The Flinck Connection (Book 4) (Genevieve Lenard) (8 page)

“I know. Thank you.” He exhaled with a puff of his cheeks. “There is something big going on here. My friend doesn’t want to know what you guys find out unless it affects him personally. He would rather you unravel this mystery.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You are under the president’s protection. Not him. It would be easy to make him disappear.” He smiled when I frowned. “I didn’t mean they’ll kill him. He would lose his reputation, his rank and be stuck on foot patrol or something similar. It would be easier to dispute his findings and opinion than yours.”

“Okey-dokey.” Vinnie got up. “I’ll get the coffee while you guys look at that thingie.”

“I’m not looking at it,” Daniel said. “I only brought it for you to look at.”

“You’ve already looked at it, formed opinions and have insight that will help us. Why are you being coy?” This was the first time Colin spoke and his assessment was accurate. Daniel’s reaction confirmed this. Colin lifted one eyebrow. “You are here. Why not help us?”

“Because I have never gone against a direct order of this magnitude.”

“What does that mean?” How could one direct order be larger than another?

“I think”––Colin rested his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling loosely––“that Daniel has never received an order from someone so high up the food chain.”

Again Daniel’s reaction proved Colin’s suspicion to be true.

“This is why I agreed to bring this drive here. We’ve had high-profile crimes before. We’ve had politicians murdered before. Why is Savreux so important that the president’s aide, Henri Fabron, told my boss that we should leave the crime scene? And why is he keeping tabs on this investigation?” Daniel shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Fabron has never even been in law enforcement. What gives him the right to interfere with this investigation?”

“Is he really interfering?” The tone in Colin’s voice indicated he was asking a different question, but I didn’t know what. Apparently, Daniel understood. His eyes widened and he leaned back in the sofa.

“No, he didn’t do anything that could be seen as outright interference. The bastard knows it would look suspicious and he might even be arrested for doing that.”

“How has he been handling this?” Colin asked.

“He’s been using the president’s connection to Minister Lefebvre. He told my friend’s boss that the Minister of Justice requested they close the case as quickly and quietly as possible. They didn’t want this to become a scandal-laced investigation, or a witch-hunt. He said that the Minister would get his best prosecutor to get this to go away. I think Fabron said at least ten times they didn’t want a scandal.”

“Typical politician.” Vinnie placed a tray on the dining room table. He had changed into dark brown cargo pants and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. “Here’s your coffee. I’m making breakfast, so you might as well move the party to the table.”

As we walked to the dining area, I wondered about everything Daniel had said. We sat down and Vinnie served coffee. I watched Daniel stir sugar into his coffee and decided I was right. “There is more to your suspicion. What?”

“The crime scene.” Daniel took a sip of his coffee and sighed. “There was something off.”

“What?” Colin asked.

“The working theory is that Savreux was murdered by an intruder, most likely a burglar he had surprised. I get the feeling that this is the story Fabron and his ilk would like everyone to believe. I don’t buy it. I’ve been to enough crime scenes to know that if this one was a burglary gone wrong, it is one of the cleanest burglaries I’ve seen.”

“Were they able to ascertain that nothing was stolen?” I asked.

Daniel looked at the flash drive I had placed on the table. “According to the reports, nothing was out of place, nothing was stolen.”

“Nothing they knew about,” Colin said. “I can think of at least one thing that wasn’t there.”

“And what is that?”

“A Flinck painting.”

I was surprised that Colin had decided to trust Daniel with this information. He was also treating Daniel with much more courtesy than he’d been showing Manny lately. I placed this in the back of my mind for later analysis. The curiosity about what
was on the drive was becoming too great for me. I got up and retrieved my computer from its bag on one of the dining room chairs.

Colin was telling Daniel that an anonymous tip had led him to Savreux’s house. I sat down at the dining room table, turned on my computer and glanced at Daniel. He wasn’t convinced of Colin’s explanation, but didn’t appear annoyed by the untruth. Colin was sitting to my left and Daniel sat down to my right. Vinnie was standing behind me. I swallowed down my discomfort at the feeling of being surrounded and inserted the flash drive into the computer.

There were seventeen folders organising the content. Going through all this information was going to require time. I also would prefer doing it in my viewing room, not at my dining room table with three men hovering around me. With an internal sigh, I realised that I had that many people and more hovering around me at the office, but there I could close the door even if it were a glass door.

“Have you gone through this?” I asked Daniel.

He nodded.

“What were your impressions?”

“I’m not a detective.”

“But you are trained in reading people and situations in order to make split-second decisions. You were also at the crime scene and I’m sure you have impressions about that. I would like to hear those.”

Daniel took a moment before he spoke. “You’ll see this on the medical examiner’s report. I thought Savreux had about a dozen stab wounds, but I was wrong. Whoever killed him stabbed him twenty-five times.”

“Oh my.” Involuntarily my hand covered my suprasternal notch, the hollow just above the breastbone. A self-soothing
gesture typical to women. “That is an immense emotional display.”

“Or it is made to look like it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The stabbing was done post-mortem. First, the killer garrotted Savreux and, when he was dead on the floor, stabbed him to make it look like a crime of passion. The angle of the bruising left by the garrotte indicates that it had to be a person of at least one hundred and ninety centimetres in height.”

“What is that in American?” Vinnie asked as he walked back to the kitchen. The smell of toast was stimulating my appetite.

“American isn’t a language, Vinnie.” No matter how many times I told him this, he still insisted on having height, weight and distance translated into this non-existent language.

“That would be around six-two, six-three,” Daniel answered. “There is evidence that Savreux put up a struggle as he was being garrotted. That means the killer had to be strong enough to subdue Savreux and keep the garrotte in place until he died.”

“It was a tall, strong man,” I said.

“Footprints around the house also supports that theory. The crime scene guys had their work cut out to get all the evidence and sift through it in such a short time, but there is a lot of pressure on everyone to close this case. At least the footprints were simple. Our boots were fast to eliminate, so it left Colin and the killer’s footprints in the snow around the house. Colin’s winter boots were easy to track with their generic tread. It’s the killer who was dumb enough to wear Russian-style military boots.”

My heart rate increased, yet my hands felt cold. “Is your friend changing the profile of the killer according to this information?”

“He tried, but his boss wouldn’t let him. The boss insists that it was a burglary committed by some dissatisfied constituent. We all know there are people out there hating politicians who have old money but do nothing to improve the lives of the everyday citizen. That is who they would like to hang this on even though it doesn’t make sense. Savreux had a reputation for his philanthropic work, which makes the egoistic rich politician an unlikely theory.”

“What other observations did you make?” I was impressed with his acumen.

“Savreux had not been home for long. When we got there, his car’s engine was warm enough to indicate that he had arrived less than an hour before.”

“From the time I phoned Jenny to the time you went into the house was about forty minutes,” Colin said. “When I got into the room, I was sure that he had died less than ten minutes before.”

“So the killer could still have been in the house.” I took a calming breath, but failed. “You shouldn’t have gone in there. It could’ve been you.”

Colin took my hand and pressed it hard against his chest. “I know, love. Believe me, I also don’t like that thought. This is not my kind of thing. I’m no James Bond.”

“I don’t see how that is relevant.” For a change, I knew one of the many film characters Colin and Vinnie frequently referred to. “Please don’t do this again.”

“Aw, Jenny. You know I can’t promise that.”

Daniel cleared his throat. “As a law enforcement officer, I’m not sure I should be hearing this.”

“You chose to come here, dude.” Vinnie put a stack of plates in front of Daniel and started setting the table. “If you want our help, you’re going to have to develop selective hearing. It seems to work for the old man.”

“He’s talking about Manny. And he’s right.” I rearranged the plate in front of me to be equidistant from all the corners of the placemat. This small activity was helping me sort through the other questions I had. “But that is of lesser importance now. Who exactly has been in contact with whom about this case?”

“As far as I know, it’s only been Henri Fabron who has been phoning around. He was the one who phoned my boss’ boss to order us off the scene. He also phoned the
Commissaire Divisionnaire
, who in turn phoned my friend’s supervisor. This is how it has been filtering down.”

Any further questions were interrupted by a crash coming from Colin’s side of the apartment, followed by a very unladylike expletive. Two seconds later Nikki rushed into the living area, dressed in her pyjamas, her hair in a messy ponytail.

“Oh good, you’re all here.” She looked at Daniel. “Who are you? Oh wait, I know you from somewhere. Or do I know you? Oh, I don’t know if I know—”

“Nikki, what’s wrong?” I often became frustrated with her adolescent behaviour, but this was not typical for her. She was prone to believing she knew better than us, but she was not prone to being flustered.

“I, um”—she glanced at Daniel again and lowered her voice—“I got another DM.”

The doors to my viewing room whooshed open and Manny walked in with long, urgent strides. He barely glanced at me before his eyes fell on Nikki. She was sitting in her usual place in my viewing room—on the floor in the space between the second and third filing cabinet. It was becoming a common scene. Now more than ever, Nikki would come into my room without saying a word, put on her headphones and start drawing. Since the beginning of the academic year at the university, heavy textbooks sometimes replaced her sketchpad. Today she was drawing.

Manny stopped in front of her and took off her headphones. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Sure. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, you’re worried about that DM. Doc G and Francine have that under control, so that’s sorted. My house arrest still sucks.”

“You’re not under house arrest. We are trying to keep you safe.”

“You guys are all paranoid and overprotective. If this continues, I’ll never have a sex life.”

Manny took a step back. “I really don’t want to hear about that.”

Nikki laughed and looked at her headphones. “May I have those back? Doc’s music is not quite my thing.”

Manny handed her the headphones and turned to me. “Meeting in five minutes. I need tea.”

He left without waiting for a response from me. I was glad Manny had returned from his meeting with his Interpol bosses.
As soon as Nikki had shown us the direct message, I had phoned him, but he’d already been on his way to the meeting. We had agreed to come to the office and he had joined us as soon as he was done. It had given Francine time to do more work on tracking the direct messages, and me time to look through the files Daniel had brought us.

Our breakfast had been cut short with Nikki’s announcement. Daniel had stayed for a few slices of toast and a healthy helping of scrambled eggs after we’d told him Nikki was the anonymous source who had given Colin the information on Savreux. We had all agreed that it would raise suspicion if he were seen visiting the apartment or Rousseau & Rousseau. He’d left immediately after breakfast, the fur-trimmed hood pulled low over his eyes, his large jacket further hiding his identity. This was becoming the kind of covert investigation I despised and Francine revelled in.

I took my notebook, unplugged my laptop and took it to the team room. Vinnie and Colin were already seated at the table, and Tim was unloading a tray filled with coffee mugs and pastries. I didn’t know how he did it, but we were never served the same types of pastries within a period of two weeks. He was good with supplying a variety of baked goods, but seldom a healthy alternative.

“Good, we’re all here.” Manny sat down and placed his milky tea in front of him. “Let’s start with those blasted direct messages. Supermodel, get your butt over here and tell us what you’ve found.”

“Look at you talking sexy to me.” Francine came to the table, tablet in hand. Today she was wearing a dark grey knitted dress, light grey tights and black ankle boots. Her nails were painted in the exact same shade of grey as her dress. I wondered where she found the time for all this grooming while she did so much work on her computers in the office and at home. “We’re not going to find this guy in the usual ways. He’s extremely smart in covering his tracks.”

“I thought you could find anyone.” Manny took a sip of his tea.

“I’ll tell you why I won’t find him through his digital footprint.” This was the tone Francine used every time someone challenged her skill set. “He—I’m assuming it is a he—buys a cheap smartphone. He goes to some shopping mall or café and sets up an email account with one of the popular free email service providers. Using that email address, he then sets up a Twitter account with a handle that’s just a bunch of numbers, and sends that one DM to Nikki. As soon as that is done, the Twitter account goes dormant and the phone is turned off. For each of the three DM’s Nikki received, he used a different phone, a different email address and different Twitter account, and connected from different places in Strasbourg. He also managed to get it to look like he connected from Georgia.”

“But he is in Strasbourg?” Manny asked.

“The phones he used were, so it’s safe to say he was here too.”

“But you can’t find him.”

“I’m going to try and trace the phones to the sales points and maybe I’ll get lucky with security camera footage of this guy in the shop or on a street close to the shop. Other than that, he’s quite smart not reusing any of the accounts or phones. And before you ask, I tried to remotely turn those phones on, but it seems he’s removed the batteries, completely disabling the phones. There is no signal for me to track its location or anything like that.”

Instead of being frustrated, Francine appeared excited by this challenge. While she was talking, admiration was clear in her expression and tone.

“Who the bleeding hell is this guy?” Manny looked at me. “Doc, what do you make of his blasted direct emails? Can you read some psychobabble in there?”

“If you are asking me to profile this person, I refuse. These messages consist of so few words, written in the shortest way possible, that I don’t think creating a profile based on this could be accurate. Nikki has been telling me about the Twitter-type language people use to communicate. Words are shortened, articles and prepositions are left out since there is a limit on the number of characters one can use for a tweet.”

“Ridiculous,” Manny muttered. I agreed. I felt uncomfortable using these words outside of the context of birds.

“However, this wasn’t a tweet. All three messages were direct messages, which allows the author to write more words. This person didn’t. He stayed within the limits, which most likely influenced the way he wrote this message. I can’t even comment on his spelling, vocabulary or grammar, since the sample is too small. I will not speculate.” I shook my head even before I finished my sentence. I had seen Manny’s expression. “There is too little to work with.”

Manny glared at me for a few seconds, and then nodded. “You’ve got a point, Doc. But what do you make of this last direct message?”

“It’s so short.
‘Only 10 days. PLEASE!’
didn’t tell me anything. “In ten days a lot of things could happen, Manny. It is senseless to start guessing.”

“It could be something to do with the president speaking to parliament,” Francine said.

“Or it could be numerous other things, Francine.” I was bored with baseless theories. I wanted to find real connections, real evidence. “The third message is a warning, but it was the second direct message that led us to Savreux’s house, where we found him murdered. Let’s focus on that. How does the Flinck, Motte’s Vermeer and the Gardner heist connect to Savreux?”

“Didn’t you find any leads from the files Daniel gave you?” Manny asked.

“Not connecting Savreux to any of the artwork from the Boston heist, no. I did find a lot of other interesting information. Most crimes can be solved by looking at the person’s finances. Savreux’s finances are a fascinating case study.”

“Why?” Vinnie asked. “Spending money on booze and women is not really fascinating.”

“He didn’t spend money on booze and women. At least not money that can be traced. His credit card use is very average: expensive restaurants, clothes, shoes, and a lot of books. He seemed to favour one specific bookstore.”

“Is that relevant, Doc?”

“Oh. No, it isn’t.” I had found that interesting though. “Basically, his finances are exactly what one would expect from a person of his standing and income.”

“Still not fascinating, Jen-girl.”

“Going back three years, I couldn’t find anything in his finances indicating the purchases of any of the finer artworks in his house.” I opened my computer and connected it to the system so I could display what I was looking at on the large screen against the wall. “If you look at these crime scene photos of his entrance, you’ll see a Yulia Brodskaya artwork. This specific paper illustration was done two years ago. I have no record of that illustration bought with one of Savreux’s credit cards or even a bank transfer.”

“It could’ve been a gift,” Colin said. “Politicians often receive bribes under the guise of gifts.”

“I considered that possibility, but there are too many other examples in the house to make this a coincidence.” I changed to the different photos as I gave the examples. “There is this Louis Gossin bronze sculpture that was paid for in cash by an anonymous buyer at an auction last year. This watch is one of only fifty made by Bremont. It is a limited edition that came out three years ago. Francine phoned the company and managed to confirm that Savreux bought one of these watches. He paid cash.”

Manny’s head swung to Francine. “How did you…? Hell. No, actually I don’t want to know.”

“I’ve not gone through all the crime scene photos, but so far I’ve calculated around seven million euro’s worth of goods not paid for with the money in Savreux’s accounts. Money that he had come by honestly.”

“What about this inheritance from his wife’s estate, or investments or something like that?” Manny asked.

“I checked it, but will admit that I didn’t have a lot of time to do a thorough check. As far as I could see, his investments have been untouched for years. He’s only taken a modest amount from the interest every month. That shows in his financial statements and also in his tax return forms. If it weren’t for the content of his house, I would never have become suspicious of his finances.”

“Were there any cash recovered from the house?”

“Ten thousand”—I looked at my notes—“three hundred and sixty euros. There were also five hundred dollars and a few loose coins of various currencies, but that was all the cash they found in the house.”

“Not enough to buy any of those watches, ornaments or paintings,” Colin said.

“Also not enough to explain his chartered plane to Ibiza and the luxury accommodation he lived in for ten days last month.” Francine had found this information and I hadn’t asked how. She was tapping her grey nails on the table as she continued. “It also doesn’t explain the new Porsche in his garage that was also paid in cash.”

“Bleeding hell. Who walks around with that much cash?”

“What about his insurance?” Colin asked.

“Good question,” I said. The direction of his thinking was evidence Colin was spending a lot of time looking into insurance fraud as well as other art crimes. “I would like to get his insurance forms, but the other company is likely to claim confidentiality.”

“I’ll get onto that,” Manny said. “Having a badge does come in handy at times.”

“Is that a good idea?”

As soon as I asked the question, the understanding showed on Manny’s face. “Bloody hell. No. Of course not. We’re not supposed to be looking into this at all.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe Phillip can help us with this. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s meeting with some rich old lady.” Francine crossed her arms when we looked at her. “What? With that jewellery dripping off her, she is definitely rich. And even Botox can’t hide her oldness.”

“Oldness is not a word.” No sooner had I started speaking than Francine smiled.

“Gotcha. God, you make it so easy.”

In the beginning, their teasing used to offend me, sometimes more than others. Now I knew that teasing was endemic in close friendships and I tried to see it as such. It still irritated me. I turned my focus back to the crime scene photos and clicked on the next photo. It was the inside of the home office where Savreux was murdered. There were a few works of art in there I wanted Colin’s opinion on.

“Hold up.” Colin stiffened and leaned towards the large screen. “Go back to the previous photo.”

“This one?” It was of the wall separating the room from the hallway. A beautiful dark wooden wall unit covered half of the wall. It was a unit displaying not only books, but also ornaments, statues and other beautiful pieces.

“Zoom in on the clock,” Colin said softly. The body language of everyone around the table changed instantaneously. The coldness I had experienced this morning when Daniel had mentioned Russian-style military boots returned to my hands. I zoomed in on the clock, but Colin wanted an even closer view. He seemed particularly drawn to the centre of the clock face.

“I didn’t see that blasted clock,” Manny said.

I wasn’t familiar with different clocks, but this one looked like an early Benjamin Lautier. It looked in working order, showing the time to be fifteen minutes past four. It could have been taken yesterday morning at that time.

“Of course you didn’t see the clock. You were looking at the dead body. Zoom out again, love.” I did and Colin leaned in. “That clock has been moved. I didn’t notice this when we were there, but now it’s clear.”

“How would you know that, Frey?”

Colin pulled my computer closer, ignoring my and Manny’s complaints. He opened a search engine and soon had another photo on the large screen. “While you were doing all your research yesterday, I was bored and looked for articles on Savreux. I found this one. It was published a few months ago, talking a lot about Savreux’s work with the charity and whatnot. The interview was done in Savreux’s house and the photos taken in that room. Look at the clock here.”