Gauguin Connection, The (12 page)

“I knew you would.”

“You have an inflated sense of confidence.”

“Thank you, young lady,” he said with the same charming smile as earlier.

I didn’t understand why he would think of my observation as a compliment. I took a few deep breaths and mentally wrote a few more bars of Mozart. He was not going to get me to lose my hard-won control.

“You don’t have any contacts on your phone.” Colin glanced at me before he swiftly changed lanes and accelerated to catch the green traffic light.

“Please slow down.” I pulled at the seatbelt to ensure that it was tight against my body. “I’m sure there is no reason for us to be rushing there.”

“I wasn’t rushing.” He sounded surprised, but did slow down a fraction. “Why aren’t there other contacts on your phone?”

“Because I don’t phone anyone with it. Please don’t tailgate.”

Colin’s laughter filled the car. “You are a backseat driver. Who would’ve
thought.”

“I’m not driving nor am I in the backseat.” I was too concerned with Colin’s abandoned manner of driving to pay attention to idioms and nuances.

He must’ve sensed my genuine discomfort, because he slowed down enough to allow some distance between us and the white station wagon in front of us. I relaxed a fraction against the seat.

“Did you find any more connections?”

I was glad for a topic to take my attention away from his driving. “Yes. I found something very odd.”

“And?” he prompted when I didn’t elaborate.

“While I was looking for connections between the three ships that shipped those artefacts and other cargo ships, I noticed a most peculiar pattern. They’re all singularly owned.” My triumphant pronouncement was met with silence. I closed my eyes briefly. Why did I continue to forget that I had to explain things more clearly? “Most shipping companies own more than one ship. As a matter of fact, some of them have quite an impressive number of vessels registered.”

Colin was driving too fast again. He glanced at me when I stopped talking. He must have noticed the tension around my mouth because he slowed down. “At this speed, it’ll take us hours to get there.”

I dismissed his complaint. “I first looked at the owner of the ship with the Klimt, then the owner of the ship with the Degas. Something didn’t fit, so I searched some more. I found another four shipping companies like these two. All six companies own only one ship.”

“Are you telling me that there are six shipping companies, each owning only one ship?”

“Why are you repeating what I just told you?” I waved away this redundant line of thought. “The Degas, Klimt and Modigliani were each on these kind of ships.”

“All three?”

“Yes,” I said with exaggerated patience. “I haven’t had enough time to find out who owns these shipping companies. Maybe they are also connected.”

“Well, you can draw another line now.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Between the ships and the art.” We sat in silence for a few moments. I wondered how much information I could get on each shipping company from the EDA files. My thoughts wandered to the murdered artists. “Tell me about the girl.”

“Only if you tell me why you have a smartphone, but never use it to phone people. Why you have no contact numbers on it.” The professional makeup had aged him a few decades. The added wrinkles around his eyes and mouth made him a very handsome older man, but also made it difficult to read micro-expressions. Without that, I had mostly his tone of voice and his words to guide me. I decided that he was not going to give me anything unless I gave something first. Working with this man was infuriating and stimulating at the same time. Most definitely it was not dull.

“It is an extremely useful tool. People are so enamoured with their phones nowadays that it doesn’t look strange when I’m sitting in a café working on my phone. Most people would be checking their emails, updating those social networking things or playing some silly games.”

“So what is it that you do with your smartphone when you are in a café?” Colin sounded suspicious.

“I record people.” I ignored the surprised sound he made and stared resolutely through the windscreen. He had asked and I was going to answer, but he’d better not judge me. “I downloaded this wonderful application that immediately sends the footage to my computer so that I can analyse it later.”

“Why would you want to analyse it?”

“The more I study people, the better I become. When people interact in a public environment like a café, it is rather disconcerting to observe how intimate their behaviour can be. But that gives me hours of great footage. By analysing it, I hone my skills.”

There was a long moment of silence. “You’re a fascinating woman, Jenny.”

I had no response to that. I moved on. “Tell me about the girl.”

We slowed down and turned into the street leading to the university. “She was an art student. Her name was Danielle
Rioux. She studied here and we are going to speak to her roommate.”

I balked at that. “I don’t speak to people.”

“You’re speaking to me,” he said, unruffled, while parking the car in one of the few available spaces on the street. “If you prefer, I’ll do the talking and you can just observe.”

“I think that would be prudent.” We got out of the car and I started walking towards the university, but stopped when I realised Colin wasn’t next to me.

“We’re going to her apartment first. It’s this way.” He was again leaning heavily on his cane and put his hand out for my assistance. I stared at his hand for a long moment. With a sigh I walked towards him and allowed him to put his arm through mine.

“How did you find her?” I ignored the feel of his hand on my arm, focussing instead on the case.

“Um”—he adjusted his bodyweight so he was leaning more on the cane—“I know someone.”

“Someone?”

“A computer someone.” We walked a few steps in silence. “She can find anyone anywhere.”

I groaned out loud. “Did you break the law finding this girl?”

“Isn’t it more important that we actually did find her and not how we found her?” He stopped in front of an old building. On the scuffed wooden door was a plaque announcing that this student house was under video surveillance. Colin turned to me. “She lived here on the third floor. Her roommate is expecting us.”

A group of noisy students exploded out of the door, cutting off any more objections I had. I really didn’t like this gray area of life that I had stumbled into. My life had been clear-cut until five days ago; things were black and white. There were right and wrong, acceptable and unacceptable categories for situations and people. Criminals were an entity that never ventured into any positive category and I most definitely did not associate with them. Now I was about to enter a student house with a well-disguised thief.

The last student passed us with a loud whoop and Colin used his cane to stop the door from slamming shut. With difficulty appropriate to his faked age, he opened the door. “After you, young lady.”

I considered him for a moment and then, exasperated, squeezed past him into the bright entrance hall. He followed me in. I moved away from him when he reached for my arm. He acknowledged my gesture with a small smile and a nod.

“We can take the elevator. I’m too old for the stairs.”

We waited for the elevator car to arrive. “Are you sure that Danielle was her real name?”

“A very good question.” He thought about it for a while. “I’m pretty sure it was her real name. Francine would’ve found other identities if there had been any.”

“Is Francine your computer someone?”

Colin looked at me in surprise. Before he could respond, the elevator arrived and the doors unlocked. I opened the antiquated doors and entered the car first, thinking about Colin’s reaction. It appeared to me he was surprised that he had told me this computer person’s name. My expertise told me that it could only be interpreted as trust and that I should feel honoured to be trusted by someone as cautious as this cunning thief. I did feel something, but it was relief rather than honour. I placed that interesting insight in the back of my mind to take out later and dissect.

We arrived on the third floor and I switched on my non-verbal reading skills.

I was about to learn more about the girl in the photo.

Danielle’s roommate was an unassuming young woman, petite in size with large green eyes hidden behind studious glasses. She had opened the door on Colin’s third knock. “Professor Dryden. Please come in.”

I gave Colin a fierce look that he completely ignored. Really? A false name? Now I could add making me an accessory to falsifying an identity to his many sins.

He leaned even harder on his cane and, to my further outrage, spoke with a voice hoarse from age, smoking and whiskey. “Miss Paschal. Thank you so much for meeting with us. This is my esteemed colleague, Doctor Genevieve Lenard.”

Miss Paschal held the door wide open and smiled at me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Lenard. The professor said he would be bringing someone along. Please forgive the mess. I’m writing exams at the moment and don’t have much time for housekeeping.”

Colin and I stepped into the tiny apartment. He made a show of assuring the student that we were not here to inspect the living space. I thought it was a good thing we weren’t. The girl would spectacularly fail an apartment inspection. The entrance hall could be no more than four square metres, but most of that space was taken up by an overflowing coat tree, a mound of shoes and a bicycle. The panic of such messiness sat in my throat like a large piece of dry bread.

Four doors led from the entrance. To the right was a bedroom with books and a laptop carelessly strewn across a large unmade bed. Straight ahead was a bathroom door and the open door next to it led to the kitchen. A bolt of horror shot through my system as I looked into that room. The health department would declare that small space a public hazard. I quickly turned my head towards the room to the left that Miss Paschal was showing us to.

“This is Danielle’s room. I haven’t touched anything, even though she still has my green coat and I’ve wanted to wear it a few times.”

The image of the bright green coat spread underneath Danielle and the blood pooled around her head rushed into my mind. I hastily suppressed it and followed Colin into the room. Unlike the crammed entrance, the room was spacious. It was sparsely decorated, but clearly with a very artistic hand. The single bed was covered with a colourful duvet and on the walls hung paintings that looked like original masterpieces. I made mental notes of everything I saw.

I ignored Colin’s small talk with the student. I wanted to learn more about the dead girl and right now I could read a lot by just looking at Danielle’s room. The roommate could be observed later. When I looked around the room, it quickly became noticeable that there was a distinct lack of personal effects. There were no photos of family members, pets, boyfriends or even girlfriends.

I turned towards Colin and the girl, and interrupted their chit-chat about how Miss Paschal wished she had artistic talents. “Where did Danielle do her work?”

The young woman blinked nervously and looked at Colin. “She studied at the university and did some of her assignments there. But she told me that her boyfriend had given her studio space at his work.”

“Tell me more about her boyfriend.” Colin spoke with a gentleness the student responded to. I didn’t need his quick glare to know that the girl felt uncomfortable with me. Her body language was screaming it. I shrugged mentally and paid close attention.

“I don’t know much about him. Danielle is very private.” She cleared her throat. “Actually, she is a bit strange. A few times she disappeared for a week or so, but never for this long. Do you know where she is?”

I narrowed my eyes. Colin hadn’t told her that her roommate had been murdered. I did not want to be the one who delivered such news and waited for Colin to answer.

“No, dear.” He had built a rapport with this girl at an amazing speed and I could not help but admire that. “All we know is that she is an amazing artist and our foundation would like to get in contact with her. We would love to co-operate with her. Maybe fund some of her studies.”

“I don’t think she needs money. Not now. The first few months we shared the apartment, she was broke most of the time. We used to joke about living on bread and water for the duration of our studies and how we could sell it as a trendy diet. Then she met her boyfriend and everything changed. I asked her if she had won the lottery or received a scholarship, but she didn’t want to speak about it. She has enough money now to focus only on her studies and her art. A few times she even helped me out. Should I be getting worried about her?”

“I don’t know, dear.” There was compassion in Colin’s voice and face. It had to come from his knowledge of where Danielle truly was. “It sounds like you are good friends. Where did she meet her boyfriend?”

“I don’t remember. Let me think.” Miss Paschal placed her fingers on her lips for a few moments and then her eyebrows lifted. “It was after her holiday. Oh, that is quite a story.”

Colin responded to the sudden brightness in her voice with a warm smile. “Tell us about it.”

“She won a cruise on the Baltic Sea. I don’t remember anyone ever being so happy to win anything. She couldn’t even remember entering the competition. It was a three-week cruise last summer and that is where she met this guy.”

“Do you remember his name?” Colin asked softly.

“Danielle never introduced us. Like I said, she is very private. I just call him Russ.”

“Russ?”

“Oh, he has the most delicious Russian accent. His French is really good, but combined with that accent, he sounds so sexy. And he is really good-looking too.”

“Do you maybe know how we can get in touch with him? Maybe he knows where Danielle is.”

“Oh, no. I spoke to him only three times and it was just in passing. I’m beginning to worry about her now. If I think about it, she has been acting a bit strangely the last while.”

“Really?” Colin sounded sincerely concerned.

“Yes. She was spending a lot more time at her studio than at the university. When I asked her about it, she said that she was working on a project for someone and once it was done, she was going to move out of the studio. She didn’t want to tell me any more than that, but that day she looked really unhappy.”

“Do you know where her studio is?”

The roommate was looking increasingly distressed. “No, I don’t know that either. It seems like I really don’t know anything about Danielle. Oh, God, I hope she is okay.”

“Don’t worry too much, dear. Rather think about your studies and your exams. I’m sure that Danielle is somewhere safe.” Colin’s words seemed to calm the girl. He chatted to her for another five minutes about her studies. By the time he followed me out of the apartment, the student was once again consumed with exam stress.

We continued in silence until we were outside in the sun. He put his arm through mine and leaned on me. I glared at him. “How could you just lie to her like that?”

“I did not want to be the one who told her that her friend was murdered.” He sounded aghast. “And from a practical point of view, we are not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, lordy.” I stopped midstride. “Phillip is going to be so displeased.”

Colin gave a rude snort and pulled me so that we were walking towards the university again. “I don’t think Phillip will be your biggest problem.”

“My problem? Good lord, I’m going to bear the brunt of this, aren’t I?” I had not even considered this when I had offered him that blasted cup of coffee and with that my trust and co-operation. “And it’s Manny who’s going to be shouting at me.”

“I’m afraid you are right.”

I wrote a few more bars of Mozart’s 9th on the music sheet that necessity had placed in my mind this morning. Knowing Colin was helping me brush up on all my Mozart. “Are you just going to leave me to deal with this alone?”

“For now.” His soft-spoken cryptic answer did not invite any argument. “What do you think about the cruise ship boyfriend?”

“I think that now I have another box in my notepad that will need lines.”

“Dollars to doughnuts the cruise ship they were on is also singularly owned.”

“I don’t understand.”

Colin looked at me with surprise. “You don’t? Oh, the dollars to doughnuts thing. That only means that I’m willing to bet that the cruise ship that Danielle met her boyfriend on belongs to a company with only one ship on its books.”

“Oh. Well, it was a good guess, but I’ll have to do proper research to have concrete proof. Why doughnuts?”

“I really don’t know.” He laughed. We crossed the street and walked into the university campus. “Where did you study?”

“I’m sure you know.”

“But I would like for you to tell me.”

I stiffened when he didn’t deny having knowledge about my education. “I studied in Oxford, Tokyo and the Paris Descartes University.”

“One of the most prestigious universities when it comes to psychology. I already know your French is flawless. Do you speak Japanese?”

I started to answer, but stopped myself. “No, you must first give me information about yourself. That is how co-operation works.”

“Very well.” With Colin’s artificial old-age walking, we were making slow progress through the beautiful campus. We were following the signs leading us to the library. “I spent a lot of time on campuses like this, but I was never a registered student.”

“So what did you do at the universities?”

“Studied, of course. My childhood was not very academic, so I never would have qualified for university, but I wanted to learn.”

He had even stolen his education. “What did you study?”

“History, art, art history, world politics. I even dabbled a bit in philosophy. Here we are.” He led me up a stone staircase and into the cool interior of the library.

“Who are we going to see now?”

“Danielle’s professor. She told me she would be waiting for us here.” We walked into a large room and the hushed reverence of literature surrounded us. I loved libraries. Colin leaned closer to me and whispered, “Over there.”

I pulled away from his closeness, followed his glance and saw a middle-aged woman sitting at one of the long dark wooden tables. She looked like she had stepped out of a Seventies magazine aimed at the hippies of that era. Her gray-streaked hair fell below her waist, both her wrists were adorned with mismatched bracelets and her colourful dress perfected the image. When we stopped at her table, she looked up and welcoming wrinkles formed in the corners of her eyes.

“You must be Professor Dryden. Please sit down.” Sympathy softened her face even more when Colin lowered himself painfully onto a chair. I wanted to hit him.

“Thank you, Professor Benoit.” He awarded her the same smile that had won the roommate over. “And thank you for making the time to meet with us. This is my colleague, Doctor Lenard.”

The hippie professor beamed at us. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Paul couldn’t talk enough about your unparalleled knowledge when it comes to art restoration.”

“Oh please, Profess—”

“Please call me Jeannette,” she interrupted.

“Jeannette.” Colin’s voice oozed warm friendship. I was in awe. I was witnessing a con artist at work and couldn’t stop myself from being caught up in the skill it took. None of my book knowledge had prepared me for the artistry in deceiving someone so smoothly.

Colin was talking again. “I assume that Paul didn’t tell you about our scholarship programme? Well, we are in the fortunate position of sponsoring a select few students and Danielle—Miss
Rioux—has caught our eye.”

“Yes. Yes.” Concern marred the older woman’s face. “After your phone call, I started wondering why I haven’t seen her in a while. I decided to look Danielle up at administration and it seems that she has dropped out.”

“Dropped out?”

“Yes. The head of administration showed me an email they received from Danielle, informing the university that she will no longer be attending classes here.”

“When was this?”

“About three weeks ago. It really is a loss. She has the makings of a great artist. You know, one of the few great ones.” Tears formed in her eyes and her lips thinned as she tried to control her emotions.

Despite the heavy makeup, Colin’s distress was strong enough to be displayed clearly. He was not mourning her absence at the university, of that I was sure. It was her senseless death that pulled the corners of his mouth down. “You are right, it is a great loss.”

“What was she working on?” I knew I wasn’t supposed to speak, but someone needed to break the sadness that had settled at the table.

“Oh.” The hippie professor dabbed lightly at her eyes and took a stuttering breath. “She was good in most disciplines, but it is painting that she excels at. She has the right touch for it. And she so loves Post-Impressionism and Cloisonnism. The artists of that time inspire her with their adventurous attempt at doing things differently. That was the time for the -isms. One day she told me that she thought she was born in the wrong time. I could easily believe it. I don’t understand why she decided to quit.”

“I saw one of her works that greatly resembled Gauguin,” Colin said quietly

The professor and I both looked at him in surprise.