2 The Dante Connection (14 page)

“Now tell us what you know.” The one detective had removed his suit jacket and was leaning back in his chair. He had a notepad and pen ready to take notes.

The young man breathed heavily a few times, his mouth twitching nervously. His hands disappeared under the table in a movement that looked like he was wiping his hands on his thighs. Self-comforting behaviour.

“Things are not always easy, you know? My dad left when I was a baby and my mom died when I was ten. My
grandmère
took me in and never, not even once complained about having an angry kid in her house. She loved me, fed me and drew me out of my anger and into a dream to achieve something better for myself.”

The detectives sat silently listening to the well-spoken young man.

“There was never much money. My
grandmère
baked
tartes aux fruits
and sold them to a few local cafés. People love her fruit tarts. When I turned fifteen, I took a job to start helping pay for things. When
grandmère
found out, she was furious. She wanted me to focus on my studies so I could get a scholarship. Her dream for me was to have a university degree and have a good profession. I stopped working and she baked more. I studied more than most of the kids in my class and got a scholarship.”

He rubbed his hands over his eyes. I would watch this again and then I would determine if those were tears I had seen. “Last year
grandmère
was diagnosed with cancer. She had to go for intense treatments and couldn’t bake anymore. I’ve taken on two jobs, but it doesn’t cover our bills and her medicine.”

“And someone offered you a way out,” the one detective said. There was sympathy in his voice and body language.

“Yes. This guy phoned me out of the blue. An arrogant arsehole.” He glanced at the detectives. “Sorry. But he was extremely arrogant. He said that he was better than any security system and that he could get me a gig that would give me enough money to pay for two years’ tuition and
grandmère’s
meds. I knew it was stupid. I knew it was a mistake, but I was just so desperate, you know?”

“Son, we see this every day,” the nice detective said. “These guys choose their targets very carefully. They look for people who are in desperate need. I wish I didn’t see this as often as I do.”

The young man looked relieved. Validation, one of our strongest human needs, had given this student more courage to finish his tale. “He phoned me a week ago. I don’t know how he got my number, but he phoned me and told me that he had an offer for me that would end all our problems. At first I said no. I didn’t even wait for him to finish his pitch. When he phoned me the next day I had thought about this enough to be curious. He told me that it would be a victimless crime. That all I had to do was walk into a house, take some things and leave a flower.”

A rush of adrenaline flooded my system. In the last two sentences this desperate young man had given information that confirmed our theories. Following up on what he was saying could lead us to the hacker.

“He said I would be paid twenty thousand euros for accepting the job. Once I got what he wanted me to get, I could take whatever else I wanted from the house. He even offered to put me in contact with people who could fence the stolen stuff.” He closed his eyes and hung his head. “I agreed to do this. Twenty thousand euros upfront was going to go a long way to help
grandmère
. And the possibility of much more? I couldn’t give up that chance.”

“What did he want you to take?”

The young man patted his jacket pocket. “The list was in my pocket. When those police guys processed me, they took everything from my pockets.”

The nice detective glanced at the other one who nodded, got up and left the room.

“He gave me the security codes to the gate, the house and the safe. I mean, this guy knew exactly where everything was. It was like he was the owner of the house and he wanted to rob himself.” He straightened in his chair. “Hey, do you think that is what happened? That this is some insurance scam?”

“We’re working on a few different theories,” the detective said. “Do you give us permission to trace your phone calls?”

“Of course.” The young man nodded at the papers on the table. “I said I’ll give my full cooperation. Anything you need to catch this guy.”

We watched a few more minutes of the interview, but nothing of more interest was said. I stopped the video and turned to Manny. “What was he supposed to steal?”

“Two paintings, small and valuable, and a 1933 Gold Double Eagle coin.”

“Oh my.” Phillip adjusted his tie. A cue of distress. “That coin was designed by Augustus Saint-Gaudens. Almost half a million gold coins were minted with the 1933 date, but none were ever released into circulation. The depression had hit the US and the government had made it illegal to own these coins. They were melted down into bullion bars. A few coins did make it out into the world. In 2002 one of these coins were sold for just over seven and a half million dollars.”

Manny whistled. “For a coin?”

“For a rare coin,” Phillip corrected. “Oh my, oh my. You don’t know what you have stumbled upon here, Manny. There is only one of these coins authorised by the US government for private ownership. Only one. If this house owner is not the 2002 buyer, then he is in possession of an illegal coin.”

“Which I suppose makes it even more valuable on the black market.”

“Most definitely. Where was the coin kept?” Phillip asked.

“It was on display in the library.” Manny rolled his eyes. “This house actually has a library. There must be at least ten thousand books up and down the walls. Anyway, the coin was in a glass display box, protected by a motion and heat sensor that could only be disabled with a remote control which was locked up in a safe. The safe had a code and so did the remote control. There were all kinds of other laser beams and things to keep anyone from ever taking this coin. This young man was given all the codes to disable the security and obtain the coin.”

“Francine isn’t convinced that the hacker is very smart,” I said. “There are discrepancies in his skill set which makes her think that he had help getting into the security companies’ computers. His everyday skills are far inferior to hers.”

“What are you saying, Doc?”

“Isn’t it clear? The hacker is working for someone. A person with extensive knowledge of art. How else would they target the most valuable pieces in every home?”

“The security companies must have that information on file.”

“Has anyone contacted the security companies yet? Had a look at their computers?” I asked.

“It’s in the works at the moment, but it will take some time to get all the legalities done.”

“What did you find from the telephone records?”

“Still working on it.” Frustration crept into Manny’s voice. “I wish things happened as fast as on telly shows, but we have a lot of legal stuff to sort out before we can dig into people’s records. It all takes a lot of time.”

“How long?”

Manny glanced at his watch. “They started working on this about two hours ago. Hopefully we’ll have something by lunchtime.”

I closed my eyes and allowed Mozart to take over for a few minutes. When I opened my eyes Manny and Phillip were discussing the coin. Manny was truly disgusted with the value of such a small round piece of gold.

“Is the hacker the bomber?” I asked. Both men turned to me. “Are the hacker and bomber two different people connected by something? What is the connection between the hacker and the bomber?” I took a deep breath. “Is there a connection between them and me?”

A series of micro-expressions flying across Manny’s face warned me. “Doc, there is something I haven’t told you yet.”

My stomach felt hollow and I could feel my heart beat in my throat. I waited. The worry and regret on his face told me that it was not going to be glad tidings.

“The flower that was found at each crime scene was identified.” He nodded at the monitors. “The young gentleman also had the flower on him when he was arrested.”

“For the love of Pete, Manny, just tell us.” Phillip was leaning forward in his chair, concern pulling his eyebrows together.

“It was a daffodil. At each scene. A red daffodil.”

Chapter THIRTEEN

I faced my front door and stood there unmoving. I wondered if it was even worth unlocking the door. Had Vinnie, Colin and Francine locked all five locks? If I walked into my apartment now, who was going to be inside? Had my apartment become an open house to every one?

Allowing these questions to float through my mind was far easier than dealing with the news Manny had given me six hours before. It had been with immense effort that I had stayed in control and hadn’t succumbed to the overwhelming need to escape into the black void that always welcomed me. Even now, the lure of Mozart pulled at me.

The door opened. Colin rested his hand on the door handle and looked at me. Concern pulled at his eyes and mouth. “You’ve been standing there for fifteen minutes, Jenny. It’s time to come in.”

I shook my head. Out here I could avoid dealing with Manny’s news for a little while longer.

“I’ll draw a bath for you. You can relax there for an hour or so. Then we’ll have dinner, okay?”

His kindness and understanding were hammering away at the tight control I had on my emotions. My eyes started burning and I shook my head again.

“I’ll turn on Mozart and you can listen to this while you’re lying in the tub. I’ll also pour you a glass of a fantastically good Merlot that I bought today.” He took a step closer to me, watching me like I usually watched people when I was reading them. Some of the tension around his eyes left when I didn’t move away from him. One more step and he was standing inside my personal space.

I didn’t know if Manny or Phillip had phoned him. Somehow I doubted that. If he had known about the daffodils, he might have been more aggressive in his concern right now. He touched my shoulder so lightly that I barely felt the contact through my coat. Very gently his hand smoothed down my coat sleeve to my wrist. His hand felt warm and comforting when he closed it over my icy fingers.

“Let me take that for you.” One by one, he peeled my fingers away from the computer bag I had forgotten I was clutching to my chest. He gently pried open my grip and took the bag. He slung it over his shoulder and held both my hands in his. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Okay then. Let’s get you inside.” He had to pull twice before my legs unlocked themselves and I was able to move. I followed him into my apartment and instantly felt some of the tightness in my muscles ease. When he locked all five locks, I relaxed even more. It annoyed me that three people had keys to my apartment, but I didn’t mind these specific three people in my apartment. I didn’t want other uninvited guests.           

After the daffodil news, I craved the security of locked doors. Reality dictated that my apartment was far from impenetrable and the past few days had proven the same truth for access to my computer and smartphone. My muscles tensed up again as my thoughts entered this direction. I clamped down on it. Being this shaken was not a state I wanted to be in.

Colin pulled me into my bedroom. He had only been living in my apartment for two days, but even when he had stayed here before, he seldom entered my sanctuary. It felt strange to have him in a space that I felt protective of. It also made me feel safe. This realisation shocked me out of my silence.

“I’ll take it from here, thank you.” I took my handbag off my shoulder and stood with it in my hand. It had to be in its usual place, but I didn’t feel like walking back to put it on the dining room chair.

Colin held out his hand for my bag. “I’ll put it on the chair for you. And I’ll set up your computer on the table.”

I looked at his hand and blinked a few times before I handed my handbag to him. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time, Jenny. I’ll get dinner going and we can talk then. It’s going to be at least an hour before everything is ready, so don’t come out before then, okay?”

I lifted one eyebrow, immediately suspicious. “Why do you want me out of sight for an hour?”

He smiled. “There really is no hiding anything from you. Good lord. I just didn’t want you to worry about Vinnie cooking in the kitchen.”

“Why would I worry?” I took off my coat and handed it to Colin who took it without any change of expression. “I know that Vinnie will clean the kitchen when he’s done.”

“And it won’t bother you that he is here? Francine will most likely also be here.”

I thought about this for a moment. “It annoys me that my apartment no longer seems to be mine, but at this moment it makes me feel safe to have all of you here.”

The relaxed smile on Colin’s lips and around his eyes disappeared. In its place were all the muscle movements of worry. “Relax and come out when you’re ready. We’ll be here.”

It did take me an hour to relax in the tub, consider my situation and make some important decisions. Life had taught me a long time ago that there was no such thing as status quo. Maintaining the same comfortable situation in one’s life, whether it was emotional equilibrium or stability in one’s career, relationships or something else, was indeed impossible. Life had always been a fluid river in my life, changing with every season and forcing me to move with it.

An overwhelming desire to fight anything challenging my routines was my first reaction every time. But it was a futile fight. I didn’t know if it was more difficult and painful for me than for others, but every change felt like torture. Embracing it took some sting out of that torture, it helped me develop, helped me grow stronger. And that was what I was hoping to do. Accept yet another personal and career change in my life.

I stopped for a moment when I realised that I was rubbing body lotion almost aggressively into my legs. A calming breath later, I finished moisturising my skin more gently and hoped that I could convince myself that change was good.

When I opened my bedroom door, the smells and sounds greeting me settled something in my chest. Vinnie and Francine were in the kitchen arguing about spices. Colin was watching television. It was an unorthodox scene of domesticity. Something I never thought I would have in my life.

“Jen-girl.” Vinnie held a spice shaker above his head. Francine was leaning against him trying to reach the shaker, but in obvious pain. “Tell this silly wench that you cannot put sweet basil in a sauce for a chicken dish. It is only used with vegetable dishes.”

“Says you.” Francine reached a bit higher, but collapsed against Vinnie with a groan. “My grandmother always put it with the chicken and it was delicious.”

Vinnie pulled her against him in a gentle hug. Francine was as beautiful as a model and also as tall. Vinnie was still almost a head taller than her and he looked down at her. “That sacrilege will not take place in my kitchen.”

“This is my kitchen,” I said as I walked to the fridge and took out the blackcurrant juice. I took a spotless glass from the cupboard and poured half a glass. I leaned against the counter and watched Vinnie stir something in a pot while still holding Francine.

“You need to sit down and not wrestle with me. You’re still a far way from being well enough to take me on.” He gave her a quick hug and pushed her away from him. “And there will be no sweet basil in my food tonight.”

“He’s so easy to annoy,” she whispered to me as she walked to join Colin on the sofa.

“I heard you.” Vinnie turned around to glare at Francine. Then he turned to me with a sweet smile. “How’re ya doin’, sexy?”

His crazy change of accent caught me unawares and I laughed. “I’m hungry.”

“Aw, Jen-girl. You sure know how to sweet-talk a man. Get the others and sit down at the table. The food will be there in two minutes.”

Thirty minutes later I wished I had more space in my stomach to have a third helping of Vinnie’s winning chicken lasagne. I leaned back in my chair with a satisfied groan and lifted the wine glass to my mouth. “This is a good Merlot.”

“As if I would ever buy a bad Merlot.” Colin winked at me.

I wondered if I had ever felt so at home with other people in my personal space. For a short moment I basked in the feeling. I knew I was going to destroy this easy companionship with everything I had to tell them. “Did Manny or Phillip phone you today?”

“Who? Me?” Colin pointed at his chest. “Why the hell would Millard phone me?”

“Because of what was discovered today.” There was a shift around the table. Everyone’s body language communicated a change in mood. It made me angry that I was the one to cause this.

“What was discovered, Jenny?”

I told them about the thief who was caught. I tried to keep it as concise as possible and could hear the emotionless tone in my voice. Lack of inflection could usually be traced to an overload of emotions in people. In my case it was the tight grip I had on my emotions. “Then Manny got a phone call from the crime scene investigators.”

“Did they get any fingerprints from the painting and wrapping?” Colin asked.

“I don’t know. Manny didn’t say. The phone call he received was about the flower.” I was speaking faster, trying to get it out as quickly as possible. “They looked at the flowers that were left at the crime scene. Only at three of the crime scenes were the flowers taken in as evidence. The one that young thief had was the same. All four flowers were red daffodils.”

Noise exploded around the table. There was no need to explain to them the importance of that flower. They remembered. Vinnie and Francine were talking at the same time, asking me questions and using a lot of expletives. Colin had lost some of the colour in his face, his lips pressed together until they were bloodless. He stopped rubbing his right thigh when he caught me looking at him.

“Jen-girl, are you okay?” Vinnie leaned over the table and almost touched me. I leaned a bit back.

“Now I’m fine. I wasn’t all that fine when Manny told me.”

A look passed between Colin and Vinnie. “Dude?”

Colin ignored Vinnie’s question and looked at me. “Do you think Kubanov is behind all of this?”

“I don’t know.” I lifted my shoulders and shuddered. Six months ago this wealthy Russian philanthropist had been the mastermind behind an impressively well-organised art forgery ring. The little that we had been able to learn about him was ambiguous. Publicly he was renowned as an altruistic oligarch, giving back to his community in various forms, especially in art and education. But there had been a dark side that we had uncovered. His ruthless, cruel, underhanded dealings were a public secret. A secret that people never admitted knowing and never talked about to strangers. It could get you killed if anyone knew that you had any knowledge about Kubanov’s less stellar activities. He was the kind of psychopath who hid in plain sight. A psychopath who had an affinity for red daffodils. He scared me.

“I’m open to accept all kinds of coincidences,” Vinnie said. “Four daffodils at crime scenes is too much to call it a coincidence.”

Francine emptied her glass of wine and held it out to Colin for a refill. “Why are you so quiet?”

Colin took his time pouring wine into her glass. When he stopped halfway, she shook the glass lightly and he filled it almost to the brim. “I’m quiet because I’m thinking.”

I knew he was lying. He was most likely thinking, but he was quiet because of another reason. That reason had something to do with the last four months, his injuries and the secrecy around the table I was not privy to. I looked at him, excluding everyone else from our contact. “You’re going to have to tell me. Soon.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t pretend to not know what I was talking about. “Let’s go over what we presently know about Kubanov.”

He started counting on his fingers. “Firstly, he has more money than God. He is highly intelligent and from what we learned the last time, he likes playing with people. He has no problem using people to get to his end goal. He used all those students to paint forgeries that were sold at top auction houses. Then he killed them. He has extensive knowledge of art, something that we already said the person behind all of this would have. And he has a tendency to use symbolism.”

“The daffodils in the Russian House,” Vinnie said. The Russian House was the mansion in Strasbourg Kubanov had used as the European headquarters for his dealings. Before we had discovered his art-crime ring and a lot of arrests had been made. “The house was on Daffodil Street. It has to be Kubanov behind these burglaries.”

“This would make sense as a theory,” I said. “Kubanov would have no qualms using somebody to recruit needy, susceptible students to steal for him.”

“But isn’t he this behind-the-curtains kind of criminal? Why announce his presence with the red daffodils?” Francine asked.

I was afraid of the answer. It came too close to my home and those in it. Another question bothered me. “If he only works with the best, why is he using an amateur hacker? Why not someone like Francine?”

We all looked at Francine. She lifted both eyebrows. “What? Why are you looking at me? I would never work with someone like that.”

“That is not why we are looking at you,” I said. “We want to know your thoughts on the connection between Kubanov and the hacker.”

“Oh well, that’s good then.” She took a sip of her wine. “Honestly? I don’t know if Kubanov is involved, but I know there must be another hacker. Someone who is more sophisticated than doofus.”