Art and Murder (19 page)

“It's not me who needs the good luck,” Rose declared before hanging up.

Yeah, she might be right about that.

Jack was walking through the I-HIT office on his way to Inspector Dyck's office when he spotted Connie at her desk. He decided to detour to see her.

“What's up?” she asked when he walked in.

“You didn't hear what came over Anton's phone today?”

“No. I've been out at a homicide all afternoon. Got back ten minutes ago and have about three dozen messages waiting. Why? What's up?”

“I don't have time to explain,” replied Jack. “I have to see Inspector Dyck before he leaves for the day, but I may as well give you these.” He tossed a set of keys on her desk, then took out his notebook and jotted down a record of the time and date he gave them to her.

“What are these for?”

“They're keys,” said Jack, looking up. “They unlock things.”

“Yeah, smartass. What's going on?”

“Same thing as last week. In fact, they're the same keys. The van is parked outside. I brought you another one.”

“Yeah, right,” said Connie in a tone that indicated her disbelief. “Not fucking likely.”

“Wish it was NFL,” said Jack, “but I'm serious. Also brought you this.” He pulled a plastic bag that held a pistol out of his pocket, then placed it on her desk. “It's the murder weapon. Figure you might want Forensics to take a look at it.”

“What the —”

“You can thank me for the help later,” said Jack. “I want to make sure Dyck knows before the brass calls him.” With that he turned and left her office.

“Thank you for it! You freakin' asshole!” she yelled, getting up from behind her desk. “Are you shitting me?”

Jack didn't reply as he headed for Inspector Dyck's office. He heard Connie cursing as she locked the murder weapon in her desk drawer before heading out to the parking lot.

Inspector Dyck's door was open, and when Jack knocked to catch his attention, he was waved in.

“What can I do for you?” Dyck asked.

“Brought you another one,” Jack said wearily as he sat down.

“Another one?” Dyck's eyebrows shot up

“Same as last time,” Jack said. “The victim's in a van outside. I took the liberty of giving Connie the keys, along with the murder weapon. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“I do now,” replied Dyck grimly.

“I expect you'll be receiving a call from Assistant Commissioner Isaac shortly, but wanted to give you a heads-up. I witnessed another murder but haven't had time to do my notes yet. I'll get at them as soon I tell you what happened.”

“I'm listening.”

“You're aware that Klaus Eichel was waiting for the chance to kill me?” Jack began.

“I was at a meeting this morning with Rose and Isaac,” replied Dyck. “I'm up-to-date on the file as of last night, where you ended up taking him to the hospital. What's happened since then?”

Jack told Dyck the details about his breakfast meeting with Wolfgang and what took place afterwards.

Dyck's reaction was calm. He didn't seem angry, but neither was he particularly pleased. He was about to say something when his phone rang. He mouthed “Isaac” to Jack and quickly answered.

“Yes, sir, he's in my office right now.”

Jack listened to Dyck's side of the conversation, which mostly consisted of a repetition of “Yes, sir” and “That's what he told me, sir.” The conversation droned on. During the call, Connie entered the office, and Jack put his finger to his lips and whispered, “Isaac's on the line.”

When at last Dyck hung up, he stared blankly in Connie's direction.

“Sir? Should I read him his rights?” she asked, and Jack sensed she was completely serious.

Dyck looked at Jack. “Rose debriefed Isaac on what happened and suggested you receive an official commendation for the dangerous situation you faced.”

“Commendation?” Connie squawked.

“Isaac told me in no uncertain terms that you will not be receiving that,” said Dyck, maintaining his focus on Jack. “You are free to go, but he wants a copy of all your notes on his desk by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. I suggest you get started.”

Jack felt the tension leave his body. As he left the office, he overheard Dyck say to Connie, “Make sure nobody ever gives him back the keys to that van, will you?”

Would you rather I use FedEx?
Jack thought. He called Laura to let her know that all was okay before returning to his office and writing up his notes.

Three hours later he called Laura again to find out where she and Otto were. He could tell by the background noise that his tab was going to be expensive. Laura told him where they were, then said, “Hang on, Otto wants to speak to you.”

“Wanted to tell you,” Otto said, “that you Canadians have peculiar eating habits.”

“How so?”

“Laura said she was taking me out to have the soup of the day.”

“With olives?” Jack chuckled.

“Ja, das ist richtig,”
Otto said. Apparently realizing he had spoken German, he added, “Yes, that is right.”

“You like 'em?”

“At first I didn't, but now I don't care,” he replied.

* * *

It was seven o'clock at night when Big Joe met with Anton at a restaurant in Vancouver and told him what had happened.

“So they took the body out at the car wash and drove it to be cremated,” Anton repeated, “but then what did you say about the car? What do you mean they stripped the VIN? What is that? My English isn't that —”

“The tow-truck driver did that after he siphoned the gas out. Stripped the VIN — means he took off the vehicle identification number. Then he probably replaced it with one taken from a wreck so if the police ever checked the records at the scrapyard, it wouldn't come up.”

“I see.”

“Then he towed it to a scrapyard and turned the car into a cube about the size of my lunchbox,” Big Joe said. “My tracking transmitter along with it.”

“Yes, you told me. Anything else?”

“No, that's about it, except … I know I said I would do it for free, but I didn't expect to lose my equipment.”

Anton pursed his lips. His instinct told him to tell Big Joe to get lost, but decided that paying him may preserve the discretion that was needed. “Five hundred cover it?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

“Cash … you bet.” Big Joe grinned. “The only way to do business.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later Anton met with Wolfgang in his room at the Fairmont Hotel and told him what happened to Klaus's body and car.

Wolfgang nodded thoughtfully. “I've said it before — Jack is an interesting man. The Ringmaster has said so, as well. He's a man who no doubt could be a valuable asset. ”

“If his tastes were in something other than art …”

“Exactly. It's unfortunate that the painting is in bonded storage, but as the Ringmaster said, if he is truly genuine, his love for the painting will not let him keep it imprisoned for long.”

“After all this, you still suspect he is not genuine?” Anton was surprised.

“As the Ringmaster told me, we are in his domain. It may all be an illusion.”

“Smoke and mirrors,” Anton said. “Perhaps … but I don't think so.”

“I've been told to invite him to our side of the world, where
we
control the stage.” Wolfgang paused. “In the long run, whether he is genuine or not doesn't matter. He will still be killed.”

It was seven in the morning when Jack picked up Laura, after having driven both her and Otto home the night before.

Upon getting in the SUV, Laura immediately shut the radio off. She scowled at Jack and said, “What time did you bring me home last night?”

“Two o'clock. Right after we dropped Otto off.”

“You dirty rat,” she groused. “Is that what you call looking after your wingman?”

“I tried to get you to ease off. Even suggested you drink some water, but you —”

“Shh,” she said, putting her finger to her lips for emphasis, before leaning back and closing her eyes.

Jack dropped her off at the bar they'd been at the night before to collect her car and then headed for the office. He'd completed his notes but had not yet photocopied them to give to Isaac.

At seven-thirty he was at the photocopier when Rose arrived.

“Well!” she said. “Aren't
you
the punctual one.”

“The trouble with being punctual is that there's usually nobody around to notice.”

“Oh, believe me, you're being noticed these days,” retorted Rose. “Those for Isaac?” she asked, gesturing to the copier.

Jack nodded. “I wrote them last night, but knew the door to his office was locked, so —”

“More like you were afraid you were missing out on last night's debriefing.”

“Well, that, too,” Jack admitted.

“First Clive's killed and then Klaus,” noted Rose. “Both guys who could have identified your informant. Isaac asked me if she's safe now. I said I'd check with you.”

“There was a third guy abusing her that night.”

“Liam Quinn,” stated Rose.

“Good memory.”

“It might behoove you to remember that. I also remember that Roche Freulard told you they would never use Liam again.”

“That's a chance I can't take. If they want revenge, they would use whatever means possible.”

“Any other reasons I could tell Isaac?”

“Yes, it might get a little sticky if Defence goes after the angle that I forced Clive into a situation at gunpoint that got him killed.”

“Or went after Klaus's recent orthodontic records,” Rose said.

“Yeah. It'd better if I were to get evidence on what these guys have done in Europe and testify there. With how calm Anton was when he killed Clive and Klaus, I know they weren't his first.”

“So you're concerned that Liam could be used to track down your informant?”

“That's a good explanation to tell Isaac, rather than pester him with the other details.”

Rose bit her lower lip as she thought,
Jack's right. Keep it simple and use informant safety as a reason
.

“So you agree.” Jack spoke matter-of-factly.

Damn it. He reads me like a book.
“See me in my office once you turn in the copies of your notes. Bring your notebook, too.”

“I told you everything that's in my notes,” said Jack evenly.

Rose looked quizzical. “That's in your notes? Don't you mean that you told me everything?”

Jack looked at her silently and thought about the lie he'd told Klaus to keep him at the hospital.
That sure as hell isn't in my notes.

“I see,” said Rose. “Are you forgetting that I'm your boss?”

“I heard you stuck your neck out for me yesterday — suggesting I should receive commendation.”

Rose frowned. “That didn't go over too well.”

“Doesn't matter. The point is, you were protecting me. I like to protect you in return.”

As Rose considered how to respond, Laura arrived. Abruptly, she said, “I think I'm going to be sick.” And putting her hand to her mouth, she rushed off down the hall to the washroom.

Rose looked at Jack and whispered, “Morning sickness?”

“No, I suspect she consumed a bad olive during the debriefing last night.”

Rose shook her head in admonishment, then said, “Meet me as soon as you drop off the copy of your notes.”

At eight o'clock, Jack walked into Rose's office carrying a mug of coffee, along with his notebook. Rose and Laura were sipping their own coffees. He placed his mug on the desk and handed Rose his notebook.

“I'll read them later,” she said. “I want to know what your plans are. I'm sure that'll be the first thing Isaac will ask me after he reads your notes.”

Jack picked up his mug, leaned back in the chair, and took a sip, then said, “Well, the thing is, I really don't like to say what my plans are.”

“Why not?” Rose instantly became irritated.

“Because then, later on, words like
premeditated
get tossed around in the courtroom,” replied Jack, doing his best to keep a straight face.

Rose realized he was teasing her. “That's not funny,” she said, trying to maintain a straight face.

But the stress they'd been under broke the decorum and both started to laugh, unable to stop as their joviality fed off each other.

“Do you mind keeping the noise down?” Laura muttered.

Jack felt his phone vibrate, and the moment of levity came to an abrupt end. “It's Wolfgang,” he said, putting his finger to his lips.

At noon Jack walked into the Griffins bistro and Wolfgang waved at him from a table situated under a high-arched window. Jack took a seat and Wolfgang gestured out the window at a building across the street. “I thought you would prefer to sit here.”

Jack smiled. “The Vancouver Art Gallery. It's even more impressive inside.”

“No problems with yesterday?” asked Wolfgang, taking a sip of coffee.

“Yesterday?” Jack pretended to be puzzled.

“With Klaus … the car,” whispered Wolfgang as the waiter approached.

“Oh, that.” Jack flicked his hand dismissively. “It's all been taken care off.”

Wolfgang gazed silently at Jack while the waiter dropped off menus and took Jack's order for coffee. When he left, Wolfgang said solemnly. “I have spoken with my boss about how quickly you cleaned up the mess yesterday. It was … unbelievable.”

Jack caught the intended hesitation in Wolfgang's voice and the intensity in his gaze as he studied Jack's reaction.
The Juggler still doesn't trust me.
Jack gave Wolfgang a hard look. “Unbelievable?” he questioned. “Let me assure you that yesterday's loose ends are permanently cleaned up, and that you can believe. If you doubt my ability, then we should part company.”
And you can kiss the painting goodbye.

“No, no, no,” Wolfgang hastened to say. “We believe you are a professional, a master, in fact, at what you do. I did not mean
unbelievable
in the way you took it. I think the words my boss used were ‘unbelievably amazing', meaning we are impressed.”

Jack nodded, but his face remained expressionless, leaving Wolfgang feeling unsure as to whether Jack bought his attempted cover-up.

“So —” Wolfgang clasped his hands with a smack “— I have been asked to clarify which countries you are thinking about retiring in. As mentioned before, we will cover your expenses in Europe while you search for a place, and at the same time, we'll incorporate the consultation with our representatives.”

“Representatives,” said Jack. “You mean the ones you call the jugglers?”

“Yes.” Wolfgang smiled. “You see,” he said, sounding enthusiastic, “you are already fitting in with our company.”

Jack smiled politely.
Yes, convince me that we're going to be friends … asshole.
“The areas I have been considering purchasing a villa in are the Tuscany or Umbria regions of Italy, Costa del Sol in the south of Spain, or perhaps Malta.”

“Not France? Roche told me that you were considering it, as well.”

Good, you took the bait. Time to enhance my artsy role.
Jack paused as the waiter brought him his coffee. He told him that he'd order breakfast later. He then turned his attention back to Wolfgang.
Hope he knows less about art than I do.
“Yes, about France. Perhaps the Marseille area would appeal to me. I'm torn on that matter. On one hand, France has so many spectacular museums. The Louvre and Musée Marmottan Monet in Paris and, of course, the Museum of Fine Arts in Marseille itself. The problem is that I have not found the French to be all that hospitable to me when they discover I am English-speaking.”

“I'm not so sure they are fond of Germans, either,” Wolfgang replied, then grinned.

Jack smiled briefly, then furrowed his eyebrows as if in deep thought. “Perhaps France is where I should start. At one time it was foremost in my mind for retirement. I have not been to Paris for years; perhaps things have improved.”

“Our offer would certainly give you opportunity to reassess things,” said Wolfgang, “but I must tell you that our offer may not stay on the table for long. When could you come to Europe, and how long would it take you to complete your consultations after you arrive?”

“As far as looking at retirement property goes, I would like to spend a couple of days in each of the areas I mentioned, perhaps doing consulting work at the same time. That being said, I have to … make arrangements to satisfy certain clients in North America that I'm still contracting out to.”

“We presumed that, but what time frame were you thinking?” prodded Wolfgang.

“First I will need to know how in-depth of a profile the Ringmaster wants in regard to the people being assessed. Perhaps I could meet the Ringmaster and do the jugulars in one location to speed things up.”

“Jugulars?”

Damn it. Freudian slip.
“Sorry, I meant jugglers, of course. I've never been to a circus and the lingo seems strange to me,” he added lamely.

“You've never been to a circus? Not even as a child?”

Okay, time to make him think I've had a tough life. Give the impression that my street smarts came from surviving on the mean streets of some city since I was a kid.
“My childhood wasn't much of a childhood.” Jack sounded bitter. “I left home at an early age. Survival did not include the luxury of going to a circus. I take it you have?”

“A few times,” replied Wolfgang, eyeing Jack curiously.

“Anyway,” continued Jack, “how long I would need is dependent on the service wanted. Is it the basic background check, including close associates? Or one that would provide a psychological profile, necessitating a written test coupled with interviews?”

“That is a decision for my boss,” replied Wolfgang.

“You mean the Ringmaster?”

“Yes.” Then Wolfgang added, “I have said this before — you are a man of many talents.”

“Ah, not really,” Jack replied. “The truth is, I have contacts who assist me with certain aspects. It's more about who I know than what I know.”

“Of course, but you
are
an exceptional man. I watched you when Anton killed Klaus. You didn't flinch. It struck me that you are no stranger to such an event.”

Jack frowned. “Talking about something like that makes me nervous.”

“I'm sorry —” Wolfgang lowered his voice and glanced around “— but there is nobody nearby to hear us.”

“Please don't take this personally, but I don't know you well enough to talk so openly about such matters,” Jack explained.

Wolfgang's eyes widened in surprise. He' d just realized that Jack was concerned Wolfgang may be trying to set him up to the police. “You want to search me for a wire?” he asked.

“It was Anton who put a bullet in Klaus's head under your direction, was it not?” Jack said.

Wolfgang's eyes narrowed. “Yes.” Now he looked puzzled.

Jack smiled. “Your response tells me that searching you is not necessary. I was simply making a point about how easy it might be for someone to gather information that could destroy an organization. My consulting service provides protection against that sort of thing.”

Wolfgang nodded slowly to indicate he understood.

“Now, back to when I can go to Europe and for how long. To begin with, for my first trip, I would like two weeks. Then, depending upon what type of consulting work is required, future visits can be arranged at a price and upon terms agreed to by your boss and myself.”

“Two weeks is not a problem. I have already been authorized to tell you that we would pay for a minimum of three weeks and perhaps longer, if need be.”

“Thank you, but I have other clients I wish to finish up with. Two weeks is the most I can afford to be away for the time being.”

“And out of the two weeks, how much time do you think would be spent on actual consulting work versus searching for a retirement home?”

“How many profiles would you anticipate need to be done?”

“I'm not sure,” admitted Wolfgang. “At the moment we have five jugglers … but that could change. We also have people under them who may need screening.”

Good, I am trusted enough to be told about some of the corporate structure. But will they trust me enough to discuss the way they conduct business, such as committing murder?
Jack nodded, then replied, “It would depend on how in-depth of a profile your boss would want. As far as the jugglers go, if they were together, I would only need a day with them to get the information I need to start the ball rolling. If it is not possible to meet them all at once, then I would like to start with Roche.”

“Why him?”

“He told me he didn't want to come to Canada because of recent legal difficulties. He indicated that the problem had been taken care of, but at the same time said there could be some aftermath. If he thinks that, then the problem has not been fully taken care of. As I have been involved with Roche on, shall we say, a delicate matter involving Clive Dempsey, I would feel more relaxed if I focus on him first and learn the details of his legal problem.”

“I understand,” replied Wolfgang. “You wish to evaluate your own risk of contamination first.”

“Exactly. Then once I meet everyone it could take several months of work, depending on what I discover. Have the jugglers lived in one place most of their lives, or have they moved every couple of years?”

“Roche, Anton, and I have pretty much lived in one place, but I don't know about the other two,” Wolfgang said.

“One place makes it easier. Regardless, you get my point. I need to do a preliminary assessment, which, for obvious reasons, would only be given to the Ringmaster for whatever action he deems necessary. If all goes well, my assessments may indicate no changes are necessary, or if they are, I would offer my own suggestions about how to incorporate them.”

“I see. How soon could you get started?”

“I should be able to clear my calendar in about two weeks. Today is Thursday, so let's say the fifteenth of February. That's a Saturday. I know I'll be available by then.”

“That would be great,” Wolfgang said. “I'd planned on staying until at least the eleventh of February, so the delay of another few days won't matter. By then, Anton and Bojan will have completed their assignment and will have returned to Europe.”

Jack would've liked to have found out exactly how Anton and Bojan were moving the stolen goods, but asking that might arouse suspicion. He took a sip of coffee, then said, “Once I get to Europe, if I were to meet with everyone to start with, I might be in a position to provide preliminary profiles to give to the Ringmaster before I return to Canada. That way he'd know he's getting his money's worth.”

“You've already impressed the Ringmaster,” said Wolfgang, “so I do not believe that is an issue.” He gave Jack a warm smile. “I can assure you that you will be put up in the best hotels with the finest restaurants.”

Until you get your hands on the painting. Then where do you plan to put me?

“Now, if you'd be kind enough to give me your full name and passport number,” Wolfgang went on, “I will arrange to have an airline ticket available for you to leave on the fifteenth.”

Jack made a grimace. “You probably won't believe it, but my last name is Smith.”

“Why shouldn't I believe it?”

“It is a common name in North America,” Jack replied. “So common that it's often a joke for unimaginative people to use it as a fake name.”

Wolfgang shrugged. “Then it must be your real name, because I know you have imagination. I'll need your passport number, as well, to book the ticket.”

“I don't have it memorized. I'll give you all the details later.” Jack reached for the menu. “I'm going to order a martini to start with.”

“Yes, I'll have a drink, too,” said Wolfgang. “We shall toast to doing business together.”

Jack smiled in response.

* * *

Rose leaned forward with her hands clasped on her desk and listened intently as Jack outlined his meeting with Wolfgang. Laura listened, too, but sat with her arms folded across her chest. Her face hardened as her concern grew.

When Jack was finished, Rose said, “So your plan is to speak to Roche and perhaps get an admission about Kerin's murder on the pretext of ensuring your own insulation from the law? Are you hoping to get it all on a wire?”

“In Kerin's notes he mentioned being scanned for a wire. I can't risk it. At least, not at the beginning. Ideally it would not only be Roche. I'm hoping the Ringmaster will also be there and trust me enough to open up. Considering what his men have seen me do, I think they would have a certain amount of faith in me.”

“Perhaps even more than the brass have for you,” said Rose dryly. She glanced at her desk calendar. “Europe on the fifteenth … doesn't give us a lot of time. I know Ottawa will approve, but you're going to need to get a fake passport and arrange the co-operation of European police agencies.”

“We have liaison officers stationed in Paris and Rome, so that'll help,” Jack said.

“But not in Spain or Malta,” noted Laura, “which are the other two places you tossed out as potential retirement spots.”

Jack nodded. “I'll look into seeing what the protocol is there. Ottawa will have some kind of agreement. But regardless, I don't want a cover team breathing down my neck.”

“Like hell you don't!” said Rose sharply. “If you think you can traipse around Europe by yourself with a group who murdered an officer right in front of his cover team, you better think again. You should have a team that includes the French, as well as officers from whatever country you're in.”

“Having a cover team is why Kerin was murdered,” Jack argued. “That, and trying to save me,” he added bitterly. “It's for my own safety that I don't want anyone holding my hand every step of the way.”

“Our policy would never allow it,” said Rose. “If you feel that way, then you shouldn't be going.” She looked hard at Jack for a moment. “Think about it. Would we allow a policeman from another country to work undercover in our jurisdiction without protection? Not a chance.”

She's right of course, but policy can get you killed. Better pretend to go along with it.
“You're right,” said Jack. “I wasn't thinking. I'd definitely want Otto around to see if he can identify the swarthy-looking man who met Roche in Frankfurt.”