Art and Murder (23 page)

Jack had barely started his appetizer when Roche received a phone call. He glanced at Jack, then said, “Excuse me. I need to take this but will go to the lobby so as not to disturb you.”

Something about his glance made Jack feel uneasy, but he knew he had a more pressing problem in front of him. A problem named Carina.

“So … we were discussing art,” Carina said.

“Yes. How about you? What kind of art do you like?” he asked, hoping to get her talking about herself.

Carina smiled. “With the kind of work I do, I would have to say I like it all. To admit otherwise would not be good for business.”

“Ah, yes. Roche mentioned you were into restoration.”

“And authentication and appraisals,” she added.

“So how do you go about doing authentication? Is it the style you look at, combined with the paint itself, along with the subject matter?”

“Yes, and technique. So tell me, what is your favourite painting?”

Good. Maybe now I'll be able to shut you up.
Jack pretended to look shocked that she would ask, then shook his head in disgust. “You say you are an art expert, but by your questions I have the feeling that you are more into history.”

“History? Well, of course, art is —”

“I mean, I bet you are a big fan of the Spanish Inquisition.” Jack's tone was harsh.

“I don't understand,” said Carina. “Why are you —”

“Never mind.” Jack shook his head. “I'll tell you what my favourite painting is. It's one I obtained recently,” he said emphatically. He then softened his voice and said, “It speaks to my heart.” He looked intensely at Carina and added, “Actually, it does more than that. It's part of my heart.”

Carina sat back in her chair, looking confused. “It sounds powerful.”

“It's beyond powerful,” Jack stated coldly.

“I don't understand.” Carina still looked confused. “What did I say to upset you? You sound angry.”

“Of course I'm angry.” Jack gave her another hard look. “I don't appreciate Roche lining me up with prostitutes or —”

“Prostitutes!” Carina gaped at him. “Is that what you think I am?” She rose to her feet.

“I didn't mean you,” Jack said. People at nearby tables had stopped talking and were staring at them.

Carina glowered down at Jack. “Well, for your information, when Roche hired me, sleeping with you was not part of the deal.” She practically spat out the words. Then she muttered, “God, I've never felt so humiliated.” She glanced around and snatched up her purse.

“I was referring to the woman Roche tried to line me up with last night,” Jack explained. “Not you.”

Carina looked at Jack sharply. “He tried to line you up with a prostitute last night?”

“Yes. I met him for dinner and he had two prostitutes with him. The girls were young enough to be my daughters. I was both disgusted and embarrassed.”

“So you thought … do I look like a prostitute to you?” Her expression was horrified.

“No, of course not. But when you asked me what my favourite painting is … well, it was like sticking a knife in my heart. Coupled with last night's experience, it left me with a bad taste about the whole situation.”

“What does asking you about your favourite painting have to do with anything?” she said angrily. “It seems like a normal question to me.”

“Obviously, you don't know the significance the portrait has for me. I thought Roche would have told you.”

“When he hired me this afternoon to be your guide and interpreter, he said —”

“This afternoon?”

“Yes, and he said you were an art collector, so naturally, I presumed you would like to talk about it.”

Jack groaned. “I am truly sorry for my outburst. Your question caught me by surprise and I reacted badly. Please … I apologize. Will you take your seat?”

Carina grimaced and fidgeted with her purse strap.

“Please,” Jack repeated, gesturing to her chair. “I feel awful about how I reacted.”

Carina again glanced around the restaurant, then sat down and speared a piece of eggplant with her fork.

“Do you know what Roche does?” asked Jack, hoping to smooth things over.

“All I know is he has something to do with trading precious metals on the stock market,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I understand that he deals with the elite of society.” She paused. “Roche indicated you may be hired as a consultant.”

Jack nodded.

“What would that entail?” asked Carina in a tone that indicated she was being polite, but not particularly interested.

“My work would focus on making a company run efficiently, protect against corporate takeovers, and ensure company secrets remain secret.”

Carina raised one eyebrow. “That does sound interesting. What was your formal education in?”

“I lack formal education … but make up for it with hands-on experience. Let's just say I have the ability to think outside the box.”
If I don't, I end up inside a box.

“Maybe we should get something straight between the two of us,” said Carina firmly. “Roche told me that you presented yourself as an art collector, but wasn't sure if you were simply trying to impress him. He said that if you weren't genuine, his clients would easily spot you as a phony, and his company would be cast in a bad light.” She paused, then added, “I wanted to find out if you were being pretentious. If you were, I couldn't see why Roche should waste money paying for us to travel around Europe.”

“At least I understand your reason for all the questions,” said Jack.

“I have to admit, some of my interest in you was personal.”

“Oh?”

“Roche mentioned you had obtained a painting recently purported to be an undiscovered Pierrot by Jean-Antoine Watteau.”

“I did,” Jack said. “I believe it is authentic, but am not in any particular hurry to find out, as I do not plan to part with it either way.”

“Such a painting would be a remarkable discovery, if it were truly authentic. Roche said if you ever invited me to authenticate it, he would like to know.”

I bet he would.

“He doesn't have any interest in art himself,” continued Carina, “so I presume he looks at it as a way to judge your credibility. The thing is, as I told him, many ex­perienced art collectors have been fooled. There are some extremely good forgeries on the market, and that alone should not be a basis to judge your credibility, regardless of whether it is real.”

Jack remained silent.

“I would love to see it sometime. If it is real … well, it would be like finding a Spanish galleon filled with treasure. Worth as much, too.”

“The value of it doesn't concern me,” Jack said. “It does concern me that Roche told you about it. I would prefer nobody know I have it.”

“My discretion in such matters is absolute. I deal with many collectors who have rare and priceless paintings. I fully appreciate the need to keep secret.”

“Hopefully Roche is of the same mind.”

“I believe he is. When he told me, he cautioned me not to tell anyone.”

“Good.”

Carina took a sip of wine, then placed her glass down. She eyed Jack curiously. “Besides prostitutes, what else were you going to say a moment ago? You said you didn't appreciate Roche lining you up with prostitutes or … Or what?”

“Or people hired to spy on me,” replied Jack.

“Spy on you!” exclaimed Carina.

“You deny it?”

“I guess you could call it spying, but I viewed it more like I was giving an overall character reference. It's not like I planned to sneak into your briefcase or read your emails or anything. He simply wants to know what sort of person you are and your degree of sophistication. I'm to give him a full evaluation in a week.”

“A week?”

“Yes, but I wasn't supposed to let you know I had been asked to do that.”

“It can be our secret. I don't mind that you will be reporting to him.”

“You don't?” She sounded surprised.

“I would want to check out anyone
I
was going to hire.”

Carina nodded. “Guess I wouldn't make a very good spy, would I.”

“You did come on pretty strong, but that's okay.” Jack twirled a mushroom with his fork in the pâté, then met Carina's gaze once more. “How did you meet Roche?”

“I had brunch today with a client I did some restoration work for. He introduced me to Roche.”

“If your client is a collector, too bad he didn't join us.”

“He had to catch a flight back to Russia this evening.”

“He's Russian?”

Carina nodded.

Jack smiled, as if he knew something amusing.
Come on, Carina, take the bait.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“I've met a few Russians who purported to be … shall we say, cultured. Let me picture your client and you tell me if I'm right.”

Now Carina looked amused. “Go for it.”

“He has a large belly and a grey, walrus-type moustache. I picture him standing on a bearskin rug in front of a stone fireplace with the heads of dead animals mounted on the wall. His first name is either Boris or Ivan.” Jack smiled, then asked, “How have I done so far?”

Carina grinned and shook her head. “Not well.”

“Then let me add that if you were ever to see him on the beach, he would be wearing black, knee-high socks, sandals, and a Speedo.”

“Oh, my God.” Carina laughed. “Not even close. The man is highly sophisticated and a philanthropist of the best kind.”

“Of the best kind?”

“Anonymous and not for recognition. I only know because a painting of his that I did some restoration work on was later donated anonymously to the Tretyakov State Gallery in Moscow. It happened about six years ago, soon after his wife died.”

“That's too bad he lost his wife. What did she die of?”

“Cancer,” replied Carina sadly. “She was a big patron of the arts and at the same time the painting was donated, a large donation was made to the Moscow Art Theatre. I know it was him.”

Jack curbed any outward appearance of the excitement he felt and kept his reply nonchalant. “Okay, so I was wrong about his sophistication. How about the rest?”

“Definitely no walrus moustache or big belly. He has black hair and is physically fit.”

Bingo.

“Complete opposite of what you imagined,” she continued. “He's actually quite an adventurer. Scuba diving, hang-gliding … a real zest for life.”

“Sounds like a bit of a risk taker.”

“Perhaps,” said Carina. “I admire people who have a real zest for life.”

“His name isn't Boris or Ivan?”

“No. But I can't tell you his name because I have to keep that secret.”

“Oh?”

“I would not divulge your name to anyone, either. At least not in regard to having a valuable painting.”

“Damn, so much for trying to impress you with my psychic abilities.”

Carina smiled. “You're not entirely wrong. He likes to hunt and does have a couple of stone fireplaces, but I have never seen any heads mounted on the walls.”

“Aha!” Jack exclaimed. “And have you ever seen him in a bathing suit?”

“That I haven't,” Carina said. “If I ever do, I'll report back to you.”

Jack exchanged a smile with her in response.

* * *

Laura looked at the two thugs standing in front of the hotel, then turned to Maurice. “Do you have anyone working who's close by and on foot?”

“I have two men on standby waiting in the Tuileries Garden.”

“Even better. Get them to walk over and drive this van away. Tell them to come down the street holding hands.”

“Holding hands?”

“If you saw that, would you think they were police officers?” asked Laura.

“No.” Maurice realized what Laura was getting at. “Still, if they drive the van away … what if Jack needs help? Where will —”

“If he needs help, he'll throw someone out a window,” said Laura seriously. “You can hear the sound of breaking glass a long way away.”

Maurice's mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Damn it, call them!” said Otto.

Maurice grabbed his portable radio and rapidly spoke in French.

A moment later Otto gestured toward the two thugs. “They've got company.”

Maurice picked up the binoculars that hung from his neck. “It's Roche. They're all looking our way.” He glanced at Laura. “There is nothing on the van to identify it. No reason for them to be doing this.”

“How many vans do you see with dark windows and a curtain separating the front from the back?” asked Otto.

“Please tell me that you don't have anyone sitting in cars around the block,” added Laura.

“No,” replied Maurice. “After Jack's conversation with Yves, he agreed to back off as long as I watched the front of the hotel and had two officers close by on foot.” He pointed out the window. “There they are. I better crawl to the front and unlock the door.”

Laura saw two men walking hand in hand down the street, then pretend to unlock the van and get in.

Roche watched, also, then disappeared into the hotel lobby. The two thugs left.

* * *

Jack looked up from his appetizer as Carina leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I'm sorry if I was prying too much into what you like or don't like about art,” she said. “For some, it's a personal issue. I obviously touched a nerve when I asked you what your favourite painting was. It is none of my business and I am sorry.”

“It's okay,” replied Jack. “I —”

Carina glanced past Jack, then said, “Roche is returning. Quick, before he arrives, do you still want me to be your guide? I could easily bow out. I would understand if you don't want me after the scene I made.”