The Courbet Connection (Book 5) (Genevieve Lenard) (24 page)

“But I’m no longer trying to arrest your thieving arse.” Manny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Think. This unit is swamped with cases. Why would they waste their time with a nobody like Edward Taylor?”

“When did the confidential informant first contact Laurence Gasquet?” I asked.

“Ah, this is where I didn’t get a straight answer. From what I could gather, it’s more than a year ago.”

“That long?” Colin’s frown deepened.

“What does Interpol know about Edward Taylor?” When I’d looked at the electronic file, there was very little information.

“That was another battle. They didn’t want to share their precious information with me. Eventually they admitted to knowing very little. They suspect that Edward Taylor is a false identity, but can’t confirm it. Apparently, Edward Taylor has a full electronic history, making him appear legit and less likely to set off alarms.”

A quick glance between Colin and Francine made me wonder if she was responsible for all his pseudonyms.

“How many times did you work as Edward Taylor in the last year?” I asked.

“Two… no, three times. The last time was yesterday when I went to look for Maurice. The time before that when we were arrested.”

“And the first time?”

“Also with Maurice. Also to authenticate a painting. That one was for his gallery and everything was above board.”

“What about last year? The year before?”

Colin’s eyes shifted to the left, remembering. Two seconds later, his eyes flashed wide open. “I… Edward Taylor reported a painting to Interpol about nineteen months ago.”

“When? What? Where? Why?” Manny sat up.

“It was also a job for Maurice. He had a painting that the owner wanted appraised. It was interesting that the owner didn’t want to authenticate the painting and I told Maurice so. I didn’t care what the owner wanted. I first made sure the painting was real before I put a monetary value to it.

“The problem was twofold. Firstly, it was a forgery
of Courbet’s
Chateau of Blonay
. It was the first of these Courbet forgeries I saw. The second issue I had with this piece was that the original’s provenance is being fought over in court by a family claiming many artworks looted by the Nazis from their family collection have still not been returned. Maurice knows my stance on war-looted paintings. I will have nothing to do with them. Not even a forgery. I left and immediately reported the forgery to Interpol.”

“Did you ever follow up on the investigation?” Manny asked.

“No. A week or so later I was kidnapped and tortured by a Russian psychopath.” The
depressor anguli oris
muscles turned the corners of Colin’s mouth down. It had been a difficult time for Colin, but also for Vinnie, who’d flown to Russia to rescue Colin. It had taken six months of intense physiotherapy for Colin to walk normally again, but he still bore the deep scars on his right leg from that time.

“Kubanov. Hope he’s rotting in hell.” Vinnie mimed spitting on the floor, his features tight.

“The question now is whether there is a connection between the first Courbet you saw, all the Courbets sold on the dark net, Maurice Dupin, the owner, Laurence Gasquet, your arrest, these paintings on ZeeDee seven million’s site and the organ auctions. Doc?”

“It’s Zana22Dactor3178.” I knew it was senseless to expect Manny to get names right, yet I couldn’t stop myself. I sighed
and focussed on his question. “I don’t have enough data to make any connection.”

“But you think there is?”

I ignored Francine’s enthusiastic question. She exhibited that tone and expression whenever she came up with another implausible conspiracy theory. “I need more data. You’re expecting me to give viable conclusions based on a few conjectures. It is outrageous.”

“Like building a whole puzzle with only a few pieces.” Nikki pulled her shoulders up when we looked at her. “What? It’s a good comparison.”

“Nikki is right. Very astute of you.” It was an accurate analogy. “I need more pieces. Colin, tell me more about the owner of the forged
Chateau of Blonay
. Did you ever meet him?”

“Actually, I did.” Again, his eyes shifted to the left and up. A visual memory. “His apartment was a disgusting example of a hoarder gone bad. Maurice had asked me to come around to his gallery for the first meeting. Usually Maurice has the painting there for me to authenticate and appraise. Not that time. He only had a photo. I told him, he knew better than to give me a badly-lit photo. I needed to see the painting. A week later he’d managed to convince the owner to let us see the piece, but the owner refused to let it leave his apartment. So we went there.”

“Do you remember where it is?” Manny asked.

“Yup. I’ll give you the address. A middle-class neighbourhood, none of the buildings in the area spectacular. But this man’s place was… I don’t think he’d thrown anything away in decades. Rows and rows of books, ornaments, newspapers, magazines. Anything you can think of.”

A shudder went through me at the image Colin was creating. Being non-neurotypical, I understood that each person’s neuro-patterns were unique. Some people’s neuro-patterns were of such complexity it compelled them to wash their hands every ten minutes, never throw anything away, only eat green foods and numerous other interesting differences. My compulsions were mostly manageable, but it was easy for me to surrender to the obsessive need to organise everything in threes or check my apartment’s locks seven times before being satisfied they were truly locked. Most days I was stronger than these needs. Some days I wasn’t.

“He introduced himself as Monsieur Emile Rimbaud. He wasn’t happy that we’d come to his apartment, but he showed me the painting. He was in his late eighties and had no kids or other family. He needed to sell the painting to pay some medical bills. He talked about a young neighbour who could’ve helped him, but he didn’t want to take advantage of the boy. He wanted the money to pay his own bills. A proud old man.”

“You’re talking about him in the past tense,” I said. “Is he deceased?”

“I don’t know. He looked very fragile when I was there, so I suppose that’s why I’m thinking of him as dead. For all we know, he’s still alive and kicking.”

“The painting?” Phillip asked softly.

“Oh, it was a brilliant forgery. I haven’t seen many like that. What especially caught my attention was that it seemed old. At least forty, fifty years old. I told Monsieur Rimbaud it was a forgery and I was not going to put my… Edward Taylor’s name to it. He was very upset about it and got even angrier when I offered to organise social services to help him.” Colin stopped for a moment, his expression pensive. “Hmm. He seemed overly protective of his apartment. I thought it was just because he was a pack rat and didn’t want anyone to remove anything. Maybe there were more paintings than just the one Courbet.”

“How did you report it to Interpol?” Manny asked.

“Just gave it to my usual contact. Told him they could maybe go in under the guise of a social check, gas leak check, tax audit or something of that sort. I hadn’t thought about this again until now. Being kidnapped and catching Kubanov kind of took over my life for a few months.”

“Doc, will you check into that investigation?” The corners of Manny’s mouth pulled down. “Use supermodel’s invisible cloak to make sure no one knows you’re snooping. I hate that we can’t even trust our own.”

“Aw, you can trust me, old man.” Vinnie laughed when Manny lifted his middle finger.

I decided not to ask about Francine’s invisible cloak. As it was, my mind was reeling with all the loose ends and questions. I didn’t want to get into a debate about the physical impossibility of invisibility. “Francine, is there a way you can get into Zana22Dactor3178’s computer like you did Dukwicz’s?”

“There’s always a way, girlfriend. I must warn you though that he’s much harder to trace than Dukwicz. Once we had the handle Dukwicz used on SSS, it was easy to trace his online movement on Tor and the normal internet. The killer isn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, let me tell you. He used the same handle everywhere. Amateur.” She rolled her eyes. “ZD, on the other hand, can’t be found anywhere else on the interwebs. Not that such a teensy setback would stop me. I’ll find him, by hook or by crook.”

I nodded absently. Already I was thinking about the many questions I had about Emile Rimbaud, hoping that my research would render answers.

“I got him.” Francine’s triumphant whisper pulled my attention away from my research. I glanced at the computer’s clock. It was twenty-five minutes to six. I’d been looking around the Interpol website for the last three hours. Colin had left, once again to look for Maurice and Michael. He’d disguised himself as an elderly professor and had conceded to having Pink accompany him. Manny had gone to a meeting he hadn’t wanted to tell us about. Vinnie had not left his usual seat in the team room. Last time I’d glanced that way, he’d been reading a hunting magazine. “Genevieve, get your cute little butt in here!”

Nikki giggled behind me. She was still on the floor, but no longer sketching. The pad and pencils were spread on the floor around her and I swallowed my complaint. She always tidied up. At the moment, she had her tablet on her lap, likely watching videos or one of the many other time-wasting activities she and her friends enjoyed. I got up stiffly and went to the team room.

“Took your merry time, girlfriend.” Francine was bouncing in her chair. “I got him.”

“So you said.” I stopped next to her and looked at her computer screen. “Who is this ‘he’ you are talking about? Zana22Dactor3178?”

Her shoulders dropped a bit. “No. Not yet. He’s a wily one, but I’ll get him. I’m talking about Dukwicz. He switched on his computer five minutes ago and sent me an email three minutes ago.”

“What’s happening?” Colin came in, kissed me on my cheek and looked at Francine. “You look very pleased with yourself.”

“I have Dukwicz.”

“What do you mean, you have him?” It was at times infuriating when Francine became too excited for sensible conversation. “Do you know where he is? Have you phoned Manny or Daniel to go arrest him?”

“Uh, no. After he sent me the email, he turned his computer off again. For the three minutes it was on, I was able to trace him to a moving vehicle going through the city centre. I assume he was in a taxi. Sending emails while driving would be really stupid.”

“You have him?” Frequently, I had to keep her on topic.

Her smile was genuine and warm. I valued her friendship, especially since she didn’t take offence at my frankness. “Yes, I do. He wants the cash payment up front as a deposit.”

“Who wants what as a deposit?” Manny came in and put an old-fashioned cake tin on the table. Francine jumped up and was at the table in three long steps. She struggled with the lid until it squeaked off. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

“You brought me Brigadeiro.” Francine had told me numerous times about the chocolate bonbons that she used to buy in the Brazilian village where she’d grown up. Her nonverbal cues when she recalled those days and the taste of this delicacy revealed how much she enjoyed and missed them.

There had to be at least thirty bonbons in the tin. I didn’t think she was going to share. It looked like she had to drag her eyes away from the contents of the tin to look at Manny. “I want to marry you and have your babies.”

A deep red blush discoloured Manny’s neck and cheeks. “If you talk such nonsense, I’ll give the Brigadiers to… I’ll give them to the kid.”

“Pah! He only eats green foods. And you’d never be that cruel. You adore me.” A soft expression replaced the teasing around her eyes. “Thank you, handsome.”

“Hmph. Now tell me about this deposit.”

Francine closed the cake tin, patted it gently and returned to her computer. “Dukwicz sent me an email, wanting a ten-thousand-euro deposit to do the job.”

Manny whistled softly. “Ten thousand euros? Isn’t that a bit much for killing someone?”

“Not if you want it done properly.” Vinnie put his magazine down. “To brutally murder someone is easy. To make it look like an accident or natural causes requires a lot more work.”

“Well, I’m not paying that money.” Manny sat down in the chair closest to him.

“Millard.” Colin pressed his hand against his chest. “I’m deeply touched that you don’t want to pay someone to kill me.”

“Don’t tempt me, Frey. I’ll do it for free.” There was no malice in his threat. Still, I didn’t like this line of conversation. Dukwicz’s presence in the shop, his note threatening Colin were still too fresh.

“How does this mean you have him?” I asked Francine.

“He gave me his banking details. I’m going to deposit the ten grand and then I’m going to go through every single transaction in his account.”

“Do you need to deposit the money to do that?”

“No, but if I pay the money, he won’t become suspicious. I just needed his banking details to get into his financial history. This way, it will give us more time to locate him.”

“Take the money from my Dutch account,” Colin said.