Art and Murder (24 page)

And have them pick someone else?
“No, please, I would like to have you show me around.”

Carina looked relieved. “Okay, good. But you should also know that they are paying me to evaluate your level of sophistication. I have a reputation for being ethical, so be forewarned that I will give them my honest opinion.”

“I wouldn't respect you if you didn't.”

“Which — because I sense you're honest — will be fun in that we can visit museums at their expense.”

Shit.
“Yes, that will be great.” He paused. “I promise I will tell you why the Pierrot painting means so much to me.”

“Only if you want to,” Carina said.

“I do, but I don't want to spoil the evening by becoming emotional. If people knew, even people like Roche, it would help them understand why I am so deeply in love with it. I'll tell you tomorrow when we are in Marseille.”

Carina nodded. “So everything is okay between us?”

“Yes. Let's not mention our conversation to Roche and start fresh, shall we?”

Carina smiled, then held out her hand. “Hello, my name is Carina.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Jack shook her hand.

“And I'm not a prostitute,” she whispered, then gave a saucy grin as Roche pulled out his chair to sit down.

Jack smiled back at her.
You are my ticket to the Ringmaster.
Then another thought entered his head.
Would they extract revenge on you later?
His mind juggled that possibility.
They were the ones who hired you ... so they'd have to realize you were duped and so there'd be no reason to kill you.…
He stabbed at a mushroom with his fork and put it in his mouth. He should have enjoyed the savoury flavour, but he didn't and knew why.
I'm lying to myself. They killed Kerin for no reason.

“Everything okay?” Carina asked.

“Everything's fine,” replied Roche. “It was nothing. I shouldn't have been called.”

“I meant Jack,” said Carina. “You were frowning,” she said by way of explanation.

Jack smiled again. “I was thinking that I've never had this good of an appetizer in Canada, and was wondering why.”

“Ah, the French can cook, let me tell you that,” said Roche, hoisting his glass of wine in a toast.

Jack looked at Carina's face as he toasted.
I'll need to deceive you, but only for a week. You'll be long out of the picture by the time the Ringmaster is caught.

Her eyes sparkled and she gave him a warm smile. Jack smiled back, but the unsavoury taste remained.

It was midnight when Jack bade Carina and Roche good night, and an hour later when he met the team in Otto's room. He was surprised to see Yves there, as well.

“Working late tonight for a boss,” Jack teased him. “Perhaps you could give my bosses back in Canada some guidance on doing real police work.”

“I won't sleep until the Ringmaster is in jail,” Yves explained. “Maurice called me to say that while you were having dinner, two men were checking for surveillance around the hotel and that they called Roche out to look at our van.”

“So that's what that was about,” Jack said. “He gave me a bit of a hairy eyeball when he left the table, but seemed relaxed when he returned.”

“We had the van leave when they were watching,” Laura said.

“In the future, let's get one extra room in whatever hotel I'm staying in,” Jack suggested. “Preferably one that overlooks the main entrance so you'll be able to see who comes and goes. The room could be used as a field office as long as everyone takes care not to be seen. It would also make it easier for me to debrief everyone.”

“I would agree with that.” Yves nodded. “So how did it go tonight? Are you still scheduled to fly to Marseille tomorrow morning?”

“Yes. We're booked for two nights at the Sofitel Marseille Vieux Port Hotel. After that, it will be up to me whether I stay or continue my search for a retirement villa elsewhere. As far as tomorrow goes, they've lined up a real estate agent to take us around after we check into our hotel.”

“I'll try to get us a room,” said Yves. “Although I am not sure how to get one that overlooks the entrance without drawing suspicion.”

“Tell them you stayed in the front of the hotel years earlier on your honeymoon and that it has sentimental value for you,” Laura suggested.

Yves smiled. “That might work.”

Jack nodded. “The name of the art expert who'll be accompanying me is Carina Saftstrom. She gave —”

“Ha, a Swedish name,” said Otto, grinning at Laura.

“Yes, she's Swedish,” said Jack, giving Otto and Laura a quizzical look.

Laura nodded begrudgingly at Otto. “Okay, so you do know women.”

Otto opened his eyes wide and pointed to them, still grinning.

“As I was saying,” Jack continued, “she gave me her business card. I want someone to put a trace on her phone and get a list of all her calls. She may have had brunch with the Ringmaster today … or I guess, technically, yesterday.”

“She told you that?” Laura looked astonished.

“Not in those exact words. Let me start from the beginning.”

When Jack was finished, Otto said, “The swarthy-looking man I saw with Roche in Frankfurt looked more like a Spaniard or an Italian, not Russian.”

Maurice said, “Perhaps you saw someone else. The Russian has to be him — but who is he?”

“He's definitely a good possibility,” replied Jack, “and for now I will go under that assumption. Her call history may give us a name.”

Maurice nodded, then wrote down the phone numbers from Carina's business card.

“Tonight she's staying in a hotel that sounds like the Hotel of the Little Louvre,” said Jack.

“The Hotel de Lille Louvre,” said Maurice. “It's about a kilometre away. A modest place, perhaps fifty Euros a night, but reportedly clean.”

“Guess the money associated with valuable paintings is for the owner and not those who evaluate or work on them,” said Jack. “Her home base is in Zurich, but she also uses answering services, which are the other numbers on her card.”

“Paris, Rome, Stockholm, London, and Zurich,” Maurice noted from the business card. He handed it back to Jack.

“Which means our man from Moscow likely used her answering service in Paris to contact her,” Jack said. “Either that, or through her email address. Still, it would be nice to find out who she's phoning.”

“A list of who she calls won't be a problem,” Yves said. “Who calls her through the answering services
is
a problem. If we check those, word may get back to her.”

“She told me he had to catch a flight back to Russia this evening,” Jack told him.

“We could check the manifests and come up with a list to run past the Russian police.”

“I would be a little worried about checking with the police in Russia,” Jack said. “There's a lot of corruption there, and if this guy is as rich as I imagine, he'll have connections. I don't want to risk it, especially if I can draw him out in another week on my own.”

Yves breathed out audibly. “I understand, but speaking of risk, what about Carina? What if she puts in a bad report on you?”

“We cross that bridge when we come to it.” Jack glanced at Laura. “I think I can befriend her enough that she won't say anything too detrimental.”

Laura nodded knowingly.

“Maybe she'd help us if she knew the truth,” suggested Maurice.

Jack shook his head. “I prefer she not know. It could change her demeanour around Roche and I doubt she'd stand up to questioning. These people are violent. The less she knows about me, the better. I don't want her ever seen as having intentionally helped me.”

“Even if she wanted to co-operate, I doubt she'd want to give up her profession and spend the rest of her life living under a false identity,” Yves added.

“I wouldn't mind if inquiries were made about her with the Swiss police,” said Jack, “providing it could be done without her knowledge. I'd like to know more about her. Anything I can use to distract her while getting her to like me might help.”

“Pretend to share common interests to gain her trust,” Otto put in.

“Something you do to attract women?” Laura asked him, pretending annoyance.

“With these eyes?” Otto pointed to them again. “Not necessary.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Laura snorted. “How could I forget?”

“Are you sure you don't want inquiries made in Russia?” asked Yves.

“No,” Jack said. “His prominence in Russian society may result in word getting back to him. Besides, I already know a lot about him. He's a philanthropist, an art collector, his wife died of cancer, he's a bit of a risk taker, and he's a sportsman who likes to hunt.”

“There was nothing sporting about how Kerin was murdered,” said Maurice bitterly.

Everyone nodded silently. Jack continued, “The point is, I've got plenty to work with to help me befriend him.”

“You shouldn't have any trouble portraying a risk taker.” Laura's tone was dry. Then she turned to Yves. “How about I make the inquiries regarding Carina? I've worked undercover with Jack for years, and a woman's point of view about her background may prove useful.”

“Why not?” Yves said. “You'll likely have as much influence with Interpol and the Swiss as I do.”

“She was born in Sweden,” Jack said, “but her parents moved to Zurich when she was a child. Her father and mother both worked in the chocolate industry. She mentioned she went back to Stockholm and lived with her aunt and uncle for five years while she went to university. Then she moved back to Zurich, but often returns to Stockholm. Besides English, she's fluent in German, French, Italian —”

“All three of those are official languages in Switzerland,” Yves said, “although English is common there, too.”

Jack nodded. “On top of that, she also speaks Russian and Spanish.”

“I'll contact Interpol tonight,” Laura said. “Have them check with Sweden and Switzerland.”

“She's a smart woman,” noted Otto, “as well as beautiful. You should enjoy the coming week.”

Jack nodded agreement, but his eyes said otherwise.

Laura knew what he was thinking.
Don't worry about it, Jack. She's a big girl and it won't be the first time some guy has lied to her. Besides, it's only for a week, then you can send her on her way.

The following morning Carina arrived at Jack's hotel in a taxi, and then the two of them headed for the airport. The eleven-twenty flight from Paris to Marseille was on time.

Their conversation was mostly small talk until they were airborne, and then Carina said, “Roche gave me a rough figure of what you are willing to spend on a villa. There aren't a lot of places in the high-end price range you gave, but the agent said she had two places to show us this afternoon and four tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” replied Jack. “I'm still suffering jet lag and that's plenty to see for now.”

He sensed that Carina was studying him.
What now?

“Roche never gave me any idea of what, uh, special features you're looking for,” she said, “or any concerns you may have.”

Concerns? Right. It's hard for homes to have the perfect conditions for paintings that museums can have, but what are the basics?
He stifled a yawn, then said, “Well, as far as concerns go, I would want a high-tech security system, along with the proper controls in place to ensure there are no excessive levels of cold, heat, dryness, or moisture.”

“Spending that much money, you would expect to be comfortable,” said Carina. “That goes without saying.”

“Of course, but it's also for my personal property.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Your art collection.” She sounded as if she hadn't thought of it.

“Yes, that,” Jack said. “I realize a home can't duplicate a museum. What is it they strive for? Twenty-one degrees Celsius and forty-five percent humidity?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Naturally, I would also be wary if there were signs of insects. I would expect the structure to be sound in that regard. I would hate to awaken in the night to the sound of lice or moths eating away at the frames and canvases of my collection.”

“You wouldn't believe how often that happens,” said Carina. “Even if the insects don't attack the paintings, their droppings contain acid that can damage the paint.”

“Which, I suppose helps keep you employed,” Jack suggested. “Hope you don't carry a jar of bugs around with you.”

Carina laughed lightly. “No, but I can see your profession as a consultant causes you to think of innovative ideas to improve one's profit margin.”

Okay, Carina, time to put you in your place.
Jack's voice hardened as he asked, “Is that enough testing in that area, or do you have more questions?”

Carina's face reddened. “I'm sorry. Was I that obvious?”

“Yes. I wish you would tell me when you feel the need to do that. It would make having a conversation with you more pleasant if I knew you were being honest.”

Carina hung her head in shame. “I know. I'm sorry. I told you I would make a lousy spy. I hate this. I want it over and done with.”

“Really? It's like an all-expenses-paid holiday.”

Carina twisted her body to face Jack. “It's not that,” she said.

“Then what?”

“It's … it's that I like you, and it bothers me a lot that I am supposed to report on you. You're right. This should be a fun trip, but how can we relax? You'll never trust me enough to —”

“It's okay,” said Jack. “I told you before, I expect it. It won't change who I am. I don't need to work for Roche. Their offer is a matter of convenience, because I would still like a little something to do when I retire. More for its entertainment value than anything. Also, if I'm not suited for Roche's organization, it would be better to find out sooner rather than later. You'd be doing me a favour. In a way, it's like you're working for me.”

“Working for you?” Carina smiled.

Jack forced a smile in return.
You have no idea.

“I hadn't thought of it that way,” she said. “So you really don't mind?”

“Not as long as you're honest. It's people who intentionally deceive that get under my skin.”
That was hard to say with a straight face.
“I like you, too. I sincerely hope that when your report goes in, no matter what you say, we can still be friends.”

Carina squeezed his hand. “Thank you for understanding. It makes me feel less guilty.” She added, “Guess I can report that you are honest and exceptionally understanding.”

It's nice you feel less guilty,
he thought
.

* * *

Jack and Carina arrived at the Sofitel Marseille Vieux Port Hotel at one-thirty in the afternoon and checked in.

Their rooms were side by side and Jack had barely entered his when Carina knocked on his door.

“Have you seen it?” she asked excitedly.

“Seen what?” Jack ignored an incoming text message on his phone.

“The view! We are overlooking the harbour! It's beautiful.”

“I thought you'd been to Marseille on several occasions.”

“Yes, but not in places like this.” She giggled. “I feel stupid. You are used to this lifestyle, and here I am, checking out your character. It's me who needs lessons in culture. Anyway, I better unpack and call the real estate agent, then we can go eat.”

As soon as Carina went back to her room, Jack checked his message and learned that the temporary field office was in Otto's name three floors below him. Laura had a room in the New Hotel of Marseille, which was one block away, as did Yves and Maurice, who were sharing a room.

Jack texted back that they would be going out with the agent this afternoon, that he felt safe, and that he didn't think it was necessary to have a cover team tag along. Moments later Laura sent him a text saying that Yves would check with his contact at the local police station and would consent to Jack going on his own if the real estate agent was legitimate.

* * *

The agent apparently was who she purported to be, and that afternoon she took Jack and Carina to two different villas. Both were beautiful, complete with swimming pools, spas, and fabulous views. Jack took his time examining each place so that it was too late to go to any art museums once they returned to their hotel.

At eight that evening, Jack went with Carina to the hotel dining room, which overlooked the harbour. He ordered a bottle of wine to enjoy as they waited for their entrées.

“So, we have four places to look at tomorrow,” Carina said as she reached for her wineglass and took a sip. “It shouldn't take long and … this isn't a test,” she said, looking seriously at Jack, “but if we are done in time, do you want to visit the Museum of Fine Arts here? It's quite renowned.”

“That reminds me,” said Jack, intentionally bypassing her question. “I've been meaning to explain to you why the painting I obtained recently means so much to me. I'm still embarrassed by how I reacted last night.”

“Don't be. As I said, sometimes art is personal and there is no need to explain what you feel to others. It is what it means to you that matters.”

“Thank you, but I want you to know. Perhaps it would be best if Roche knew, as well.”

“Don't worry about him. Art doesn't interest him.”

“No, but he told me he has a friend who expressed an interest in purchasing it.”

“A friend?” Carina stared at Jack for a moment, then said, “I wonder if it is my Russian client? Roche never said anything to me about it.”

Jack shrugged. “I don't know, could be. Roche never mentioned his name. The thing is, it would be better if they understood why I am so passionate about it. It would also make me feel better if you understood why I became so emotional last night and acted rudely.”

Carina nodded. “Okay, if you wish.”

Jack briefly thought about the points he wanted to make.
The Russian loves art, he lost his wife, and the painting means something special to him.
He cleared his throat. “You know Pierrot was always portrayed as a hapless clown who was too trusting.”

“Yes, often seen as a naive.”

“My wife was like that,” Jack said forlornly.

“You were married? Children?”

“Twelve years,” replied Jack. “We wanted children but weren't able to conceive.”

“You're divorced?”

Jack glanced down to display the grief he pretended to feel. “My wife drowned two years ago last month,” he said.

“Oh, my God. I'm sorry.”

“The thing is, her personality was so much like Pierrot,” said Jack. “I even teased her about it. She was too trusting. The type who wanted to bring home a homeless person for Christmas dinner. She'd give money to beggars, even though I told her it would only go to buying drugs. She would tell me I didn't know that for sure.”

“I am so sorry,” Carina repeated.

“It was her gullibility that got her killed.” Jack spoke quietly. “We were staying at a resort in Mexico. She was out for an early-morning walk along the beach with a woman she'd met the day before. Normally, I would have gone with her, but I had a touch of food poisoning and was staying close to our room.” Jack swallowed, then continued. “The waves were really big — she wasn't much of a swimmer and the woman she was with didn't swim at all. There was a young man out in the water not far from shore. He was flailing his arms and screaming to his girlfriend that he needed help. The girlfriend was lying on a lounge chair and there was nobody else around. Turns out she was passed out drunk and didn't even hear him. My wife jumped in and tried to swim to him.”

“Oh, no.” Carina put her hand up to her mouth.

“The undertow was too strong.” Jack fell silent for a moment, then went on, “The thing is, the young man didn't know she was trying to rescue him. He swam back to shore himself. He was also drunk and was trying to tease his girlfriend because she was ignoring him. They took off when they realized what happened. I never even found out their names.”

Carina stared opened-mouthed at Jack.

“Yes, she was a fool,” said Jack, “but she was
my
fool and I loved her very much.”

Carina's eyes filled with tears. She reached for her purse and pulled out a tissue.

“It was on the anniversary of her death that I discovered the painting.” Jack sounded more matter-of-fact. “It was like she'd given me a sign that she was still with me.” He paused. “That sounds stupid, I guess. I'm an atheist, after all. I know it's only my emotions that make me feel that way.”

Carina dabbed at her eyes. “Six years ago my husband, Denzler, died in a car accident.” Her voice was shaky. “I know exactly what you're going through.” Abruptly, she uttered an apology and rushed to the ladies room.

Jack stared blankly after her.
I can be a real asshole sometimes.