The Brodsky Affair: Murder is a Dying Art (36 page)

“As Leonid has died in a road accident, I have no idea who these now belong to. They should be yours, VaVa.”

“He lived so close and I never met him… it is unforgiveable… and unbelievable.” Small tears appeared in the corner of her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the best we can do at the moment.”

As they watched, Manton positioned the eight works to form a semicircle around the room.

Silence.

“My God,” Moss gasped. “Unbelievable!” He reached for his voice recorder, commencing to note everything he could and also taking pictures with his cell phone. “These are staggering.”

Manton stood back, content to let the paintings weave their own brand of magic. “Apart from a few people, these have never been seen before. What do you think, Valentina?”

She held her hands together as if in prayer, moving from frame to frame in a stooped posture. She began digging for tissues.

Tears.

“My beloved grandfather. Who would have thought this possible? It exceeds anything I could have imagined.”

The phone ringing stopped further comments. Manton glanced across at both Valentina and Moss, his jaw set hard. Nothing needed to be said; it could either be Kolosov or Novikov.

The voice coming down the line was hard, uncompromising. Novikov had chosen his words for maximum impact.

“Manton, listen hard. This call is scrambled; it’s untraceable, in case you had thoughts in that direction. Lying in front of me is your woman, and we’ve had a very interesting chat. The woman you saw earlier, she says, has no paintings but is Brodsky’s granddaughter. She says she’s of no use to me. I’m not sure I believe that. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

Manton gripped the phone hard, and the blood drained from his face. A dark fury swept through him.

“Novikov, for fuck’s sake…”

Whatever he was about to say was cut short.

“I don’t think you are capable of anything Mr. Manton. All you have to do is what I ask.”

“I’ll destroy every painting.”

“I don’t think so, Manton. Then, she will certainly be dead, and it will be long and drawn-out. Here is what’s going to happen. I’m bringing her to the phone, I’m removing her gag so she can speak… now, tell her.”

“Tamsin!”

“Jack! I’m not harmed yet.” Her voice crackled with fear. “Do as he says, please.”

“Somehow, we are going to get you out of wherever you are.” The next thing he heard – a choking gurgle.

“Stupid girl, I think she was about to reveal where I’m keeping her. Don’t worry, I need her alive at the moment. I will call you again, very soon, and when I do, you will follow my instructions to the letter. Do nothing until I tell you. I don’t have to tell you why. One more thing, leave the police and Interpol out of this. If you don’t, I’ll kill her.”

The phone went dead.

Manton stared like a stunned goat, his thoughts too messed up to sort through.

“You two, escape now while you can, this is going to get bad. He knows what I have here. And he’ll want the
Legacy
. When he calls again, I can’t call Kolosov. It’s too dangerous. Unless I can stop him, we shall have lost everything.”

Valentina moved in close and stared alertly at him. “I’ve not known you long, but my grandfather would be proud of you, as I am already. I am staying with you.”

“Me too.” Moss’s voice sounded uncharacteristically large.

Manton looked at Valentina. He caught her mood, and knew why she was staying. Saving Tamsin had become the single most important thing. This affair had become more than a vindication for all his research and the money he could make. All those years dragging himself around European libraries and institutes, making a shitty existence from paintings most people had never heard of, had transformed into something meaningful. He sensed his attitude towards Brodsky’s paintings undergoing a dramatic and moral evaluation, but Tamsin’s life was above it all.

He turned to Valentina, his voice determined. “Your grandfather has turned my world upside down. He put onto canvas human hopes and aspirations. We must ensure these bastards don’t succeed. He paid the ultimate price. Tamsin’s life takes precedence, and we can’t let them win. We can’t!” He slammed his fist hard on the table.

Valentina and Moss nodded their agreement.

Chapter Forty Three

T
amsin watched, puzzled at Novikov’s transformation, as he moved with assured efficiency around the room, clearing up any evidence of their presence. Every scrap of tape, cotton, or fabric, he deposited into a large plastic bag.
We must be leaving, but why and where
?
Didn’t he say this was the last place the police would come looking
?

He slipped into a large black coat and moved towards her, causing her heart rate to accelerate. Reaching out, he hauled her up, and ripped away her restraints. She tilted her head back, gasping at his harshness, and yet squashing the urge to lash out at him. She knew too well what he was capable of.

His voice came in a loud whisper. “Get moving towards the door. Any sound or sudden movement could be your last. A gun is pointing at your back, and you know if I have to, I will not hesitate to use it.”

She felt the broad span of his hand push her out into the gathering night, and down the rickety iron staircase. Anybody watching would see two women walking towards their car parked nearby. Once there, he opened the empty boot.

“I took the opportunity of dumping the body of your guard while you slept. If that’s the best they can do, I have nothing to fear. Now, get in!”

Tamsin clambered into the gloom of the boot, unable to avoid a sticky area of congealed blood. Making a supreme effort, she managed to hunker down inside. The lid slammed shut with a metallic resonance, and she was wrapped in darkness, the smell of sour blood, and the stench of diesel fumes. She imagined that this is what being buried alive must be like. A foetal position was all she could manage in the confined space that threatened to overwhelm her. Though never claustrophobic before, this terror ride forced her to press her hands across her mouth.

The sound of the engine starting up, the sensation of movement, and the rumbling and bumping, told her they were travelling over cobblestones. Her priority was not to succumb, not to panic. She had to focus, listen to every noise, any clue that might tell her where she was. It was then she heard the engine stop. The journey was short. She strained both eyes and ears to get a bearing. She heard him get out of the car, slam the door, and walk to the back of the car. The boot lid lifted allowing a blast of cool air to sweep over her. Novikov, still dressed as a woman, his face impassive and not saying a word, held a large roll of duct tape from which he cut two large strips. One he placed around her mouth, and the other over her eyes, but not before she glimpsed that they had stopped at a school. Next, he hauled her out, and again, he propelled her forward. She knew schools in France were now on holiday. This meant that he could use the empty building without interruption.

Using a small hardened steel spike, he opened the door with ease. As they moved further inside, the only sound was their footsteps, echoing on what she presumed were polished floors. Blasts of air struck her, as he pushed through various swing doors. He shoved her through another door, and she sensed chilliness, guessing that they’d entered a large, open area.

He stopped, swung her around, and grabbed her arms to tie her to something that felt like wall bars or a climbing frame. There came a loud click, and from beneath her blindfold she could see a burst of illumination. The lights had been turned on. His hands were on her face, and there followed a sharp rip of pain as he tore off her blindfold. They were in the school gymnasium.

He stood looking at her. “I have arrangements to make, and we could be here a long time. The gag remains. If you make a sound, you will suffer. I shall be back. If you want to piss or anything else, you’ll have to do it where you stand. Am I clear?”

Tamsin nodded. He turned and left.

~ * ~

Valentina gazed out the window, her face impossible to read. Meanwhile, Moss was preoccupied with updating colleagues and various national newspapers with details of what had transpired in Lyon, and how it possibly related to a whole network of art thefts.

The unexpected knock on the door caused them to jump. He saw that both Moss and Valentina were as nervous as he is.

“Who’s that?” shouted Manton.

Back came an unmistakeable voice. “It’s me, Kolosov.”

Manton pulled open the door. “What news?”

Kolosov hurried in, carrying two large black bags which he placed next to the armchair. He sat down with a sharp huff of breath. Rubbing his jaw, he glanced around at them all.

“No real news as yet, I’m afraid.” He bent his head to one side. “All we’re certain of is that he’s in this district somewhere. We have over a dozen men out there looking for him. Miss Greene will not be harmed as long as you have what he wants. He
will
call you, and he
will
want your entire haul of paintings.”

Manton bit the inside of his cheek, remembering Novikov’s warning. He said nothing, but gave a cautionary shake of his head to Valentina and Augustus.

Kolosov continued. “A representative of IAS in St. Petersburg, Anton Petrovitch, has arrived here in Lyon. There is a connection between IAS and Novikov, but we need hard evidence. Phone calls prove nothing. The Brodsky paintings would be the proof we need, and we suspect that is why Petrovitch is here. We don’t want these people killing anybody or each other. They are vital to our case as indeed you are, Mr. Manton. You are under twenty-four-hour monitoring and surveillance, and whether you like it or not, you are the key to this whole affair. This is what we would like you to do…”

~ * ~

The hours stretched out and Manton knew this had to be part of Novikov’s strategy, to keep him tethered for bait. With agents everywhere, he obviously wasn’t going to be visiting. The sudden blast of ringtones from his mobile caused him to start. He didn’t recognise the number, and he felt his heart rate pick up.

“Manton.”

The voice was toneless. “Go alone to the woman’s house with the paintings and get hers. And do not move from there until I call you again.” The phone went dead.

“It’s started.” Manton, his mind racing through a range of possibilities, looked warily across at both Valentina and Moss. “I’ve got to go to your place, VaVa, collect the paintings, and then he’ll call me again.”

“Let’s go,” she said without hesitation.

“No. I’m to go alone.”

“But –”

“No, Valentina.” Manton glared at her. “
Alone
is what he asked, so
alone
it is, and that goes for you too, Augustus. My only concern is for Tamsin. Can you pass me your key?”

She handed him her key chain. “Take it. You can use my car too, if you have to. It’s the small, red Peugeot hatchback parked at the back.” Her expression was tight-lipped.

Manton took the keys, leant forward, and lightly kissed her cheek. “I’ll try to keep in touch, but I don’t know where this all going to lead.”

It had begun to rain. Once outside the hotel, he scrambled to duck under umbrellas, managing to avoid colliding with a well-dressed woman wearing a dark coat, unfurling an umbrella, and leading a small dog. She nodded at his apology.

With the bags of paintings, he hailed a cab to the Quartier Pavillionaire district.

~ * ~

“
Yob
! Fuck!” Kolosov cursed, and smacked his palm on his forehead. He’d heard Novikov’s call, but had been unable to establish a trace on it. It had come from a public phone booth.
 

Chapter Forty Four

B
oris Golub twirled his gun around his thick trigger finger, with a skill that came from twenty years of criminal activity. He had an ox-like build with a reputation for sledgehammer brutality. At five feet nine inches, his powerful neck protruded from a cheap, black raincoat.

Across the other side of a coffee-stained desk flecked with cigarette burns, sat Petrovitch. He looked pallid, frail, but his eyes glinted like daggers as he focused on Golub. He knew what he needed to know about Golub. He’d used him before when things got difficult. There was a possibility that Novikov and Manton would need to be dealt with, and it was better to be prepared than caught with your trousers down.

“Look at these, Golub.” With nicotine-stained fingers, he pushed a large brown envelope across to him.

Golub opened the envelope. In it were various photographs of Novikov. He stared at them, but said nothing.

“That’s what he looks like, but he also uses disguises. If I need you to act, you will, but
not
until I tell you, understood?”

Golub’s voice was guttural. “Understood. When’re we going to hear from him?”

“He’ll call when he’s ready. Be patient, my friend.”

Patience was an art that Petrovitch had learnt working for Berezin, plus his five years for fraud and theft as a common criminal in the Kresty Prison of St. Petersburg. It was Berezin’s influence that had him released. He would never forget that.

Another hour passed. Petrovitch read his newspaper and filed his fingernails, remembering to blow away the pile of white dust from his desktop.

Golub had fallen asleep in his chair, his mouth agape, a dribble of spittle leaking down his protruding prehensile lips. He looked apelike.

From the corner of his eye, Petrovitch caught sight of an envelope protruding from beneath the door.
How long’s that been there? I never heard that arrive.
His name, written in red ink, glared at him from the front. Picking it up, he tore it open — inside, was a message from Novikov:

Please do as I tell you in this matter. Do not telephone. Police are looking for me, and your calls could be monitored. I shall call you when it’s required. This is what you must do. At 9:30 pm, you are to take a taxi to the Museé des Beaux-Arts de Lyon. When you arrive, you are to wait for five minutes, and catch another taxi. You will tell the driver to take you to the Ampithéâtre des Trois-Gaules. Again, you will get out, wait five minutes, and catch another taxi to the Boulevard Anatole to the College Park school. There, you will wait in a phone booth opposite the main gates. You will not move from there, or do anything until I call you. It will not be long.