The Flinck Connection (Book 4) (Genevieve Lenard) (9 page)

He zoomed in on the wall unit until the clock was in the centre. Then he split the screens to put the crime scene photo next to the article photo. “See? Everything else is still the same, except for the clock.”

“I don’t know, Frey.” Manny tilted his head. “It’s only been moved to the left and forward. You really think that is significant? Maybe the cleaning lady moved it.”

“Then why is everything else in the exact same place? Why would the cleaning lady put everything back to its original position, but not the clock?” Colin pushed the computer back in front of me, shrugged and leaned back in his chair. If I weren’t glaring at him for taking my computer, I might not have seen his micro-expressions. I didn’t think anyone else had noticed it. Colin was planning something.

“Since we are looking for Dukwicz and his thing is stealing clocks, maybe it might be worth looking into,” Francine said.

Not only did Dukwicz collect clocks and watches from his victims, he had also stolen three clocks from me five months ago. And he was known to wear Russian-style military boots.

“We can’t go back to Savreux’s house.” Manny pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “That crime scene is sealed and we are most definitely not allowed to go in there. Do you think Dukwicz did this, Doc?”

“He fits the physical requirements and the profile.” I clenched my fists on my lap. They were freezing. I would never forget my personal experiences with the international assassin. “He is tall and strong enough to have done this.”

“Hmm. This is an interesting addition to an already frigging nightmare. How are we supposed to follow up on that lead?”

“Well, we know it wasn’t Dukwicz who broke into the museum, but maybe he has a connection to Sue.” Francine turned to Colin. “Any ideas?”

“I don’t know her that well. And I didn’t know about Dukwicz until my—our—unfortunate introduction to him when he kidnapped us.”

“What did you find out about Sue?” I asked him. “Did you contact her? Is she the one who stole those paintings?”

“It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” he said. “Through a mutual friend, I got a message to her. I’m expecting her to contact me today. She has my phone number.”

“Can you track it, supermodel? Maybe we can locate her and arrest her.”

“I thought we talked about this, Millard.” Colin straightened. “If you want my help retrieving those paintings, stay away from Sue. I’ll handle her.”

Colin’s body language had become protective. Since Sue allegedly only stole back works that were already stolen, he possibly felt a kinship with her.

“You do that, Frey. As soon as we have those paintings back, I can get those dogs off my heels.”

“What dogs?” I knew he was using a euphemism, but I didn’t know about whom or what he was talking.

“My two-hour meeting this morning? That was my Interpol bosses wanting us to close this case post haste. Bloody Henri Fabron has been phoning them, pressuring them into getting our full attention on this heist. What really tipped the scales was a personal call from Minister Antoine Lefebvre.”

“Oh, come on!” Francine slapped her hands on the table. “This is too much. Why the craziness to turn us away from Savreux’s case and solve this silly theft?”

“A silly theft worth thirteen million euro.” Manny grunted. “Frey, get those bleeding paintings.”

“I’ll do my best for you, Millard.” Colin’s tone and words communicated sincerity. His expression not.

“Doc, supermodel, did you find anything more on the Libreville Dignity Foundation?”

“At a cursory glance we found two interesting bits of information.” Francine and I had focussed on different aspects and it had proven fruitful. “Firstly, President Mariam Boussombo of Gabon is currently in Strasbourg. She is one of the few politicians in Gabon fighting against corruption. She’s also a patron of the Libreville Dignity Foundation. She’s brought a lot of attention to the plight of women in Gabon.”

“It’s one of the worst countries when it comes to government corruption,” Francine said. “As a matter of fact, Gabon was ranked number hundred and two for government transparency on the list of a hundred and seventy-four countries in the world in 2011. France was twenty-second on that list. Not too bad, all things considering. I still think it will be better if government officials are more accountable to the public with all things financial.”

“Returning to the topic of Gabon.” Sometimes it felt like I was fighting a losing battle in my attempts to stay on topic. “Gabon is not a poor country. Its economy is dominated by oil. More than eighty percent of its exports are oil-related. On top of that, it has a low population density and healthy foreign private investments, making it one of the richest sub-Saharan countries. A disturbing fact is the incredibly huge socioeconomic divide. The financially well-off citizens account for less than twenty percent of the population and they receive more than ninety percent of the money in this country. Almost all these people are connected to the oil industry—”

“—like the oil company Motte worked for. Elf,” Francine added.

“Yes. Because of the big divide, few people are willing to stand up for the poor majority and risk losing either their high social standing or, if they are of the lower eighty percent, their lives. Mariam Boussombo has been one of the select few vocal in not only fighting corruption in the government, but also fighting for women’s rights. By law, women in Gabon should have equal rights to men in most areas. Yet in numerous cases wives have to provide written permission from their husbands if they are to open a bank account or qualify for a loan. President Boussombo’s been fighting that. She is here to bring attention to the Libreville Dignity Foundation, and to her work in Gabon.”

“A brave woman,” Vinnie said.

“The interesting discovery I made was that LDF is located on the same block as the Jean Monnet Museum.” Francine sounded proud of herself.

“LDF?”

“It’s shorter than saying Libreville Dignity Foundation every time, isn’t it? Well, the LDF is almost next door to the Museum.”

Almost as one, the people around the table moved a fraction back. People did that when surprised. That movement could sometimes be strong enough to resemble being punched in the face.

“The bigger implication of this discovery is rather dire,” I said. “We know that when the electricity was cut for the heist, it affected the whole neighbourhood. That means it also left the Libreville Dignity Foundation’s offices without electricity, security and vulnerable to a break-in.”

“Did someone break in there?” Manny asked.

“Yes.” I had been impressed with how quickly Francine had given me this information. “Because of the attention the museum heist was receiving, the police took a long time to get to the charity. According to the person Francine spoke to, they were missing a few computers and some petty cash, but nothing serious. She said the computers had nothing valuable on it, only administration stuff.”

“In other words, it has everyone involved in the charity, all their events, all their fundraising efforts, all their finances.” Francine snorted. “Nothing valuable, my ass.”

“They have all their data backed up, so nothing is lost to them,” I said. “Francine said it’s easy to access their system, so she’ll—”

“Don’t tell me.” Manny shook his head. “Just see if there is anything on those computers that is connected to Savreux and to the heist.”

“Not for nothing, but that heist could’ve been just a diversion.” Vinnie put the last pastry on his plate. I was sure he had eaten most of them. He had made a valid observation and while Francine started talking about international conspiracies and spies, I allowed my mind to wander. I still had the rest of Savreux’s case to analyse. As soon as Francine accessed the Foundation’s system, we would have to look through that to search for links as well. There was a lot of work to do. If Nikki’s latest direct message was to be believed, we didn’t have a lot of time.

It was the incessant ringing of Colin’s smartphone that woke me. Despite researching late into the evening, I had not found any satisfactory connections between the heists, the direct messages and the people involved in this case. I had gone to bed frustrated and exhausted. That was why I was uncharacteristically irritated when I had to reach over Colin’s empty side of the bed to grab his phone from the bedside table.

One glance at the screen told me it was twenty minutes past two in the morning and it was Vinnie calling. I uttered an annoyed grunt at Colin for not being here to answer his own phone. Normally I would never do something like this, but taking the time and the person calling into account, I swiped the screen and lifted the phone to my ear. I wasn’t given any time to answer or to ask Vinnie why he was phoning Colin at this hour.

A cacophony of sounds came over the phone so loudly that I held the device away from my ear. It sounded like Vinnie was in a club, but the yelling seemed unusual for a dance club. “Dude! Yo, bro, can you hear me? I can’t hear shit! Listen up. I think I’ve been led into a trap. I’m about to leave Club X, but I’m sure I’m going to need backup. I’m being followed and these mean motherfuckers don’t want to dance with me. Fuck it! Dude! Hurry! I don’t even have my fucking truck here. I’m going try and shake them, and get to Chilli Park. Meet me there. Chilli Park! Oh, fuck!”

Before I could tell Vinnie that it was me he was speaking to, not Colin, the call was disconnected. With shaky fingers, I tapped the screen to call Vinnie back. It went directly to his voicemail. I tried once more before I lowered the phone and stared at it. My breathing sounded loud in the room and the darkness of impending panic was working its way into my peripheral vision. I felt ill-equipped to deal with situations such as this. My forte was in things cerebral, not physical altercations, my self-defence training notwithstanding.

More severe than my aversion to physical violence, was my fear for Vinnie’s safety. He had phoned Colin in good faith, believing that his friend would come to his aid. I had no doubt in my mind that Vinnie had been truthful. The tension in his voice had been too real, and his last expletive filled with too much anger. He needed help, which meant I had to find Colin. I jumped out of bed, put on my nightgown and slippers, and went through my side of the joined apartment and then Colin’s side, not finding him anywhere.

The next logical option was going to enrage both Colin and Vinnie, but I didn’t care. I ran back to my bedroom, took my smartphone from its designated place on my bedside table and phoned Manny. When he didn’t answer on the fourth ring, I started tapping my foot. The call went to voicemail and I phoned him again, wondering why, on the night I really needed people to answer their phones, they didn’t. After the third attempt, I accepted the fact that Manny was not available. I left him a terse message to call me immediately.

My hands were still shaking and my concern for Vinnie’s wellbeing was increasing by the second. I had run out of options bar one. I closed my eyes, convinced that this idea would not end well, but seeing no other alternative. For a few seconds, I allowed a Mozart symphony to calm me as I tried to build up the courage to do what was necessary. When I opened my eyes, I felt less panicked and more focussed, yet unconvinced that I was making the right decision.

Colin once said that overthinking often impedes effective action. With this in my mind, I walked to Nikki’s room. I didn’t even knock, but opened her door and turned on the light as I entered her chaotic space. She groaned loudly and hid her face under the covers.

“Nikki.” I touched her shoulder. “We have a problem and I need you to wake up.”

Gone were her typical age-appropriate reactions, which normally included rolling her eyes. She pulled the covers down, squinting against the light, but alert. “What’s wrong this time?”

“Colin isn’t here and Vinnie needs help. I’m going to go there, but I need you to stay here and be safe.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. Go to your room, lock myself in and don’t leave until I hear one of you.” She got up, took her smartphone and looked at me. “Please be careful.”

“Of course.” This was a repetition of two nights ago and I was strangely less concerned with having her stay in my room this time. I followed her to my room and only when I heard the third lock of the reinforced door to my bedroom click in place did I run to Vinnie’s room. My earlier naivety was gone. Logic dictated that Vinnie would have weapons in his room. I just had to find them. If I were to leave the safety of my apartment to help my friend, I was going to need something much stronger than my IQ.

A few months ago, I had gone into his room looking for him only to find him going through a large case. He had shut it and pushed it under his bed the moment he had seen me. I hoped the content of that case was what I now suspected. I might need it. I knelt next to his bed and pulled the case from under it, only briefly worrying about scuffing the floors. Relief flooded me when I found the case without any locks, and I opened it.

Inside were at least twenty different handguns, teargas grenades, flash grenades, stun guns and a few other weapons. I
took the revolver on the top and exhaled loudly when I saw bullets in the cylinder. I abhorred violence, and guns were the ultimate expression of it. I dropped the gun back into the case and looked around Vinnie’s room. Next to his bed was the dark blue backpack he sometimes used. I grabbed it and filled it with anything but handguns. I was desperate to help my friend, acutely aware of my incompetence in executing such aid. A millisecond before I got up, I grabbed the revolver and dropped it in the backpack.

Cognitive dissonance made my mind feel like it was split in two. On the one hand, I was shaky with concern for Vinnie and on the verge of dark panic. On the other, I was rationally analysing every step I was taking. That included grabbing the keys to Vinnie’s pickup truck. My little city car was great for manoeuvring through the small European streets and for parking. It was not the type of vehicle to use when entering an unknown, possibly dangerous, situation. A powerful truck was a much better alternative.

I looked down at my nightgown and slippers, closed my eyes and sighed. Getting dressed would take another five minutes—time I didn’t want to waste. For the first time in my adult life, I was going out into public wearing my pyjamas.

After setting the alarm and locking all five locks to my apartment, it took me only two minutes to pull into the street. At this hour Strasbourg was asleep, which made it easier for me to race through the streets. I knew the exact location that Vinnie had given and estimated the journey to take around fifteen minutes with traffic. Six minutes after I left my apartment building, I slowed down on the corner Vinnie had said he was going to meet Colin.

For four months last year, there had been a chilli dog vendor, selling his unhealthy and unappetising wares from a small and very unhygienic stand. French palates had not appreciated the greasy food as much as Vinnie did and it had closed down. By then Vinnie had dubbed this street corner Chilli Park. I didn’t see him and continued on to the club he had mentioned. It was only a few blocks away.

There were numerous narrow side streets and I tried to look into each one as I passed them. It was looking into one of those that made it feel as if my heart stopped beating and dropped from my chest. Three men were kicking and beating somebody lying on the ground. I slammed my foot down on the brake pedal and brought the truck to a stop. It was impossible to positively identify the victim, but I had recognised that jacket. Francine had given it to Vinnie for Christmas.

I had to get to my friend before they killed him. I reversed, took a deep breath and pressed my foot down hard on the accelerator. I nearly clipped a building when I turned into the street at a reckless speed.

Vinnie was curled in a foetal position in the middle of the street. The thugs didn’t stop kicking and punching him when I stopped a few metres from where they were. They briefly looked up at the truck, the rumble of the large engine loud in the night. The one kicking Vinnie’s back said something and two of the men’s body language changed. I knew they were going to attack me if I didn’t leave. I couldn’t do that.

I reached in to the backpack on the passenger seat and felt around until my hand closed around a flash grenade. Once I had experienced the effect of this weapon and it had not been pleasant. It produced an extremely bright light, blinding a person for a few seconds. The loud bang accompanying the light caused temporary hearing loss, and could even result in a loss of balance with its effect on inner ear fluid. I had not enjoyed that experience at all. I felt around for a second grenade.

Lacking the time to analyse my options and actions, I pulled the pin of one grenade out with my teeth while I opened the window. The moment it had lowered sufficiently, I threw the flash grenade at the approaching men. Immediately I repeated this with the second grenade and fell into the passenger seat. I closed my eyes and covered my head with my arms while counting the seconds. A man shouted and another was rattling the car door when a loud bang rocked the car accompanied by a bright flash that lit up the street. I saw this even through my closed eyes protected by my arms. A second later, another loud bang sounded.

I had a very short time to act. From the bag, I grabbed a canister and jumped out of the truck. A few feet away, a large man was on the ground shaking his head. I aimed the canister at him and sprayed pepper spray directly into his face. He screamed and instinctively rubbed his eyes. It worsened the effects and gave me the opportunity to aim the canister at the second man, who was pushing himself into a crouching position. His eyes widened in shock and I depressed the actuator button for two seconds.

As soon as the irritant took effect, I looked up to search for the third man. He was gone. I looked deeper into the street and saw his receding figure. I ran to Vinnie and dropped onto my knees next to him. He was lying very still. It took all my rational strength to push away the dark panic threatening to take me away from this moment.

“Vinnie? Vinnie!” I shook his shoulder, and tears filled my eyes when he groaned and opened his eyes. I pulled on his arm. “We don't have a lot of time before they recover. Come on!”

One of his eyes was already swollen and most likely would be completely shut by the time we reached the apartment. His face had numerous lacerations and there was blood all over his clothes. He was as strongly affected by the flash grenade as the
other men and could clearly not hear me. I suspected he’d had his eyes closed when the grenade had gone off, enabling him to see me. I mouthed ‘come’ and pulled at his sleeve again. It took a very long thirty seconds to help the hundred-and-ten-kilogramme man to his feet.

A few glances towards his attackers reassured me the inflammation and swelling of their eyes, mouth and nose was causing them great discomfort. It also gave us a time advantage, but I didn’t want to linger and test their resilience.

Vinnie and I were both breathing hard by the time he was on his feet, swaying. I put his arm around my shoulders and focussed on the adrenaline pumping through my body. I could not think about his blood transferring to my nightgown and pyjamas, or the street dirt on my knees, or the danger these men still posed. I kept my mind on getting Vinnie into his truck, and grunted under his weight. He was hunched over as if he had received a lot of punches and kicks to his torso. I hoped he didn’t have any internal injuries.

It felt like I had done two hours of weight training when we reached the passenger door twenty seconds later. The muscles in my legs were burning, but I wasn’t breathing as hard as Vinnie. This concerned me and I briefly considered taking him to the hospital. That thought lost importance when I opened the passenger door and swiped the backpack from the seat. It took some time and a lot of effort to get Vinnie in the truck, but soon I ran around the front and jumped over the man writhing on the ground and pushing his hands hard against his eyes. I made sure he wasn’t close to the tires before I got in and put the truck in gear.

It required a lot of concentration to back the wide truck out of the narrow street. Not because I wasn’t a confident driver, but because every muscle in my body was trembling. Whether it was from stress or from the strain of helping Vinnie didn’t matter. It made me feel weak and I loathed that feeling. It wasn’t as bad as the darkness calling me to its warm safety. I didn’t want to risk focussing on Mozart in case I shut down completely.

Vinnie grunted something and I glanced at him. He was slumped against the door. Again I lauded my decision to take his truck. At least I wouldn’t have to wash his blood from my car seats and door.

“Jen-girl.”

“I’m here, Vinnie.”

“Jen-girl?” This time he raised his voice, loud enough to hear if I had been on the other side of the street.

I realised he couldn’t hear me. With a sigh and a suppressed shudder, I touched his knee and squeezed.

“No hospitals. Don’t want hospital.”

I wasn’t going to enter into an argument with a man who couldn’t hear what I was saying. I was taking him to a hospital and I didn’t care about his preferences. He was clearly in pain and I was concerned about internal injuries. I turned into the road that would take us to the closest hospital.

“Can you also not hear?” Vinnie shouted. “I said no hospitals. Take me home.”