t know why I felt this confident in my opinion. “Yes, I think that.”

“Why would you email that to yourself?” Manny asked.

“Wrong question,” I said. “The right question is where did I see this painting that it made a strong enough impression to motivate me to email this to myself. Another question is what significance does Braque have in this case? Is it Braque or something else?”

“This reminds me, where is the original painting that we got from Hawk’s house, Frey?” The look Manny gave Colin had hints of distrust. “Is it still with your buddy or have you fenced it to some black-market buyer?”

“You really are an arsehole, Millard. I would never sell a painting of such great value. Pieces like that belong with their rightful owners.” Colin took a deep breath. “The painting is safe with my friend. He is a respected art dealer whose reputation relies heavily on the legitimacy of his deals.”

“And he’s your friend because of his honesty? Or because of your honesty?” Manny was rude, but his question had merit.

“What matters more than your quest for justice is that he can be trusted with a piece that valuable. He will never let it go to the black market, and he knows what would happen to him if he did.” Colin’s argument was a repeat of yesterday morning at Hawk’s house. Manny had wanted to take it in as evidence and it had taken a long time and a lot of shouting, but Colin had convinced him the best course of action was to take the painting to his friend. That way, the original and the two forgeries were all in one place. I was curious to know what Colin’s friend had found on those forgeries. Or if he had even found anything.

“And when will this friend”––Manny said the word with distaste––“share with us what he learned from the paintings?”

“I’ll see him tomorrow morning.”

“That original better be there, Frey.” Manny rubbed his hand over his face. “I know I’m going to regret this, but tell me more about this Braque person.”

“The quick and dirty version?” Colin asked and waited for Manny’s nod. “He was born in 1882 close to Paris, first painted some impressionist work before he was influenced by Cézanne’s work. That’s when he got interested in cubism. Around 1910 he hooked up with Picasso and the two of them started painting together. In that time they produced works so similar that it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between the two artists. Their collaboration stopped when Braque joined the French army in 1914, the beginning of the First World War.”

“Maybe Kubanov’s granddaddy fought in the Battle of Tannenberg and died at the hands of the French.” Francine nodded emphatically. “That’s it. He knows Braque fought in that war and blames his granddaddy’s death on the artist. Now he’s taking it out on us.”

“The Battle of Tannenberg was between the Germans and the Russians. Braque wasn’t there.” Colin smiled at Francine’s flight of fancy. “He was injured in France and started painting again. His later work was a milder version of the harsh lines of earlier cubism. He died in 1963.”

I couldn’t see any useful information in what Colin had just said. Or in Francine’s outrageous theory. My mind wandered to the person foremost in our minds. “Even though we have to make allowances for neuroplasticity, a major personality change seldom occurs.”

“Um, Doc? You’ve just totally changed topics on us. What on God’s green earth is neuroplastics?”

“Neuroplasticity.” I enunciated the world clearly and with annoyance. Did Manny intentionally get these terms wrong? “It means our brains are in a constant state of flux. And even though it can in theory change a personality, it seldom does. There are very few recorded cases of people undergoing a significant change of character. We might modify some behaviour, change some habits, but it is rare to see notable change in a person over his lifetime.”

“Where are you going with this, Doc?”

“Kubanov might adjust some behaviour, but his personality will remain unchanged.”

“How is this important now?”

“There is a connection. With every case in the past there was a connection between the art and his crimes. This time will be no different. We just need to find the connection between Kubanov and Braque.” I looked at Francine. “Not a conspiracy theory. An actual connection.”

“And if you’re wrong and find out Braque killed his granddaddy, you come with me for a whole day’s spa treatment.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “I will not be wrong.”

“What connection do you think there is?” Colin asked.

“It would be speculation. I have no evidence to make any connections. Have you not been listening?”

“Missy, for once just make some bloody speculations.”

“Speculate. We don’t make speculations…” I stopped correcting his grammar when the artery on his forehead became pronounced. “If forced to speculate, I would think it might have something to do with Braque’s paintings.”

“We have two paintings here. The Man with a Guitar and the Harbour of Normandy. What connection is there between them?”

“They were painted by Georges Braque,” I said. “That is the obvious connection.”

“And they are both amazing works of art,” Colin said.

“I don’t know if you smart people see it, but I don’t.” Vinnie sat with his head tilted to one side, his face twisted in an unattractive squint. “Nope, I don’t see why you think it’s pretty, Jen-girl.”

How did I explain that the heavily worked surface and its dense value gradations appealed to me? It soothed my brain.

“Any better speculation than just his paintings, Doc?”

I seldom grew impatient while investigating a case. Analysing everything to its core was pure pleasure to me. It took time and I didn’t mind losing myself in it. I used to lose myself to the point of not eating or bathing for days. Nowadays it was not possible, not with all these people in my life consistently breaking my concentration with food and forcing me to rest. It was annoying, but I appreciated its value, their value. Although sometimes they hindered more than they helped.

“Go away.” I turned to my computer and waved with one hand. “I need to work and your badgering will not help me comb through everything faster. I will find theories based on facts faster if you don’t demand hypotheses the whole time. I will not speculate any further.”

“And you accuse
me
of being rude. That’s the pot calling the kettle… Ah, hell, she’s not listening anymore.” Manny’s exasperation almost made me smile, but that would have revealed I was listening. On the monitors I replaced the Man with a Guitar painting with the Harbour of Normandy, the painting that was at the centre of this case. I was not quite sure where I wanted to focus next. The connecting factor between all these floating pieces were almost within reach. It was hovering in the back of my mind and I was at a loss how to bring it into my consciousness.

“He’s gone and he took Francine with him.” There was an audible smile in Colin’s voice a few seconds later when the glass doors slid closed. “You can relax now.”

“I was relaxed.” I looked back at the emails I had sent myself.

He touched my shoulder. “No, you weren’t. Your left shoulder moves ever so slightly when you’re avoiding something. It’s as if you’re having a small shiver, but only in one shoulder.”

“For reals?” Vinnie leaned forward in his chair to study my shoulder. “I’ve never seen that. Thanks, dude. Now I know what to look for.”

“Can we please get back to the case?” I pushed his hand off my shoulder and decided my next step. “I want to watch the videos again.”

“Sure, if you’re up to it.” His comment didn’t catch my attention as much as the concern in his voice. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes.” I sighed. Vinnie was sitting on Colin’s other side, still looking at my shoulder. “I’m not lying, Vinnie. I’m genuinely okay watching this footage. It’s disconcerting to see my behaviour, but I was not in control, so my emotions are not rational.”

The last sentence I said to Colin and my voice tapered down to a whisper. I had worked extremely hard at controlling my behaviour to not have autistic outbursts. At first I had been uncomfortable having shutdowns when Colin was with me, but his lack of concern about it had helped me accept it. A shutdown didn’t pose any threat to myself or others, whereas a meltdown could cause a lot of harm. I didn’t like that I’d had my first adult meltdown in the presence of strange and dangerous men.

“Are you sure about this? We can take a break.”

“No.” I straightened in my chair and opened the video player. It felt good to move back into our old dynamic. It was a working relationship I had not appreciated until my action and Colin’s anger had changed it temporarily. “I know there is more to see in this footage.”

I clicked on the play button and was grateful for Colin and Vinnie’s silence. Together we watched the nine-minute video until the car moved out of view. I replayed the video twice more before I paused it to give us the clearest possible shot of the man who had carried Colin.

“What do you see, Jenny?”

I didn’t answer him, but opened the video I had taken in Hawk’s warehouse. I searched for a specific shot and paused the video there. I zoomed in on the background of the warehouse video until I was happy with what was visible on the monitors. There was no mistaking the body language. As humans, we all had several distinctive gestures and habits that together with build, posture and context made identifying a person easier.

“It’s the same man.” Colin narrowed his eyes and groaned. “This is such a grainy shot, it’s difficult to see, but I’m sure he has a scar just under his left ear. It’s clearer on the video from the warehouse.”

“A scar.” I brought up the email with the phrases. “Hypertrophic. An excessive amount of collagen which causes a scar to be raised and often is red in colour. That has to be what I meant when I emailed this to myself. I was identifying my kidnapper.”

“Fuck!” Vinnie stood up to move as close to the monitors as he could. “I know this fucker.”

“Language, criminal.” Manny was standing in the doorway between the viewing room and the team room. “How do you know this man?”

“I saw him a few times at Hawk’s place. I know he did work for Hawk, but he hired himself out.”

“A mercenary?” Manny asked.

“Not only. He also acts as a negotiator.” Vinnie smiled when Manny scratched his jaw. “Yeah, his skills are not Phillip’s. He negotiates with fists and guns.”

“His name?”

“Dukwicz. Everyone only knows him by his last name. Or this could be his first name. And when I say everyone, I mean not many people. He’s a behind-the-scenes guy. The dude has a rep for being evil. Him you can lock up any day and I’ll be happy.”

Something about the grainy image of the scarred man’s face called to me. I zoomed out of the image on the warehouse video, took note of the angle and zoomed in again, this time as close to his face as I could while still keeping it mostly clear. All warmth left my body.