Art of Murder (67 page)

Calm, stay calm. First things first.

The radio operator sounded in his ear with a marvellously clear voice. Like the voice of an angel in the midst of disaster, thought Bosch. He asked to speak to Nikki Hartel, in Portakabin A. The operator seemed more than happy to comply, but first she needed the code that Bosch himself, on Miss Wood's instructions, had insisted everyone must have in order to talk by phone or radio to the people in charge. Shit! He closed his eyes and concentrated, while the operator hung on. For security reasons he had not written it down anywhere: he had learnt it by heart, but that was in another century, in another era, in a time when the universe and its laws were different, before order was abolished by chaos and Rembrandt and his works had taken Amsterdam by storm. But he usually had a good memory. He remembered the code. The operator confirmed it.

When he heard Nikki's voice, he almost felt like crying.

Nikki sounded even worse.

'Where did you get to?' he heard her energetic, youthful voice in his earpiece. 'Everyone here was
...'

'Listen, Nikki
...'
Bosch interrupted her. Then he paused for a second before going on.

Above all, it's important to speak calmly.

‘I
guess you've got a lot to tell me,' he said. 'But first of all, there's something I need to know
...
Where is Nielle? Where is my niece?'

Nikki's reply was immediate, as if she had been expecting his question right from the start. Yet again, Bosch was thankful for her immense efficiency.

'She's safe, in an evacuation vehicle. Don't worry. Everything's under control. The thing is,
Young Girl Leaning on a Windoivsill
is a painting with only one free-standing figure, like
Titus
and
Bethsabe,
and so Van Hoore's team evacuated her before the other more complicated works.'

Bosch understood her explanation perfectly, and for a second the relief he felt kept him from saying anything else. But then he realised something.

'But most of the works are still here. They're even getting out of the vans again. I don't understand.'

'The evacuation was suspended five minutes ago, Lothar.'

'What? That's absurd!... The earthquake could happen again at any moment . . . And perhaps the curtains wouldn't withstand
...'

Nikki butted in.

'It wasn't an earthquake. And it wasn't a fault in the Tunnel construction, as we thought at first. Hoffmann has just phoned. It was something Art dreamed up without telling any of us, not even Conservation or most of the people in Art either
...
something to do with the
Christ
painting, which apparently was an interactive
performance
piece with special effects that no one knew about.'

'But the Tunnel shook from top to bottom, Nikki! It was about to collapse!'

"Yes,
here in the Portakabin we thought the same because all our screens vibrated, but it seems it would
never
have fallen. It was all staged. At least, that's what Hoffmann says. He says everything is under control, that there is no damage to any of the paintings, and that he doesn't really understand why there was such a wave of panic. He insists the Tunnel's shaking wasn't that violent, and that it should have been obvious it was an artistic detail because it happened just after the
Christ
"died" on the Cross with a shout
..
‘

As she spoke, Bosch remembered that everything had begun when he heard a shout.

'Well,' said Nikki, 'here we didn't understand a thing, of course, but it's modern art, so we're not supposed to try to understand it, are we? .
..
Ah, and nobody can find Stein or the Maestro. And Benoit's climbing the walls
..
.'

In spite of the double feeling of relief Bosch felt at knowing that not only was Danielle safe and sound but that the apparent catastrophe had been less serious than he had thought, he felt a growing sense of irritation. As the day drew to its end, he looked round at the flashing lights and the crush of policemen on the other side of the barriers. He could hear ambulance sirens wailing. He could sense the confusion on the faces of the paintings, conservation experts, security agents, technicians and guests: the bewilderment and fear in the eyes of all those he had shared those anxious minutes with. A
trick
staged by Art? An
artistic detail?
And there
was no damage to
the paintings? What about the public, Hoffmann? You're forgetting the public. There might well have been people badly hurt. . . He couldn't understand it.

'Lothar?'

'Yes, Nikki, what is it?' replied Bosch, still indignant.

'Lothar, before I forget: Miss Wood has phoned at least a hundred times. She wants to know, and I quote: "Where on earth you've got to, and why you don't answer your phone"
...
We've tried to explain what happened, but you know what the boss is like when she's angry. She started to insult us all. She couldn't have given a damn if the whole world had crumbled with you underneath it, she insisted she had to talk to you, only to you, to nobody else but you. Urgently. Right now. Have you got her number?'

'Yes, I think so.'

'If you press the recall button it's bound to be her. Good luck.' Thanks, Nikki.'

As he was phoning April Wood, Bosch looked at his watch: twelve minutes past nine. A sudden breeze that brought with it the smell of oil paint lifted the flaps of his jacket and cooled his sweating back, giving him some thankful relief. He noticed that the Art technicians were taking the paindngs out of the central square. They must be intending to get them together in the Portakabins. Almost all of them were wearing their robes. The Angel's wings shone in the crowd.

He wondered what April Wood had to tell him that was so important.

He raised the phone to his ear and waited.

21.12
.

Danielle was inside the dark evacuation vehicle. It had stopped somewhere, but she had no idea why. She thought perhaps the driver was waidng for someone to arrive. He did not speak to her or explain anything. He simply sat in silence at the wheel in the darkness, his silhouette only dimly lit by the glow through the windscreen. Strapped into her seat by four safety belts, Danielle was breathing deeply, trying to stay calm. She was still dressed in the long white shift for
Young Girl Leaning on a Windoivsill,
and was painted in the four layers of oil paint her figure required. When she felt the earthquake, she was sure one of the layers must have fallen off, but now she could tell it had not. She had started to think of her parents. Once she had got over her fear, she wanted to talk to them, and also to Uncle Lothar, to tell them she was fine. In fact, nothing had happened to her: seconds before the Tunnel had started to tremble, this friendly man had appeared and shown her out, lighting her way with his torch. Then he had strapped her into the back seat of the van and made his way out of the Museumplein. Danielle had no idea what route he had taken. Now he had parked in the darkness and was waiting.

All at once his silhouette moved. He got up and looked round at her. She stared at him anxiously. He was a tall and apparently very strong young man. He came into the back of the van. By the faint light in the van interior, Danielle could see he was smiling.

21.15.

As soon as he had finished talking to April Wood, Lothar Bosch contacted Nikki through his headset. His hands were trembling.

'It's impossible. This time April is wrong.'

Nikki was as surprised as he had been by the first question.

'The evacuated paintings? They're fine, Lothar. I suppose they're a bit frightened, but none of them suffered any damage. They've been taken to the hotel, but not picked up yet. They're all in their vans in the hotel parking lot.'

This was yet another security measure. The paintings could only be taken to their rooms by the corresponding security agent. The evacuation team was simply responsible for getting them away from danger.

'So they're all in the hotel car park?' Bosch insisted.

'Exactly. It was decided at our last meeting, if you remember. We agreed not to take them to the Old Atelier straightaway, because that's empty and locked up tonight, and we didn't want any more security staff
...'

Bosch did remember. He would have hung up there and then, but April Wood's instructions were clear: he had to make absolutely sure.

'Are all the paintings in the car park now?'

'All of them. What are you worried about?'

'Do the vans' tracking devices all work?'

'Perfectly. We've got their signals on the screen right here.'

'Of them all?'

Nikki spoke with motherly patience.

'All of them, Lothar. Don't worry about Danielle. She's being kept in an armour-plated van and
...'

'Can you tell me which paintings have been evacuated?'

'Of course.' Nikki paused briefly after she listed each of them, making Bosch think she must be reading them off a screen.
'Bethsabe
, Young Girl Le
aning on a Windowsill, The jew
ish Bride, Titus,
and
Susanna Surprised by the Elders.'

'Only those five?'

"Yes,
only those. The others were just being taken out when the evacuation was suspended.'

'Are the signals from all five vehicles appearing correctly on the screen as we speak?'

'Affirmative. Is something wrong, Lothar?'

Bosch was stammering into his microphone.

‘I
s there anyone with the paintings apart from the emergency personnel?'

The car park guards. And a security team is on its way. They'll be there any minute.'

Bosch could believe it. The hotel chosen to put the paintings in was the Van Gogh, very close to the Museum quarter. You could reach it walking from Museumplein.

'Martine is confirming it,' Nikki told him. 'We're still receiving all five signals, Lothar. Everything is fine, I tell you. They're in the car park, awaiting instructions.'

What else could he ask? He was beginning to think April Wood's fears were unjustified.

He prayed that, just this once, she might be mistaken.

21.17.

The driver's shadow dipped down next to Danielle. The darkness was even more complete in the back of the van, so that all she could make out were a pair of attractive blue eyes and a fixed smile.

'Are you OK?' the man asked, in fluent Dutch. 'Yes.'

'Some scare, wasn't it?'

Danielle agreed. The man was kneeling next to her seat, still smiling.

'What are we waiting for?' Danielle wanted to know. 'Orders,' said the man.

She had no idea why, but the darkness and silence frightened her a little. Fortunately the smiling man seemed reassuring enough.

21.18.

All of a sudden, Bosch thought of another question.

'Nikki, which was the
first
painting evacuated? Do we know?' Nikki told him.

it was in the van in less than a minute,' she added, pleased with herself, it must have been a record. The emergency guard was very quick
..
. Lothar . . . are you still there
...
?'

Silence.

A prolonged silence. Nikki thought the communication must have been lost, but then she heard Bosch's voice once more.

'Nikki, listen carefully. Get in touch with Alfred and Thea
..
.
and with Gert Warfell. This is an emergency
...
No, don't ask me any questions, please
...
I want a security team to surround the hotel in less than ten minutes . . . top priority . . .'

He ended the call and looked around in bewilderment. A loudspeaker was offering calming words. The fire chief was telling the public that what had happened was not due to any problem with the Tunnel and there was no fear it would happen again. The police were appealing for calm as well. That seemed to be the general consensus. Everyone, everywhere, was calling for calm. The people around Bosch were starting to smile again. The tragedy was gently lapsing into the anecdotal.