Gauguin Connection, The (13 page)

“Oh yes, she said that Paul Gauguin was her greatest inspiration. She loves all his works, but it is his paintings especially that she can’t get enough of. Once she showed me the beginnings of a painting that she
was working on privately. It was far from finished, but I was sure that it would’ve been an exact replica of Gauguin’s Two Tahitian Women. She was a master in the making.”

I inhaled sharply and looked at Colin. His slight nose-flare, constricted pupils and narrowed eyes revealed that he was as interested and excited by this new development as I was. Colin gently questioned the professor for a few more minutes, but gained nothing else.

“Thank you so much for your time, Jeannette. It is truly a pity that we’ve missed the opportunity to work with Miss Rioux.”

We all stood up and the professor smiled warmly. “No, it was my pleasure to meet such an esteemed colleague of Paul’s. The next time you find yourself in Strasbourg, please come and visit again.”

After a few more pleasantries, we slowly made our way to his car.

“Wow.” Colin broke the stunned silence between us. “Would you believe that? She used Gauguin as inspiration and the professor even saw the beginnings of a copy. Then she’s murdered and a piece of a Gauguin is found on her? What are the odds of this happening?”

“I don’t think that we can calculate the odds here.” I noticed a slight relaxation of his
orbicularis oculi
muscles, taking away the stress that had been evident around his eyes during the two conversations. One corner of his mouth lifted. Understanding dawned on me. “Oh, it was a rhetorical question. Well, I have a real question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Who? What?”

“Shoot with your question, Jenny.” There was laughter in his voice.

“Oh. If you are Professor Dryden, what is your first name?”

“Care to guess?” The car was a few feet away and he stopped. After fumbling in his pocket like an old man would, he came out with his wallet and found his identity card. I reached for it, but he held it back. “Guess.”

“John. You are pretending to be John Dryden, the British poet who lived until 1700.” I grabbed the laminated card out of his hand, glanced at it and shook it angrily at him. “This is fraud, Colin.”

“John, dear. My name is John.” With that he shuffled to the car and folded his body painfully into the driver’s seat.

It was with no small amount of agitation that I got into the car. “You can’t continue doing this, Colin. It is illegal and I will have no part in it.”

“Is your ID forged?”

“No, of course not. And what does that have to do—”

“Do you have anything else that is forged? Did I provide you with anything illegal?”

“No.”

“Well then. You have no part in anything.” He pulled into the street with a quick smile. “Not that I’m admitting to any illegal activity, of course.”

I didn’t like being in this gray area. It was much easier to think of all the information we had just gleaned, so I forced my thoughts to stay on topic. I couldn’t wait to get to my computers and add cruise ships, especially those on Baltic cruises, to the search and see what came of it. And to think that of all the folders I had received from Manny, I hadn’t even considered opening the cruise ships folder.

It was hard to decide what to do first. Maybe I would cross-reference all the names of the fictional private investigators with the cruise ships. I thought of all my lists and how I would just start with one list and cross-reference the whole lot of them.

“Genevieve!” Colin’s voice bounced around the interior of the car. He had the same tone of voice and look on his face as Phillip when he had been calling my name for some time without any reaction from me.

“What?”

“Where were you?”

“Here. Sitting next to you.” What an inane question.

“That is not what I meant. Obviously your mind had taken you to another place. That is the place I’m interested in.”

“Oh. I was just thinking about everything we’ve learned today.”

“Quite something, right?”

“Quite.”

There was a long silence. “Are you going to tell me what you were thinking specifically?”

“No.”

Colin laughed softly. “Did you notice the paintings on Danielle’s wall?”

“Of course I did.”

“Did you recognise any of them?”

“No. Did you?” I was not an art expert. I had, however, learned a lot in the six years that I worked at Rousseau & Rousseau. The different eras in art rolled off my tongue as easily as all the facial muscles controlling our expressions. It was only the most costly artists, those whose paintings we insured, whom I was more familiar with. I would never claim to be able to recite a chronological list of their paintings though. Something told me that Colin could.

“With the exception of one, they were all Gauguins.” He quickly glanced at me. “Really good Gauguins.”

“Oh, dear. It seems that she was a forger.”

“It would seem so.” He stopped at a red light. “Where do you want to go now?”

“Back to the office.”

“It’s past five already. Why don’t I drop you off at your apartment?”

“It’s that late already?” I looked at my watch with amazement. I had been acutely aware of the time until Manny and Colin entered my life. That I had not noticed how much time had passed attested to how completely engrossed I was in this case. “At least Phillip won’t be in the office. He’s most likely raring to lecture me. Again.”

“Does that mean you still want to return to the office?”

“Yes, please. And do slow down. It’s not necessary to race through the streets like this. I don’t mind if it takes a bit longer to reach the office.”

“I’m not racing.” But he did slow down and maintained a reasonable speed and distance from the other vehicles until we reached Rousseau & Rousseau’s office building. He double-parked in front of the large building and turned to me. “I’ll contact you tomorrow to find out if you’ve drawn any more lines.”

I got out of the car and leaned back in. “Please use the front door.”

“Aw, Jenny. That would be so boring.” Not even the layers of makeup could hide the merriment on his face. He was having too much fun with this.

I slammed the door with unnecessary force. Psychology had taught me that reacting to his actions the way I did only encouraged him. I simply did not have it in me to ignore his grating behaviour. If only he hadn’t proved himself to be so useful. And resourceful.

I silently bemoaned my bad luck all the way into my viewing room. Only after the door slid closed did I realise that Phillip hadn’t been waiting for me at the reception desk. He was, very possibly, at some or another important function, playing the social games required for the survival of businesses. With a sigh of pure contentment for not having to play those games, I switched on my computers and opened the folder with the cruise ships.

Three hours later, all I had to show for my efforts was the beginnings of a headache. I had managed only to discover that the list of cruise ships was long. It proved to be quite a challenge to cross-reference anything with that folder. The format of the cruise ships file was not searchable and I had to draw on all of my computer skills to change that. Even though I loved technology and its use in streamlining actions that previously would have been laborious, I had never taken enough interest to advance my knowledge to the level of a specialist.

When the files were compatible, I looked at my watch and decided to call it a night. I would make an early start of it in the morning. I predicted that I would first have the inevitable argument with Phillip before I would be able to continue this search. Meticulously I saved all that I had done, shut down the computers and was in my car shortly before nine o’clock. If my luck held, I could enjoy a leisurely soak in the tub and be in bed long before midnight.

I was outside my front door, ready to get inside and shut the world out. A sound from inside my apartment caused me to tilt my head. Nothing. I was sure that I had heard something inside, but now I thought that I was just spooked by the last five days’ excitement. I aimed the first key at the top keyhole when I heard a noise again. My hand stopped
midair and I listened intently.

The unbelievable audacity of that man. No matter how useful he had proven himself to be, Colin was out. Out of my apartment, out of my life and, if I could arrange it, out of the country. The noise he was now creating inside my apartment meant that I was going to spend the rest of my evening cleaning up instead of mulling over the case allowing my mind to free-associate.

Something crashed to the ground with shattering loudness and a frown formed between my eyes. With speed born from habit, I had the five locks unlocked and the door open in under five seconds. The comfort of working for Phillip for the last six years had lowered my guard. The true nature of the human race had only been evident on the ten monitors in my viewing room. I had very effectively isolated myself from human interaction.

In the last few days, I had rediscovered my determination to not lose control, to not give in to the darkness that threatened to cloud over my brain in extremely stressful situations. I had fallen back into the habit of reading people, in particular Colin, and so staying fully in control of myself. The limit of my control was now being tested as I stared in horror at the scene in front of me.

My usually immaculate apartment looked as if a tornado had blasted through it. I took a few disbelieving steps into the chaos.

“Well, what do we have here?” An unfamiliar voice spoke behind me and I heard the front door close with an ominous click.

Already facing the destruction of my apartment, I had my mind set on analysing the situation. I felt in no imminent threat of an episode. Losing my patience was a distinct possibility though.

I swung around and glared at a very large man looming in front of me. He was in my reading area; books were scattered at his feet. My precious books. A deep anger burned in me. His all-black criminal attire, which included a facemask and gloves, infuriated me even more. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

Only his eyes were visible through the slits in the mask, meaning that I wouldn’t be able to read him. I could, however, still see the slight lift of his eyebrows indicating his surprise. It took me less than two seconds to memorise what I could see of his appearance and shelve it for future analysis.

“Where are your computers?” His voice was gravelly, but it was his German accent that made it particularly memorable. Another bit of information I shelved.

My training dictated that calming a situation down was preferable to having to defend oneself in a physically violent manner. “There is a safe in my bedroom.”

“We’ve found it. You must open it.” Another voice spoke from behind me. His English was heavily accented with Russian. For the first time I felt more than just a hint of apprehension. One man I might have been able to defend myself against, but two? One being Russian did not particularly help the shiver of panic that went through my nervous system. Immediately Colin’s question about the Russian connection to this case came to my mind. I swallowed and forced my mind away from thoughts that could only lead to panic. I needed to be productive, needed to read and analyse. That was the only way I was going to survive this.

My focus shifted to the importance of memorising what I could about these intruders. I manoeuvred myself so that my back was towards the windows and I was facing both of them. They were dressed completely in black. Movement from the kitchen drew my eye and to my utter disbelief another masked man clad in black walked towards us. He was followed by a fourth.

“We haven’t found anything else.” The third man addressed the German in Spanish-accented English.

“Nothing?” There was facial muscle movement behind his mask, but I could not see enough to make an accurate reading. His gravelly voice, however, was displeased.

“She must be hiding it. It must be in the safe.” The clipped accusation came from the Russian. I forced myself to calm my breathing. I hoped that if I co-operated, they would not turn violent on me. The Russian’s body language indicated that he was spoiling for a physical confrontation and I knew I probably would not live through it.

The Spaniard and the fourth man joined us. I noticed that the German and the Spaniard were dressed in exactly the same outfits. Their cargo pants, black boots and long-sleeved shirts looked as if they were part of a uniform. Silver duct tape formed crude crosses on both shoulders and one sleeve. It took me a moment to realise that they were trying to conceal an insignia of some sort. My mind was racing to piece together as much as I could as fast as possible.

Then I came to a crashing realisation. There was no doubt in my mind that they all had to be military. The stealth with which they moved, the rigid confidence coming from the core of their torsos and even the way they spoke were specific to a select group of people. Even though only two of the intruders wore the same outfits, it was clear that the four of them worked as a team. Of that I was sure. Their awareness of each other and confidence in each other’s movements testified to that. I had observed the same phenomenon numerous times while analysing group dynamics in my sheltered viewing room.

They formed a semi-circle in front of me without a word to each other. Their postures were not of a placating nature, but rather indicated that they were ready for action. These four men were warriors.

“Open the safe,” the Russian growled at me.

I tucked my elbows into my sides, at the same time exposing the insides of my arms in a non-threatening gesture. “Of course. You can take anything you want. Just please don’t break anything else.”

The fourth masked man was a bit shorter than the rest, but he made me think of a panther. There was something feline about his movements. He looked me straight in the eye when my gaze turned to his face. The tiny muscles under his eyes contracted a millisecond before he picked up a clay bowl I had purchased while travelling in Kenya and dropped it to the floor. The sound of it shattering on my wooden floor sent a shudder through my body. The men laughed. I closed my eyes and suppressed a groan. The sacrifice of one of my favourite pieces had confirmed my suspicions. These men were bullies and such personality types revelled in doing exactly what was begged of them not to.

“Go, bitch. Open that safe. Else I break every fucking thing in this place.” The fourth man’s voice was deep and would be well suited for radio if it were not for the cold malice in it. It was the accent, however, that I filed away with all the others. His Russian accent confirmed that two of the four men in my apartment were from Russia. Another shudder went down my spine.

If they were indeed military, which I believed they were, it brought a few questions to the fore. Why would an international military team be ransacking my apartment? There was absolutely nothing of value to them here. The only possible reason was the case Manny had brought to us.

I had no more time to analyse the four men or their agenda. The German took a step closer to me and with the flat of his hand against my back shoved me none too gently towards my bedroom. I stumbled forward and pushed down the panic that surfaced with that physical contact. So far I had kept the darkness at bay with anger, rational observation and analysis. Even though I could feel panic gathering strength to overwhelm me, I resolutely refused to give in to it. The bullies would never have the pleasure of seeing me at my most vulnerable.

My mind was equal parts reeling at the chaos and hungry for more information to enable me to understand what was going on. The latter would prove to be more useful in the future, so I gathered my wits and my balance and walked to my bedroom.

“What do you want with my computer? There is nothing special on it. I only use it to surf the internet.” Maybe I could find out why they were here or what they were looking for.

“Shut up!” The short Russian’s voice cracked through my apartment and I flinched. He was walking next to me and a quick glance at him was enough for me to see that every muscle in his body was coiled for attack. I was the only one he would aim his attack at. With that amount of aggression, I would not be able to defend myself. Quietly I led them to my bedroom, my sanctuary.

A protesting fury burned inside my stomach. I had taken every precaution possible to keep myself and my space safe from intruders. The extra locks on my front door, the strong doors to my bedroom and bathroom, and the extra locks on them. Even the top-of-the-line safe was there to keep my personal documents and laptop safe. I had had it installed in a hidey hole behind a wooden panel that looked like it was a part of my antique wardrobe. No one was supposed to have found the safe. These men had taken away my sense of safety and that was going to take time to recover from.

I stood in front of the carved oak wardrobe and bit down hard on my teeth. They had broken the wooden panel to reveal the safe behind it. All they had needed to do was push the hidden button under the first drawer inside the wardrobe. Instead they had used excessive force, which left the panel shattered and most of the wood lying at my feet.

The four men had followed me into my bedroom. The airy, spacious room that had been my haven now felt crowded. Refusing to allow that feeling to overwhelm me, I opened my senses to observe the large military men looming over me. The way they positioned their bodies indicated that the German was the team leader. They were waiting on him to direct their actions.

“Open it, bitch,” the short Russian spat. He didn’t wait for any orders, nor did he give me time to react. Before I could lift my hand to punch in the twenty-four-digit code, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my face against the wardrobe.

I was stunned. Never in my life had I faced any physical threat or abuse. The sharp pain that shot through my cheekbone brought on a thankful thought that my face connected with wood rather than the unyielding hardness of my bedroom walls. I didn’t feel or hear bone breaking, which might have been the case had it been the wall the Russian had chosen for his show of force.

It was interesting that I could feel so detached to the pain in my face and my scalp where he still had his hand in my hair. While I was thinking that it surprised me that my hair was actually long enough to be grabbed so tightly, I heard the two Russians quietly arguing. Intent on listening to the tone they were using, I also managed to understand them.

The short Russian who still had me by the hair, pulled me roughly away from the wardrobe. I was slammed a second time against the wardrobe when the German gave a gravelly order. “Enough. Let her open it.”

I was suddenly free. Having had my head slammed against the wardrobe made me light-headed and I put a hand against the wood to steady myself. It only took a second to regain my equilibrium and I straightened my spine. They would not win. The darkness would not win.

My head was throbbing and my hands went up to inspect the damage. One hand massaged my scalp while the other went to my face. My cheek was painfully tender to the touch. I touched my eyebrow and my fingertips came away wet and sticky.

“If you don’t open that safe, I will hand you over to these gentleman and leave you to them.” The German’s threat kept the shock of my blood on my fingers at bay.

“I’ll open it.” It would have taken a deaf person to not hear the fear in my voice. I blinked a few times and took a deep breath. I could do this. My fingers were still wet from my blood and I wiped my hand on my pants. I looked at the keypad of my safe and my mind went blank. The twenty-four digits that had automatically come to me in the past now eluded me.

“Is there a problem?” the Spaniard asked.

“Um, no. I just need a moment.”

“You don’t have a moment. Do it now!” It was the first time the German had raised his voice and I felt the power of it. I nodded my head emphatically and immediately regretted the movement. The darkness responded to the sharp pain in my head.

I closed my mind to the whispered conversation behind me and called up my favourite Mozart serenade, No. 7 in D major. Three bars into the serenade, the darkness had receded and the twenty-four digits were once again accessible.

While the men were furiously communicating behind me, I entered the digits. I hadn’t wiped all the blood off my fingertips and I noticed dispassionately that there were red smudges on the keypad. The safe opened with a soft click, which silenced the conversation behind me. “It’s open. Take what you want.”

The German pushed me roughly away from the wardrobe and reached into the safe. He pulled out my computer and handed it to the Spaniard who slipped it into a black backpack. Impatiently he paged through my personal documents before he tossed them to the floor. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” I hated the quiver in my voice. I didn’t want to lose control. I didn’t want to be scared. I didn’t want these men in my apartment, but I was scared and they were here. But I wasn’t going to lose control.

“The computer, bitch.” The short Russian grabbed me by my arm this time.

Later I tried to recall what exactly had happened and my memory failed me. All I remembered was the frantic struggle that ensued. I recalled being blind with fury for all that had happened and my self-defence training kicking in. I remembered connecting my fist and elbows with a few body parts. And how the jarring pain shot to my head with each hit.