The Flinck Connection (Book 4) (Genevieve Lenard) (28 page)

Nikki became pensive. “Why would they do this? I mean, I get the money part. Everyone wants to have shitloads of money. But why set up the president? Why hurt his wife? They’re such nice people.”

Manny and Colin became involved in a discussion about greed, politicians and that there were some questions that did not have answers. I leaned back against my chair and Colin put his hand on my shoulder. I felt drained. I wanted to get back to a routine of predictable cases, watching video footage, writing up reports of my analyses and living with regular hours. I didn’t know if I liked Colin’s idea of going on a holiday. It was going to be stressful for me.

Colin squeezed my shoulder as Francine and Nikki started clearing our plates. “I managed to phone and have an enlightening conversation with Sue.”

“When?” I asked.

“While we were still in the basement. You were talking to Isabelle about Mariam’s case.”

“This Sue still doesn’t want to come in?” Manny asked.

“Not in this lifetime, Millard.” There was no hostility in Colin’s answer, nor had there been any in Manny’s question. The dynamics in our team had shifted. The biggest change had come from Manny. He was much less disparaging in his dealings with Colin and Vinnie.

The big surprise had been a few hours ago when Manny’d had an aggressive argument on the phone with an Interpol agent. He had moved to the far side of Francine’s basement and had spoken in a hushed voice, but we’d been able to hear him. The task force was still looking into Colin and they refused to give Manny any access to their investigation. Neither Colin nor I had expected to hear Manny fight for him, especially not where he could be overheard doing so. Manny didn’t know we’d heard
the argument or that Colin had told Vinnie about it when he’d phoned to find out if Vinnie and Nikki were home.

“So? What did housewife by day, art thief by night Sue say?” Manny asked.

“I got in touch with her to let her know that these guys were arrested and she didn’t have to worry about them being a threat any longer,” Colin said. “She started crying from relief. She still doesn’t know who had contacted her, but they had given her the details of her family’s routine, her children’s school activities and their favourite park. They threatened her family, and she said there was no choice. Her family comes first.”

A ping sounded from the kitchen and Vinnie jumped up. “Dessert is ready.”

Phillip asked Manny a few questions about the arrests made and the conversation continued around me. Colin raised an eyebrow when Manny deferred to him on questions about the art, but answered without commenting on this development.

“Pudding, old man.” Vinnie put a bowl in front of Manny. “My Auntie Theresa’s caramel apple pie pudding.”

“My favourite.” Manny picked up his spoon, his eyes fixed on the steaming baked dessert. He didn’t realise Vinnie had made this meal especially for him and I knew Vinnie wasn’t about to tell him. Manny’s protection of Colin had brought forth a loyalty in Vinnie. It was clearly visible in his body language towards the older man. Pleasure relaxed Vinnie’s face when Manny took a bite of the dessert and grunted his approval.

“I’m not your favourite dish?” Francine sat down next to Manny and ran a manicured nail down Manny’s sleeve. “I’m much sweeter than that pie, handsome.”

“Get away from me, you evil woman.” Manny pulled his bowl away from Francine, turning his shoulder slightly to block her.

I absorbed the bantering around the table as I wondered how far-reaching the effects of this case would be. What other changes it would bring apart from Vinnie’s attitude towards Manny, and the latter asking for Colin’s input. How was this going to affect our work dynamics? Would we still be an effective team? One by one, other concerns came to the fore.

There were a lot of details in this case that needed to be clarified for the prosecutors. But that was not the main cause of my discomfort. Dukwicz was still out there. I didn’t think I would be able to go on holiday until he was in prison, far away from me and the people around this table. I only hoped Colin would understand my aversion to leaving something unfinished. On the other hand, I wondered if this was maybe a good time for me to find a way to cope with my neurosis in order to give Colin something he clearly needed.

Nikki’s loud laughter when Manny threatened Francine with arresting her for fashion violations brought me back to the present. I decided to address these distressing thoughts at a later time. Tomorrow I could start looking for Dukwicz again. Maybe I could look for a way to manage my compulsion for concluding something. Today I would enjoy this moment. This light-hearted meal with my friends.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Be first to find out when Genevieve’s next adventure will be published. Sign up for the newsletter at
http://estelleryan.com/contact.html

~~~~~

Listen to the Mozart pieces

and

look
at the paintings from this book at

estelleryan.com/the-flinck-connection

First in the Genevieve Lenard series

Murdered artists. Masterful forgeries. Art crime at its
worst.

A straightforward murder investigation quickly turns into a quagmire of stolen Eurocorps weapons, a money-laundering charity, forged art and high-ranking EU officials abusing their power.

As an insurance investigator and world renowned expert in nonverbal communication, Dr Genevieve Lenard faces the daily challenge of living a successful, independent life. Particularly because she has to deal with her hig
h functioning Autism. Nothing—not her studies, her high IQ or her astounding analytical skills—prepared her for the changes about to take place in her life.

It started as a favour to help her boss' acerbic friend look into the murder of a young artist, but soon it proves to be far more complex. Forced out of her predictable routines, safe environment and limited social interaction, Genevieve is thrown into exploring the meaning of friendship, expanding her social definitions, and for the first time in her life be part of a team in a race to stop more artists from being murdered.

First in the Genevieve Lenard series

Excerpt

Chapter ONE

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Lenard.” The stranger held out his hand expectantly. His rumpled overcoat and the dark circles under his eyes gave the impression that he hadn’t slept in days. Even his voice sounded exhausted, despite the crisp British accent. The tightened muscles of his unshaven jaw, his stiff neck and pursed lips sent a very obvious message.

“It’s Doctor Lenard.” I kept my hand to myself. “And you’re not.”

“Not what?” The dishevelled stranger pulled his hand back. His lips moved from a simple disagreeable pucker to a full-on sneer.

“Not pleased to meet me.” I had lost count of how many times I had witnessed the corners of someone’s lips drawn sideward toward the ears to produce a sneering dimple in the cheeks. The vast majority of those expressions had been aimed at me.

“Genevieve, play nice.” Phillip Rousseau’s voice carried enough warning to pull my focus from the angry middle-aged man. Despite his French background, Phillip pronounced my name in a manner more familiar to English speakers. I had insisted on that pronunciation. It might be thought as callow, but it was my small rebellion against a pretentious sophistication forced on me from birth.

Phillip had been my boss for six years and none of his non-verbal cues or voice inflections was unknown to me. At present he was annoyed by my lack of sociability. He moved from behind the conference table. For a moment I thought he was going to position himself between me and the other man. Most people couldn’t handle me and some outright avoided me, but somehow I had never managed to rattle Phillip. Or rather, never managed to rattle him too much.

Since my first day in this exclusive insurance company, he had also taken on the role of a buffer between me and the other staff. Something I was sincerely grateful for. I didn’t like working with other people. My boss came to stand next to me, far enough that I didn’t feel crowded, but close enough for me to smell his expensive aftershave. As usual he was wearing a bespoke suit with a price tag that could feed a medium-sized African family for a year.

The stranger was studying me. My immaculate appearance, all the way down to my matching handbag, was not endearing me to him. Phillip should be glad that I possessed enough restraint to not comment on the man’s lack of grooming in this elegant conference room. At least I had made some effort this morning with my appearance in an attempt to blend in. I doubted the stranger had made an effort in decades.

Ignoring the guest, I lifted an eyebrow at Phillip. “What am I doing here?”

“Okay, everyone, let’s start over. Nicer.” Phillip gave both me and the stranger warning looks and sighed. “Genevieve, this is Colonel Manfred Millard. He is the Deputy Chief Executive for Strategy at the EDA.”

“The European Defence Agency?”

“You’ve heard of us before.” A surprised lilt changed his statement into a question.

I gave him an impatient look. He was stating the obvious, so I moved on. “What is the EDA doing here, Phillip?”

“Let’s sit down and discuss this.” As the CEO of one of the most prestigious insurance companies in Europe, Phillip was a master in mediation and negotiation. Competencies I admired but had no desire to emulate. At times his unending patience frustrated me beyond my limits and I had a suspicion that today was going to be one of those days. Phillip pointed to the chairs at the far end of the conference table, where a few open folders and piles of documents were in obvious use. Phillip and Colonel Millard must have been here for a while, discussing whatever it was that now required my presence.

I followed the two men and moved to the chair Phillip indicated to me. Both men sat down and Phillip started organising some of the documents into a folder. A photo lying on top of another pile of official looking reports caught my eye. The moment I focused on it, I knew I had made a mistake. A monumental mistake. The photo was sucking me into its depravity. Into its sadness. Its wrongness.

It was clearly a crime scene photo with markers pointing out things I had no interest in learning more about. A young girl, dressed in loose fitting pants, a colourful tie-dye T-shirt and a bright-green spring coat, spread open under her, was lying on the ground. If it weren’t for the hole in her forehead and the pool of blood framing her head like an evil halo, she would’ve looked peacefully asleep.

My heart was pounding in my skull and my breathing had become alarmingly shallow. Focussing on the simple task of inhaling and exhaling became a near insurmountable undertaking. The blood surrounding the unfortunate victim’s head kept drawing me back into the photo with a strength greater than the last two decades of training I had forced on myself. I could feel the warm stickiness of the girl’s blood between my fingertips. There had been days that I hadn’t wanted to train my mind, but the thought of feeling like I did at this very moment was what had motivated me to search, study, train and focus. A lot of good it was doing me now. I couldn’t snap out of this.

“What’s wrong with her?” The contemptuous stranger’s voice reached me through the thick muddiness in my head.

“Oh dear.” I barely heard Phillip’s whisper, but a second later he was next to me, mercifully not touching me. “Genevieve, sit down. Come now. Two steps to your left. Slowly does it. The chair is right behind you. There you go.”

I focused on my own gasping breaths and Phillip’s calm voice. If I held on for long enough, the black void threatening my peripheral vision might disappear. If I fought it, maybe it would not close in on me until the darkness swallowed me and spat me out hours later, unaware of what had occurred.

“I’m going to look in your handbag for your sheets. Stay with me, Genevieve.” I was genuinely glad that I had confided in Phillip the day my handbag had fallen off the chair spilling its contents and he had looked at me questioningly. The embarrassment of that day was nothing compared to what I was facing right now. I heard a rustle in my handbag and then the magical empty music staff paper appeared in front of me. “Here’s a pencil as well. Manny and I will give you a moment.”

The Gauguin Connection
is available as paperback and ebook.

Second in the Genevieve Lenard series

Art theft. Coded messages. A high-level threat.

Despite her initial disbelief, Doctor Genevieve Lenard discovers that she is the key that connects stolen works of art, ciphers and sinister threats.

Betrayed by the people who called themselves her friends, Genevieve throws herself into her insurance investigation job with autistic single-mindedness. When hacker Francine appears beaten and bloodied on her doorstep, begging for her help, Genevieve is forced to get past the hurt of her friends’ abandonment and team up with them to find the perpetrators.

Little does she know that it will take her on a journey through not one, but two twisted minds to discover the true target of their mysterious
messages. It will take all her personal strength and knowledge as a nonverbal communications expert to overcome fears that could cost not only her life, but the lives of many others.

The Dante Connection
available as paperback and ebook.