The Courbet Connection (Book 5) (Genevieve Lenard) (25 page)

“You have ten grand just lying around that you’re willing to throw willy-nilly at your own assassination?” Manny’s voice rose as he spoke.

“Did you just say willy-nilly?” Francine laughed. “You’re the cutest thing ever.”

I was watching this exchange with fascination. Manny didn’t display nearly as much contempt and suspicion as he tried to convey. Colin’s nonchalance about the ten thousand euro and the subsequent regret he displayed when he’d realised how much he’d revealed were noteworthy. Unconsciously, he trusted everyone in the room, including Manny, enough to reveal that not only did Francine have access to his accounts, he didn’t consider ten thousand euro to be a significant amount.

Vinnie’s lack of reaction to any of this implied that he too carried knowledge that I didn’t. I’d never considered inquiring about Colin’s finances. I realised now that I’d avoided thinking about it, uncomfortable with what that knowledge might reveal about him. I lived on a strict budget and planned big expenditures in advance. Since I was financially independent, my apartment was fully paid for and I had savings to ensure I didn’t have to work for four years, I spent little time concerning myself with financial issues.

Despite having combined the two neighbouring apartments, I still carried the financial responsibility for my part. I’d never asked about Colin and Vinnie’s financial arrangements, nor had I thought to. I realised that since Vinnie had taken over cooking most of our meals, I’d seldom bought any groceries. Even my favourite cleaning products never seemed to need replenishing. How could I not have noticed this? Three months ago, Colin had taken my car in for a service and had not given me the bill. What else had he been paying for?

“How much money do you have?” The words left my mouth before I could stop myself.

“You’re only interested in my money now? No longer in my looks? My charm?”

I took a step away from him, horrified that he would think something like that. Only when I studied his face and noticed the lifted eyebrow and slight smile did I realise the light-heartedness of the question. It made me angry. “Don’t tease me about something like this. I don’t care about your mo… I do care. I care about how legal it is.”

Both Colin and Manny laughed. I took a deep breath of relief when I didn’t detect any offense.

“I have a lot of money, love. When we don’t have such a large audience, I’ll tell you where it all comes from.” He paused. “Hmm. Francine, when you have time, please give Jenny access to all my accounts.”

The surprise on Francine’s face was almost immediately replaced by a soft smile. “Done.”

“You can’t do that.” My throat tightened. “I can’t have access to your money. I have my own money.”

Colin put his hand on my forearm and lowered his head until we were at eye level. “I want to do this. We can talk about it later, okay?”

I followed his pointed look and saw everyone, including Nikki, watching us. I truly wanted to pursue this topic, but agreed that this was not the appropriate time. I nodded tightly.

“Okay, I just sent Dukwicz the money.” Francine leaned back in her chair. “Now we need to send him some info on Edward Taylor.”

“I don’t like it.” I pulled my arm away from Colin’s touch. “You shouldn’t be put in danger like this. We haven’t established that Dukwicz doesn’t know you are Edward Taylor. I don’t like this.”

“I agree with Jen-girl.” The corners of Vinnie’s mouth turned down. “Dude, you shouldn’t be without protection until we find this asswipe.”

I could see Colin was ready to argue. I put my hand on his arm and knew he took notice. “Please. For me. Please don’t be a stereotype and attempt to prove your manhood or bravery by doing something not worthy of your intellect.”

He put his hand over mine and squeezed. “Would you feel comfortable if I promise to only leave when absolutely necessary and always in disguise?”

I thought about this. Colin’s disguises were exceptional. I doubt Dukwicz, or anyone else, would easily recognise him. “As long as Pink or Daniel accompanies you. But only if it is really necessary.”

He lifted my hand to his lips and places a gentle kiss on my knuckles. “There is no way I’m going to endanger what I have now, love.”

“Would you two stop doing that?” Manny shifted in his chair. “Supermodel, make sure that Dukwicz is convinced we still want Taylor dead. Don’t give him too much info, just enough to confirm what he already suspects. If he suspects that Frey is Taylor.”

Vinnie grunted. “Just email him that you know Edward Taylor is an art expert.”

“Okay, but why do I want him dead?”

Vinnie thought about this for a moment. “We can’t make this art-related in case Dukwicz makes the connection and thinks it’s a trap.”

“Tell him Edward Taylor stole your boyfriend.” Nikki’s smile was mischievous. “What? A man can steal a woman’s man. Francine could say that she came home early one day to find her boyfriend in bed with Edward Taylor doing the wild monkey dance. Obviously, she’s very angry and no one steals what is hers. She could sound like one of those crazy, clingy, stalkerish girlfriends.”

The more she spoke, the more she became animated, clearly liking her story. Vinnie and Francine showed nonverbal cues of approval as opposed to Manny. He was horrified.

“I… I just… How…” He shook his head and slumped deeper into his chair.

“I love this backstory. What do you think, Vin?”

He nodded, grinning at Manny’s discomfort. “It’s brilliant, punk.”

“But we can’t use it. We’ve already established that the persona who contacted him was one of Francine’s online baddies who wants revenge because Edward Taylor caused him to lose money.” I felt silly using Francine’s description of this pseudonym.

Nikki pouted. “That sucks. I like my story more.”

“Our original reason for wanting Edward Taylor dead is more believable.” Francine lifted one shoulder. “Sorry, Nikki.”

“Just remember to demand proof of death,” Vinnie said. “He must send you a photo.”

Intellectually, I agreed with Colin that this was a sensible method to engage Dukwicz. Emotionally, I found it deeply distressing, no matter how I rationalised it. It took a lot of control to maintain quiet and not interfere while Francine worked on her computer.

“Done. Okay, now I need some time to go through Dukwicz’s account.”

“Doc, what did you find out about Emile Rimbaud’s investigation?”

It took me a few seconds to let go of the deep discomfort about Colin willingly putting himself in danger. I focussed on my breathing and then on Manny’s question. “A case file was opened the same week Colin said he’d reported it to Interpol. There was no movement on it for three days. On the fourth day, Interpol sent agents to the apartment pretending to be building
inspectors. They reported that Monsieur Rimbaud had been extremely suspicious of their presence, but since all their paperwork was legitimate, he let them in and they went through the apartment. Emile Rimbaud became agitated when they wanted to enter his bedroom. When they opened the bedroom door, he had a heart attack.

“They called emergency services and did CPR while waiting for the ambulance. Unfortunately, he died in the hospital a few hours later. They went through the apartment, but their initial search didn’t deliver any more paintings. The next day André Breton and Paul Hugo insisted on taking over the case, claiming that their unit was better equipped for looking into that case. It was given to them and four days later they closed it.”

“What was their reason?” Manny asked.

“The alleged perpetrator was deceased, there were no other paintings found in Monsieur Rimbaud’s apartment, and their unit was too busy with other cases of more importance.”

“Too busy, huh?” Manny’s top lip curled slightly. “One has to wonder why they insisted on having the case, only to dump it after not investigating.”

It was a good question, one I’d asked myself when I’d come across this information. “I’ve been looking for a connection between Monsieur Rimbaud and André Breton and Paul Hugo. I’ve only started and have not been able to find anything.”

“Doc, run it down for me. How do you think these things are connected?”

“Without speculating, I can’t say.”

“Please. Speculate.” His facial expression did not communicate it as a request. When he issued an order like this, I knew he would insist until I relented.

“There are many missing pieces, but we have a few connections, even if they are rather nebulous. Dukwicz is connected to Zana22Dactor3178 through the auction video on
Dukwicz’s computer. On Zana22Dactor3178’s website are paintings that Edward Taylor has been asked to authenticate—Courbet paintings. These works are connected to Maurice Dupin, who had contacted Edward Taylor about the authentication. The last authentication had led to Edward Taylor’s arrest, which in turn led us to Emile Rimbaud and his connections to Judith Jooste, André Breton, Paul Hugo and possibly Jacques Boucher.”

“My head is spinning.” Francine pouted. “There are all these connections, but nothing makes sense.”

“I’m searching for someone who knew Monsieur Rimbaud. Maybe they could give us more information about him and where he got the Courbet forgery that Colin saw in his apartment.”

“I’ll look into that, Doc. You can make the connections when I get us more info on this old man.” Manny waited until I agreed with a sigh. “Okay, now tell me what you found on Breton and Hugo. You did look into them, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. Breton is good with computers and anything technology-related. Hugo has the psychology background and is the team member who builds profiles of their targets or suspects. Before Judith joined the team, they were partnered with Jacques Boucher. He was a mathematician and solved many crimes through calculating odds, working out probabilities, using chaos theory and the like.”

I would’ve loved to have the opportunity to work with someone of Boucher’s calibre. I’d looked up his credentials—he’d been one of the top mathematicians in Germany before Interpol recruited him to work with this unit. Mathematics gave me great pleasure. Not as much as Mozart, but it calmed my mind whenever I worked on a complex problem. The logic, the predictability of the results soothed me.

“But then he died,” Manny said.

“Yes. Jacques Boucher died in a car accident. The vehicle’s brakes failed as he travelled through a mountain pass.”

“Whoa!” Vinnie threw his magazine on the table. “That sends up all kinds of red flags, dinnit?”

“It does,” Manny said. “Who investigated the accident?”

“The local police.” There had been a frustratingly limited amount of information available. “The newspaper reports agreed with the last note on his personnel file. There was no evidence of foul play, so they ruled it an accident and closed the case.”

“No way!” Vinnie frowned. “That’s totally foul play.”

“We are only suspicious of this now because of the context we are working in.” I’d found that context always lent a different perspective to whatever or whomever one was researching. “The crime laboratory reports on the car didn’t raise any doubts. The brakes had been old and worn. Nothing was… Nothing seemed like it had been tampered with.”

It was quiet in the team room.

“We need to find out what Boucher was working on before his death. That accident could have had something to do with who or what he was investigating.”

“I already looked into his cases. Those I saw were nothing noteworthy.” I didn’t have sufficient rationale for what I was about to say, but I’d been thinking about it for the last few hours. “We need to speak to Judith Jooste.”

“The newest addition to the art crimes unit?” Manny raised his eyebrows. “Why do you want to involve someone who has such close ties to people of interest in this case?”

“You were the one who said we should keep her in mind. All because she had complaints against her.”

“I know what I said, Doc. I’m asking you why
you
want to speak to her.”

“I’ve looked at her files. She was recruited out of the Netherlands’ AIVD, their General Intelligence and Security Service.” It was the unit dealing in counterterrorism, counterintelligence, and all extremist movements. “Her work is meticulous, detailed and her reports are extremely well-written.”

“Seriously?” Francine snorted. “You want to trust this woman because she writes well?”

I pulled my shoulders back, my chin lifting slightly. “Of course not. It is what her writing reveals that makes me willing to take that risk.”

“So now you’re a palm-reader too, Doc?”

“If you’re referring to reading handwriting, it would be a graphologist.” I found Manny’s misnomers most irksome. “And no. I’m not reading her handwriting. It was all on her electronic reports. In a few instances her reports did not co-ordinate one hundred percent with her teammates’. She included details that made their reports look biased and incomplete. Her reports also reveal an analytical mind and someone who is detail-oriented, looking for anomalies in the data.”

“You think she might know something about Breton and Hugo?” Colin correctly anticipated my line of thought. “Maybe she knows something about Boucher’s death?”

I nodded. “A few weeks ago, Judith requested all of Jacques Boucher’s files for the six months preceding his death. I could find nothing in their present caseload to require looking into past cases. It made me wonder why she requested them.”