Art of Murder (11 page)
Willy De Baas moved away from the microphone and turned down the loudspeakers.
I'm sorry, Paul. It's Shirley Carloni. In April she came apart and we had to operate, do you remember? But she's still not right.'
Bosch remembered that the expression 'came apart' had become popular among the Conservation staff for 'Flowers'. It described the worst problem the works of art faced: damage to their spines.
'Pull her out for a week, suspend the flexibility drugs, give her more painkillers and call the surgeons,' said Benoit. 'That's exactly what I had in mind.'
'Well do it then, and keep the volume of your wonderful speaker down, would you?
...
What was I saying? April, I have no wish to supervise your work, far from it. You know how much we all trust you. But this problem is
...
let's just say
...
a
bit special. This bastard has destroyed not merely an adolescent, but part of the world's heritage.'
'I'll take the responsibility, Paul,' said Miss Wood with a smile.
'You'll take the responsibility, fine. I do as well, and so does everyone else in this artistic enterprise, April. That's what we can tell the insurance companies, if you like: "We take the responsibility." We can also say the same to our investors and private clients: "Don't worry, we take the responsibility." Then we organise a dinner in a salon with ten Rayback nudes in it, and fifty wonderful ornaments as tables, vases and chairs a la Stein, we leave them all open-mouthed in astonishment, and then ask them for more money. But they will reply, quite correctly: "You put on a wonderful display, but if a guard from your own security team can destroy such
an
expensive work of art and get away with it, who on earth will want to insure any of the works in future? And who will pay to have them?"
As he spoke, Benoit waved the empty cup in the air. The Trolley had been waiting for him to replace it on her table, but Benoit had been too carried away to notice. The ornament did not say or do anything beyond crouching there attentively, trying to keep her balance. As she drew breath, her stomach made the teapot tremble. As he observed her antics, Bosch could scarcely stop himself laughing.
'This business is built on beauty,' Benoit was saying. 'But beauty is nothing without power. Just imagine if all the Egyptian slaves had died, and the pharoah had been forced to carry all those blocks of stone himself
...'
'He'd come apart,' Bosch quipped.
'So art is power,' Benoit declared. 'A wall has been breached in our fortress, April, and it's up to you to plug the hole.'
He finally appeared to realise he was still holding the cup, and quickly moved to replace it on the Trolley, who stood up nimbly.
At that moment, as if a black cloud had passed over the room, it turned a darker shade of purple.
'I'd like to know what's happening to Annek,'
a voice with a Haarlem accent said.
They all turned towards the screens, though they knew it was Sally before they saw her. She was leaning against one of the bars in the gym for the canvases, and the camera was filming her to halfway down her thighs. She was wearing a
T
-shirt and shorts. The shorts cut into her groin. She had removed the paint with solution but even so her ebony skin had dark purple highlights. The yellow of her neck label stood out between her breasts.
‘I
don't believe the story about flu
...
the only reason for withdrawing a work from this fucking collection is if they come apart, and if Papa Willy can hear me, let him deny it
..
.'
Willy de Baas had switched off the microphones, and was whispering hurriedly to Benoit.
'We told the works that Annek has the flu, Paul.' 'Fuck,' growled Benoit.
Sally smiled all the time she was talking. In fact, she looked very happy. Bosch thought she must be drugged.
'Look at my skin, Papa Willy: look at my arms and here, on my stomach
...
If you
switch
the lights off, you'll still be able to see me. My skin is like a raspberry past its sell-by date. I look at it and feel like eating plums. I've been like this since last year, and I haven't been withdrawn even once. If you don't come apart, you're on show, flu or no flu. But Annek and I will never come apart, will we?
...
Our postures with our backs straight are easier than most. How lucky we are, they all say. We're the lucky ones, apparently. But I reckon it depends on how you look on it
...
it's true, the other works are carried out on stretchers at the end of the day
...
and they are jealous of us because we can walk without any back problems and we don't need any of those flexibility implants that mean you can kick yourself in the shin with the same foot, isn't that so, Papa Willy?
...
But it also means we're on the outside, we aren't part of the group of those who have officially come apart
...
So
cut the crap. Wh
at's
wrong
with Annek? Why have you withdrawn her?'
'Fuck,' Benoit said again.
'She could cause real trouble,' De Baas said, twisting his head towards Benoit.
'She will cause real trouble,' one of his assistants insisted.
'Wh
at's happening, Papa Willy? Why don't you reply?'
Benoit swore indignantly again, and stood up.
‘L
et me deal with her, Willy. Why on earth did you tell her that nonsense about flu?'
'What else could we do?'
'Papa Willy? Are you there...?'
Benoit scurried over to De Baas, talking all the time.
This is a work of art valued at thirty million dollars, Willy. Thirty big bricks and a monthly rental I prefer not to mention
...'
He took the microphone from De Baas, 'And she has become indispensable: the owner will only have
her.
We have to tread carefully
...'
Benoit's voice suddenly became mellifluous. 'Sally? It's Paul Benoit.'
'Wow!'
Sally unhooked her thumbs from her shorts and stood with arms akimbo.
'Grandpa Paul in person . . . I'm truly honoured, Grandpa Paul
...
Grandpa Paul is always the one who comes to the phone when things go wrong, isn't he? ...'
I'm sure she's drugged, Bosch thought. Sally was slurring her words, and her plump lips stayed open when she fell silent. Bosch thought she was one of the most beautiful pieces in the collection.
That's right,' Benoit said gently. 'That's how things work with us: they pay Willy less than me, so he spouts more nons
ense. But this is pure chance - I
happened to be in Vienna and wanted to come and see you all.'
'Well, make sure you don't come down to the gym, Grandpa. Some of the flowers have turned carnivorous.
They
say you look after those dogs of yours in Brittany better than you do us.'
‘I
don't believe that for a minute. You're wicked, Sally.'
'Wh
at happened to Annek, Grandpa? Tell me the truth, just this once.'
'Annek is fine,' replied Benoit. The thing is that the Maestro has decided to withdraw her for a few weeks to work on some details.'
This was an absurd excuse, but Bosch knew that Benoit had a lot of experience in fooling the works of art.
'Work on some details
...?
Come off it, Grandpa! Do you think I'm an idiot? The Maestro finished her two years ago
...
If he withdrew
her, it's because he wants to substitute her
...'
'Don't get mad, Sally, that's what I've been told, and I'm usually told the truth. There isn't going to be any substitute for
Deflowering
for two years at least. The Maestro has taken her to Edenburg to correct a few details of her body colour, that's all. In theory, he's within his rights -
Deflowering
hasn't been sold yet.'
'Are you telling me the truth, Grandpa?'
'I couldn't lie to you, Sally. Doesn't Hoffmann do the same with you? Doesn't he renew the purple every now and then?'
'Yes, he does.'
'She's falling for it
...'
one of the assistants whispered admiringly. 'She's falling for it!' De Baas hissed to silence him.
'But why didn't you tell the truth
from the beginning, Grandpa? Why
invent the story about the flu'?'
'What else could we say? That one of the most expensive of Bruno van Tysch's works was not properly finished? And I need hardly tell you, Sally, that this has to be kept between you and me, right?'
'I'll keep the secret,'
Sally paused for a moment, and her expression changed. This made Bosch forget about works of art and suddenly see a solitary, fearful young woman on the TV screens.
'Well, I guess I won't be seeing the poor girl for some time
...
I feel sorry for her, Grandpa. Annek is a child, and she has no one
...
I
think that's why I liked her, because I'm all alone too
...
Do you know I invited her to go out to the Prater this Monday?
...
I thought that might help her
...'
'I'm sure you did help her, Sally. Annek feels better now.'
Cynicism three times a day after meals, thought Bosch.
'Wh
en am I going back to Mr P's house?'
Bosch recalled that
Purple Tulip
had been bought almost fifteen years earlier by someone called Perlman. He was one of the Foundation's most valued clients. Sally was the tenth substitute for the work. Both she and all her predecessors called him 'Mr P'. Lately, it seemed Mr P had taken a fancy to Sally, and was demanding that she remain with him after the end of the year. Since he paid an astronomical price for renting her, his wishes were commands. On top of that, Perlman had graciously allowed
Tulip
to be lent for this European tour, so he was owed this favour.
'The person who can tell you about that is Willy. I'll put him on. Take care!'
'Thanks, Grandpa.'
As De Baas took up the conversation again, Benoit seemed to be removing a mask in the cold violet wall lights. He took a handkerchief out of his jacket and mopped his face, giving vent to his frustrations.
'Believe me, I'm so sick of those dumb paintings
...
shitty little girls and boys raised to the level of works of art
...'
his voice altered as he copied Sally's accent: "
‘I
feel so alone too"
...
she's been plucked out of a black ghetto, she earns more in a month than I earned in a year at her age, and still she moans on about how "alone" she is! How stupid can you get?'
A single mosquito whine of a laugh greeted this tirade - it was Miss Wood. No joke in any language ever made her even smile, but Bosch had often seen her laughing like this when someone was spilling their bile.
'You were great, boss,' an assistant said, giving Benoit the thumbs up.
'Thanks. And don't make any more excuses about flu, whatever you do. We need to be very careful with these canvases, and to keep them in good condition, we have to be subtle. They're all drugged, but they're still smart. If we substituted them earlier, we'd save a lot on conservation. Of course though, I prefer to keep on the "Monsters".' He paused, then puffed, 'This art business is getting crazier and crazier
...'
'Thank Heavens we have "Grandpa Paul" to restore all the paintings,' said Miss Wood.
Benoit pretended not to hear. He walked towards the door, but stopped halfway.
‘I
have to go. Believe it or not, this morning I have to go to a private concert in the Hofburg. A top-level meeting. Four Austrian politicians and me. An eighteen-year-old countertenor is going to sing
Die
Schön
e
Mü
llerin.
If I could get out of going, I'd be a happy man.' He wagged a finger in the air. 'Please, April, we need results.'
