The Courbet Connection (Book 5) (Genevieve Lenard) (31 page)

Vinnie jumped up from the chair. “You put a strange man in the conference room with Nikki and Rebecca?”

Tim rolled his eyes. He didn’t move or change his body language, despite being faced by two aggressive alpha males. “No. As you know, we have more than one conference room. He’s in the small conference room and he isn’t a complete stranger. He introduced himself.”

“Who the holy hell wants to speak to me in the middle of the night?”

“He said his name is Laurence Gasquet and that you know him.”

“He’s here?” Manny turned to Francine. “Is that room rigged to record video?”

“I’ll have it recording before you get there.”

“Good. Let’s hope he gives us something useful.” Manny followed Tim out the room, suggesting that Tim should ask for a salary increase so he could buy new pants. No one should wear their childhood pants they’d outgrown.

“Okay, darlings.” Francine stood up, a bit slower than usual. She was tired, but I suspected it was more from the emotional cost of this case than a lack of sleep. “I have loads of work to do. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my basement.”

“Wait.” Colin reached into his pants pocket. “I have something for you.”

He took out a cell phone and gave it to Francine.

“Whose is this?”

“Maurice’s. I broke into his loft apartment when I couldn’t find him anywhere. Someone’s already been through it, but they missed the safe built in under the sofa. I thought you might get something off it.”

“Done. Was there anything else of interest in that safe?”

“A few documents and contracts, but nothing that might help us here.”

“Okay, I’ll get on this now.”

“We need to watch the other videos.” I empathised with Vinnie’s swearing and Colin’s groan. “We don’t have a choice. It might give us insight into who is organising this, which might help us find the location.”

“And hopefully Michael and Steve,” Colin said.

Vinnie cursed again before he sat in the chair Francine had vacated. “Let’s do this, Jen-girl.”

The next six hours were possibly the most difficult in my life. My well-honed skill of dissociation failed me. There were thirty-eight videos, of which thirteen were of young women. Their terror—male and female—their facial expressions and desperate pleas to stay alive kept the darkness of a full shutdown hovering at the edges of my peripheral vision at all times.

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t turn off the sound. It was important to listen to the voices in case we could identify one of the hunters. The second voice I’d heard on the video of Matthieu was in every other video. The first six videos revealed nothing about the hunters or the second voice. It was at the end of the seventh video when I heard it. The second voice’s accent had slipped.

“Dukwicz.” The name came out as a breathless whisper.

“Son of a bitch.” Vinnie leaned forward and glared at the monitor. “You’re right, Jen-girl.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Colin said. “He’s been in and out of this case from the beginning.”

The next video confirmed his identity. Dukwicz was the guide, sometimes suggesting a better route to cut off the ‘prey’, as he called them. Mostly, he was quiet throughout the hunts. Only at the very end would he make sure the shot was well-placed and that they were quick about getting the young person back to ‘base’.

Twenty-eight of the thirty-eight videos were taken at night in eerie green shadows. Despite the many videos, it remained impossible to determine the location. Each hunt started at a different place and followed a unique path through the woods. Lacking the necessary knowledge, I could only identify three different trees commonly found all across Europe.

“I feel sick to my stomach,” Vinnie said as we finished watching the last video. I agreed. I didn’t know how many Mozart concertos, symphonies and possibly operas I was going to have to work through to clear the images burned into my memory.

“But how are we going to find out their involvement?” Vinnie pointed at the monitor.

“Whose involvement?” My mind had drifted to choosing the best Mozart composition to start dealing with this.

“Breton and Hugo.” Colin pointed his chin towards the door. “And Laurence Gasquet.”

“We need more data on them.” More than the glowing personnel files Interpol had on them. “Francine is busy enough. Vinnie, could you find out if there are any rumours about them in your circles?”

“Sure can do, Jen-girl.” He got up and took his phone from his pocket. “Let me start making calls.”

“We should look at news archives,” Colin said. “Despite Google’s agreement to remove details if a person requests it, most newspapers keep all their articles archived and available.”

He’d suggested the exact line of research I had thought to follow. We started with the larger news agencies and worked our way down to the smaller, more local newspapers. It didn’t take very long.

“How is it possible that neither name is mentioned anywhere?” Colin raised both hands, palms up.

“They were mentioned twice.”

“Yeah, in cases of absolutely no interest and because they were such good agents.” His tone and facial expression unmistakeably contradicted the compliment.

I wondered if Manny, Vinnie and Francine had been more successful. Not once in the last twelve hours had I forgotten about the analogue clocks on the two auction sites. We were running out of time. No amount of rationalisation would be able to prevent me from being overwhelmed by guilt if we failed to stop the auctions and save the life of the next victim.

“Where’s the criminal?” Manny asked from the door. His newly acquired outfit was rumpled, the stubble on his chin thicker and the shadows around his eyes darker.

“I don’t know,” I said. “What did you learn from Laurence Gasquet?”

“That he’s an arsehole.” Manny rubbed his face. “Get the criminal and supermodel in here. We need to debrief, regroup and speed up. We only have four hours until the next auction.”

“You sure this is enough food?” Vinnie scratched his head as he looked at the two serving plates and three bread baskets in the centre of the round table. One basket was heaped with fresh croissants, another with different types of bread rolls and the third with pastries. One serving plate had an overflowing selection of fruits, the other of tubs of yogurt.

Tim put down a second pot of coffee and frowned. “I can always get more.”

“That will not be necessary, Tim. Thank you.” Phillip reached for the coffeepot and started pouring for everyone except Manny, who had his milky tea in front of him. “You’ve outdone yourself so early in the morning.”

I agreed. At seven minutes past six, I was surprised that Tim had been able to find so many freshly baked goods. Tim had disappeared for a few hours and had returned dressed in his office attire, carrying bags of shopping. Phillip came in a few minutes after him, looking fresh and rested. As usual.

Francine had also changed her outfit, looking as if she’d also had a shower. I wondered what other alterations had been made to her basement. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, which she had tried to camouflage with makeup, she was the only other person who looked rested. I hadn’t spared the time to look at myself in the mirror. A wise choice if I recalled previous all-night investigations.

“Okay, people.” Manny put a croissant and a sweet pastry on his plate. “We have less than four hours before the first auction starts. Let’s pool our info.”

“Did you discover anything useful from your conversation with Laurence Gasquet?” I forced myself to take a few strawberries and a natural yogurt. This case had affected my appetite.

“Well, I know Gasquet really wants to get Edward Taylor out of the way.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. “Does he want to kill Colin’s pseudonym?”

Manny broke the croissant in half. “The way he was talking about Taylor, I got the impression he wanted him dead, not arrested.”

“Why?” Colin raised both shoulders. “I have no idea who this man is. What have I ever done to him?”

“He didn’t say,” Manny answered. “But he did suggest that there is an underground website selling illegal art that he suspects you are running. Not that he actually said that. It was all roundabout-like.”

“Maybe we should look at the recording.” I turned to Colin. “You can look at this man, his mannerisms and his speech. Maybe you have met him before, but he was disguised. Maybe it was many years ago.”

“Sure. If I’ve met him, I’ll remember his face.”

Francine pushed a whole strawberry into her mouth, somehow making the action look very sexual. She wiped her fingers on a serviette and picked her tablet up from next to her plate. I wondered if she slept with it under her pillow like Nikki did with her smartphone. A second later the large screen came to life, giving us a full-colour downward view of the smaller conference room.

“Fast-forward through the first few minutes, supermodel. It was small talk.” Manny took a cookie and dipped it in his tea. I shuddered. The thought of crumbs floating to the bottom of the cup, creating a disgusting sediment, appalled me.

I looked at the screen, determined to focus on something I understood. Francine had set the speed at three times faster and I watched as Manny shook Gasquet’s hand in a cartoon-like manner. They sat down across from each other. Manny was slouching in the chair, his hands pushed deep into his pockets.

Gasquet rested one ankle on his other knee, hooked an arm around the back of the chair and puffed out his chest. He was posturing. His hair was completely shaved off in what I suspected was an attempt to hide a receding hairline. Even seated it was easy to see how tall he was.

“Stop.” I had seen one of Manny’s hands fist in his pocket. I wanted to know what had caused that. “Go back a few seconds.”

Francine took us back and played the video at normal speed. Gasquet’s voice was measured, as if he didn’t care. “It’s just a pet project for me. Taylor has been running around France creating chaos for too long.”

Onscreen, Manny’s hand fisted in his pocket. “How long is too long?”

“My CI brought him to my attention a year ago. I suspect he’s been at this for a lot longer.”

“At what exactly?” Manny sounded bored and sceptical.

“Oh, my source is telling me that Taylor is into much more than just selling forged and stolen works of art.”

“Stop,” I said again. Francine did and everyone looked at me. “He’s lying. Look at his eye movement, his blinking rate and the way he lifted one shoulder. People are able to control certain nonverbal cues when they lie, but not all of them at once. Very few accomplished liars have control over the feet, legs, arms, hands and facial features when they’re lying. Even then, there are micro-expressions that only Botox can eliminate.”

In a previous case, I’d seen a suspect use Botox to outwit me. He hadn’t been successful. I’d had the rest of his body to read.

“We know he’s lying, Doc. Frey is an arsehole, but he’s not what Gasquet is accusing him of.”

“Love you too, Millard.” Colin raised his coffee mug to Manny before taking a sip.

I squinted, but Gasquet was sitting too far from the camera to confirm what I thought I’d seen. “Does Laurence Gasquet have complete heterochromia?”

“I don’t know, Doc. He didn’t sneeze once.” Manny grunted. “What the hell is heterochronus?”

“Heterochromia is when each eye is a different colour.”

“Ah. Yes. His left eye is green and his right eye is blue. Why is that important?”

I thought about this. “It isn’t. It’s just interesting.”

We continued watching the video. Manny exhibited anger at many of the accusations Gasquet made, the only evidence of that his fist. At times it flexed, at others it pressed hard against his thigh. Since that part of his body was not in Gasquet’s line of sight, I doubted the other man had noticed Manny’s growing ire.

A lot of the conversation sounded like a marketing interview. Gasquet told Manny about all the successes of his security business and how he had all the resources at the tips of his fingers to catch Edward Taylor. Manny impressed me with his ability to deflect questions about our case. He successfully created the impression that we were equally interested in Edward Taylor and his illegal activities. This lie was believable since they were meeting in a high-end insurance company, known for investigations into forged art.

Throughout the fourteen-minute video, Colin watched quietly. Studying and analysing Gasquet’s body language distracted me sufficiently to bring back my appetite. In addition
to the yogurt and strawberries, I also had a banana and a muffin. The meeting finished and Francine stopped the video.

“Do you know him, Frey?”

Colin shook his head. “Never seen him before.”

“Then how does he know you?”

Colin shrugged. “Gasquet is smooth—too smooth. He’s too relaxed, too confident, too everything. He’s off.”

“The idiot thinks he’s fooling everyone.” Manny threw his napkin on the table. “His arrogance is going to be his downfall. Where do you think he got that sketch of you in disguise as Edward Taylor?”