The Courbet Connection (Book 5) (Genevieve Lenard) (32 page)

At the nine-minute mark, Gasquet had said his CI had given him a sketch of Edward Taylor. Gasquet hadn’t had the file with him, but had promised to email the sketch to Manny. He’d lied.

“Another question I don’t have an answer for, Millard.”

“I found you by going through hundreds of newspaper articles reporting the revealing of forged artwork, or the discovery of works thought lost in war or a heist.” It had taken me days to read through all those articles. “Edward Taylor was in only one article and there was a photo of you. Well, not you. Edward Taylor.”

“Good lord, Jenny. That photo was published… what? Six years ago?”

“Eight.” I had found numerous seventeenth-century poets active over a period of eleven years, finding lost art. “It is a possibility that Gasquet saw the same photo and is calling that his sketch.”

“What about his CI, Doc? This person has been giving him all this information on Taylor.”

“It’s not a CI.” I remembered the look on Gasquet’s face when he’d talked about his CI. “It is someone he knows. Someone he cares for.”

“Which means I want to know everything about Gasquet. How many pairs of socks he owns, his favourite ice cream, what toothpaste he uses. Supermodel—”

“I’ll get on it as soon as we’re done here.”

Something Colin had said previously came back to me. “You said you haven’t used this disguise often. That should make it easier for you to think of who you met while in this disguise.”

“Hmm. Let’s see. Maurice is the one who saw this disguise first. It was only with him and his clients.”

“Who were the clients?”

“René Faye, a real snake of a man.” He counted on his fingers. “Martin Ferré, a brilliant artist who never got a lucky break and went into forgeries—really great forgeries. Armand Goll, who died eight years ago. Alain Labrie and Emile Rimbaud—”

“Emile Rimbaud.” Manny tapped with his index finger on the table. “What are the odds of him showing up again?”

“The odds are favourable. Colin mentioned him before, when we spoke about his appearances as Edward Taylor in the last two years.” What a silly observation. I organised my plate, cutlery and cup to be neatly aligned. “We need to find the connection between Monsieur Rimbaud and Laurence Gasquet. Or between Monsieur Rimbaud and Breton and Hugo.”

For a few moments no one spoke. “Doc, what else did you see in that video? Not about me, but about Gasquet.”

“He lied about the one-year timeline. It wasn’t a year ago when he received that supposed sketch. It could be before or after that. I don’t know. He also lied about his interest in Edward Taylor. It isn’t about catching an art criminal. I don’t know what his true motivation is, but that is not it. He also exhibited classic markers for narcissistic personality disorder. He sees himself as superior, despite his accomplishments, and expects constant adoration and admiration from others. From his boasting it was clear to deduce he is obsessed with being perceived as powerful, influential, intelligent and successful. You were right in saying that his arrogance will be his downfall. It blinded him to your lies. He believed them.”

“I didn’t lie, Doc. I just didn’t tell him the whole truth.”

I was thankful when Francine waved to get our attention. I’d had too many arguments already about the difference between a lie and an omission of truth.

“Okay. My turn.” Her chin was lifted, her shoulders pushed back. “I got into ZD’s website email. It’s hugely encrypted, but I beat it. I got in. He’s had that website for the last eighteen months. I looked back as far as I could, but didn’t find one single personal thing. All the emails were communication with the winners of the auctions. In those emails, he requested a cell phone number. He said he’d SMS further instructions to them. Half of those idiots gave him traceable numbers.”

“Brilliant.” Manny’s smile wasn’t friendly. “We can prosecute them.”

“Totally.” Francine winked at him. “Just for granola and giggles, I checked out a few numbers and have names, addresses, everything. Why are they using Tor if they’re not careful everywhere else? Never mind. The other half gave him numbers to untraceable disposable phones. I checked the traceable phones and co-ordinated them with the dates of the emails to look for ZD’s phone. All I found was another untraceable number.”

“He also used a burner phone,” Vinnie said.

“How many emails have you read?” I asked. “How far into his email history?”

“I read the last eight months or so, but I’m not going to stop. If handsome hadn’t dragged me in here for these wicked pastries, I’d still be working on that. Hopefully ZD mentioned something, somewhere that we might use to locate him.”

“And we only have”—Manny looked at his watch—“three hours and twenty-five minutes left.”

“That really doesn’t leave much time.” Phillip pushed away his plate. “Can’t you ask for more help?”

“I’ve been ordered not to,” Manny said. “I spoke to the Secretary-General at Interpol. I gave him a brief outline of what’s going on, including the investigation into Edward Taylor.”

“Is he one of the few who knows?” Phillip knew Colin’s work for Interpol was known only by a few of the very top Interpol personnel.

“Yes. And he’s also one of the few I would trust with a case like this. He’s given me orders not to get any assistance from within Interpol. Not if Breton and Hugo are involved. He’s aware of how favourably they’re viewed and how well they’re connected. And he wants me to give him a full debriefing over a secured line.”

“I’ll set it up in the conference room,” Francine said. “The small one. The girls are still sleeping in the big one.”

“You saw them?” I felt like cringing at forgetting about Nikki and Rebecca.

“I did. They had a Vin Diesel movie marathon last night and are recovering from it now.”

“What is a Vin Diesel?”

Everyone laughed.

“Not a what, love. A who.” Colin kissed my cheek. “He’s an actor who mostly plays in action and science fiction movies.”

“And he’s gorgeous.” Francine drew out the last word while pressing both palms against her chest. “Wouldn’t mind getting me some of that.”

“Where are they sleeping?” I wasn’t interested in actors.

“Who? Oh, the girls.” Francine lowered her hands. “Tim organised inflatable mattresses for them. It looks like a pyjama party in there. And smells like a movie theatre.”

I shuddered, but was glad Nikki and her friend were comfortable. I returned my attention to the case at hand and asked Manny, “Did you tell the Secretary-General about Breton and Hugo’s connection to Gasquet, Dukwicz and ZD?”

“I didn’t go into details. We were on a secure line, but I don’t trust these things anymore.” Manny had had many arguments with Francine about smartphone security. Clearly she’d been winning those arguments. “That’s why he wants a full debrief.”

“Have you thought about contacting Daniel?” Vinnie asked. The bread basket closest to him was empty. He reached for the platter of pastries.

“I was going to ask you to do it since you’re all buddy-buddy with them now.”

“Will do. They should be on standby in case we locate Dukwicz and have the chance to get those kids out.”

“I have loads of emails to work through.” Francine got up. “What are you going to do now, girlfriend?”

“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s another visitor in the small conference room.” Tim stood at the door, a mug of coffee in his hand. “She said she came as soon as she could.”

“Who are you talking about?” Manny got up.

“She said her name is Opal Luedke and that she came as early as possible.”

“Ah.” The tension in Manny’s face lessened. “Doc, I think you should come with for this.”

“Who’s Opal Luedke?” Colin put his arm out to prevent me from getting up.

“Bloody hell. It feels like I haven’t slept in a week.” Manny rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t remember what I told you. After I spoke to Gasquet, I looked for someone who knew Emile Rimbaud. It was actually quite easy. Madame Luedke was old man Rimbaud’s neighbour for almost forty years. She confirmed that he didn’t have any family and agreed to come in and answer a few questions. Doc, I could really use your sharp eye.”

I pushed Colin’s arm away and stood up. He joined me. “I’m going with.”

“Could you instead look for some more connections between those works of art?” I was surprised by his protective attitude.

“She’s in her sixties, Frey. I’m sure she’s not going to do anything to us.” Manny shrugged. “And I’m there.”

Colin snorted. “Like that’s supposed to comfort me.”

“You are comforted. You relaxed when Manny said it, so there’s no need to agitate him.”

Vinnie snorted and Francine laughed. Colin was not pleased with me. I walked past him and followed Manny to the small conference room. The woman sitting at the table sipping tea did not look to be in her sixties. Her dark hair was short and spiky, her complexion smooth. Only around her eyes were a few laughter lines, giving away her general humour.

“Madame Luedke.” Manny’s French was slightly accented, but perfect. He stepped closer and held out his hand. “Manfred Millard. Thank you for coming in.”

“Oh, please.” She waved both hands at Manny before shaking his right hand. “My English is still fabulous after a lifetime in this snobbish country. And please call me Opal. Even my grandkids call me Opal. Who are you, honey?”

I took a step back when she turned to me. This vivacious woman seemed too eager to touch me. Observing her nonverbal cues assured me that her intentions were simple friendliness. Her colourful skirt, top and the strings of beads around her neck fitted the hued personality I was witnessing. I forced myself to
step towards her, but didn’t hold out my hand. “I’m Genevieve Lenard.”

“An English Genevieve.” She leaned a little closer as if to impart very important information. “Personally, I prefer the English pronunciation. Makes the name much sexier.”

I could see how people could easily like this woman. She was open, friendly and seemed to be without any artifice. I thought how well she and Francine would get along. Manny sat down across from Opal and I joined him.

“Thank you for coming in so early, Mada… Opal. This is of importance to us, so I really appreciate it.” It was clear that Manny also liked this woman. He wasn’t slouching as much as usual.

Opal took another sip of her tea. “Now tell me how I can help an insurance company in an emergency.”

“We have a few questions about Emile Rimbaud.”

“So you said over the phone. What do you want to know about that old hoarder?” She winked at me. “I swear to all that is holy, that man collected more junk in the last twenty years of his life than most people could in an entire lifetime.”

“How well did you know Monsieur Rimbaud?” I asked, feeling comfortable enough to not mind interacting with this woman.

“We were neighbours for forty-two years. We knew about all the skeletons in each other’s closets. And he had a big one.” Her eyes crinkled when she noticed our interest. “You want gossip? Ooh, how delightful! Since he’s pushing up daisies—the goddess bless his soul—I don’t mind dishing.”

“Please do.” Manny’s voice held a tone of amusement. I wondered if he also saw the resemblance to Francine.

Especially when Opal clapped her hands. “I love a good gossip session. Oh, where do I start? My Robert and I got that flat from Robert’s parents as a wedding gift. You see, I got married quite young, not like the wiser young people today. But Robert was the love of my life, so it was a good choice. Anyway. Robbie was a doctor and working all kinds of crazy hours. One evening I had problems with the plumbing and that was how I met Emile. But he was totally useless with any kind of work involving tools. It was his lovely Adam who helped me.”

“Who was Adam?” Manny asked.

“Adam Marot was Emile’s partner. Mind you, no one ever knew they were gay. It was only after about two years of friendship that they told me what I’d already known. You two are too young to remember those days. You see, homosexuality was not something anyone wanted to be associated with. Emile didn’t have any family, but his work as a city engineer was quite prestigious. He didn’t want to lose his job and Adam understood.”

“What did Adam do?”

A soft smile lifted her cheeks. “He was an artist through and through. He had the soul of a poet and painted the most amazing artworks. I still have two paintings that he made for me as birthday gifts. Such a kind soul. Emile was devastated when Adam died.”

“What kind of paintings did Adam paint?” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice.

“He was such a brilliant artist, yet he never painted his own stuff. He travelled the world, looking for original Courbets so he could copy them.”

“Excuse me?” Manny leaned forward. “He painted Gustave Courbet paintings?”

“Yes. I think he must have painted more than fifty of the originals.” She took another sip of her tea. “You see, Adam came from a very rich family. When he told them he was gay, they gave him two million francs and told him to never darken their door again. Adam liked living modestly with Emile. All he wanted to do was find original Courbets and paint them. That was what he used his money for. Too sad that money couldn’t buy him a cure for cancer.”