“Yesterday. Lunchtime,” Derek could feel a pulse suddenly pounding in his head. “We had a Skype call,” he added. He could almost taste the tension in his voice.
“Time exactly?”
“Er …” Derek shook his head. He had to focus. “Just a moment, I’ll check.”
Derek took the phone from his ear and pressed a few buttons.
“Twelve sixteen until twelve forty-nine. That’s UK time.”
“Nothing since?”
“No. Sir, please, what’s happened? What do you know?”
There was a long sigh from Godden.
“We know a number of things. We know she turned off her apartment’s alarm around one thirteen our time when she arrived home, and then clearly she called you immediately. We also know she turned it back on at three thirty, after which she’s recorded on the CCTV leaving the apartment. Since then, there’s been no sign of her.”
“How did she look? On the CCTV, I mean.”
“She looked fine; not under any duress. No telling glances at the camera.”
“Have you checked her second phone to see if she made any other calls on it? It’s in the apartment.”
“We haven’t located it. Presumably it’s well hidden.”
“It’s in the dust bag of the vacuum cleaner, in a poly bag.”
“She should have told me that. I’ll get someone onto it.”
Derek heard the snap of Godden’s fingers as he said “Vacuum cleaner. Dust bag.”
“You’re in the apartment now?”
“Yes, we’ve been here for the last four hours. You see, the first indication we had that something was wrong was when Jennifer didn’t turn up for a meeting at the safe house. She was due to arrive at ten. She’s always punctual, never been more than a few minutes late, so even by ten fifteen we were starting to wonder. I sent a couple of coded texts but there was no reply, so I used an app the techies have developed for calling her ordinary phone that will tell me whether it’s switched on or off without ringing the phone itself. And her phone is off.”
“She’d never turn her phone off,” insisted Derek, “and she’s obsessive about keeping it charged; it couldn’t be out of juice.”
Derek’s head was pulsing with questions. “Do you know if she returned to the gallery? Have they suddenly got suspicious of her?”
“Difficult to say. Obviously it has to be a distinct possibility. As you know, we can’t just walk in there. Apart from anything else, the warrant to do that will have to be delicately handled, given the Cambronis’ connections. We could lose the whole case. However, we are watching every known exit from the building.”
“What about her phone records?” said Derek. “Presumably calls to her phone are logged. If the Cambronis aren’t involved in her disappearance, wouldn’t they try to call her? And wouldn’t that show up?”
“It would, yes, and we’re on to the phone company. But this is Italy, Derek; we’re not likely to get an answer until later on this morning, at the earliest.”
“Shit.”
“Yes, but you have to remember that if these people are good, they’d make those calls anyway knowing they wouldn’t be answered, to cover their backs.”
“You think they’re that good?”
“We have to assume so.”
Godden flipped through a book on a table in front of him as he considered how to phrase what he wanted to say next.
“Derek, your conversation with Jennifer. What did she say about her progress?”
“Well, she was careful, as she always is, no names and so on. She indicated that things were coming to a head, that she thought you’d be in a position to raid the place very soon. There was nothing else apart from her saying she was positive about the meeting you had scheduled for last night; she said it should define the way forward.”
“Did she say anything about Olivia Freneton?”
“Freneton? No. Why? Do you think she’s involved?”
“She might be, yes, but it’s all a bit puzzling.”
“You think she’s tracked Jennifer down?” Derek was gripping his phone tightly, his voice punching out the questions. “What do you mean, ‘puzzling’?”
“Freneton has been in Jennifer’s apartment, but it was after Jennifer left yesterday afternoon. The CCTV tripped, as it’s designed to do. Recorded her whole visit.”
“In Jen’s apartment!” He realised he was almost shouting. “Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “You’re sure it’s her?”
“Yes, we ran the facials through recognition software. Even though she was in disguise, there’s no doubt it’s her.”
“Do you think Freneton located Jen, searched her apartment then went to the gallery and perhaps somehow grabbed her after she left in the evening?”
“That’s what we’re thinking, yes. Something along those lines.”
“How long after Jennifer left to go back to the gallery did Freneton arrive?”
“Only a few minutes.”
“So she must have been watching the apartment, too much of a coincidence otherwise. But, just a minute, that doesn’t make sense. If Freneton had located her, seen her go into the apartment, with her lock-picking skills, she could have at least accessed the building. We know that Jen’s on her hit list. Why didn’t she just wait and attack her when she left the apartment? Or force her way in? Freneton’s mad enough to go for the heavy approach on the grounds she’d probably win.”
“You could be right,” agreed Godden. “On the other hand, if Freneton knows where Jennifer works, and perhaps has even worked out that she’s undercover, it’s possible that she sees some advantage in not hurting her, for the present anyway, although what that advantage might be, I can’t say.”
“In that case, Freneton must also have some connection with the gallery. Have Felice’s people recorded her visiting the place?”
“Too early to say, I’m afraid. There’s a lot of footage and it will take a while to go through it. And Freneton may not be in the same disguise as yesterday.”
“Did she find anything in the apartment?”
“No. I’m pleased to say that all the precautions worked, even against someone with Freneton’s knowledge of security. From her actions, she didn’t appear to spot the micro-cameras, which is the point of them of course, and like us, she didn’t find Jennifer’s hidden phone. She did find her computer, but gave up trying to access it after a couple of minutes. Your friend Ced Fisher is very good, you know.”
“Yes,” replied Derek. “He put the same stuff on mine and that defeated Freneton too.”
He scowled at the impenetrable darkness of the grimy street outside the back room window, the ghostly outlines of nearby buildings giving him no inspiration as he frantically trawled his mind for sensible questions.
“In your previous meetings,” he continued, “has Jen mentioned anyone in particular? Clearly she hasn’t seen Freneton at the gallery, but, I don’t know, has some client featured in her thinking?”
“There was one she mentioned at our last meeting,” replied Godden, “A Connie Fairbright.”
“Never heard of her.”
“No, neither had I. Seems she’s the rich widow of someone called Brad Fairbright. Jennifer said that she’s been buying paintings by the cartload and that the Cambronis intend to palm her off with fakes.”
“Is she in Florence? Could Freneton have anything to do with her?”
“Good questions, Derek, but I’m afraid I don’t have the answers. We were leaving it to Jennifer to give us the heads-up on when the Cambronis were ready to action their deception. I’m pretty sure that Felice hasn’t followed up on Fairbright. However, I can assure you that first thing in the morning that will change; we’ll get onto it immediately. Maybe Freneton’s latched onto her in some way and is planning a con of her own.”
“Yes,” agreed Derek. “One of the things we’ve always discussed about Freneton is her source of funds. She’s not rich and she must have cash-flow problems. You coul
d be right about their connection.”
“I hope I am, but from what I understand about Freneton, she’s nobody’s fool. And with her years of police experience, she’ll be second-guessing every move we make. We’ll have to act fast.”
“Yeah, and now we know she’s involved in some way and has been spotted in Florence, the SCF will want to be involved. I’ll report to Mr Hawkins, the CSP, first thing, if that’s OK.”
“Of course,” replied Godden, “it’s essential that he’s briefed as soon as possible.”
Derek hesitated as he weighed up how to phrase his next thought.
He took a breath. “Sir, would there be any objection if I ask the CSP if I can join you in Florence?”
“Only if you keep calling me ‘sir’, Derek. It’s Paul, I hope you can get used to that; I had the same problem with Jennifer when we first met. No, I’d welcome you out here, and anyone else with a detailed knowledge of how Freneton operates.”
“That’s great, thank you, si… er, Paul. What about Henry Silk? And for that matter, Pietro Fabrelli. Do you want me to contact them?”
“I’ve been wondering about that. I know both of them will want to drop whatever they’re doing and come to Florence, which is all very well given that Jennifer’s well-being is of the utmost importance, our number one priority, but I have to look at the bigger picture and consider the operation. I haven’t met Silk, but from what I’ve heard, he’s sensible enough. However, I worry about how someone with Fabrelli’s resources and contacts will react; I don’t want him blundering in and trying to take over. How well do you know him?”
“I met him a few times when I was convalescing at the villa in Sardinia,” replied Derek. “We got on well. I’ll talk to him, persuade him to hold back, leave it to the pros. He’ll be as worried as hell, like I am, but he won’t want to risk doing anything behind our backs that could potentially hurt Jen.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
At six thirty, three hours after Godden’s call, Derek risked the wrath of Pete Hawkins by phoning him at home, hoping the man was an early riser. He was, and despite his gruff, off-hand demeanour, he was wise enough to understand that a detective constable would not be calling him at such an unsocial hour if it wasn’t important.
“Get on a bloody plane as soon as you can, laddie,” yelled Hawkins once Derek had briefed him. “Why did you wait so long to call me? Where’s your initiative? You’ve already wasted three hours. Are you going to need anyone else?”
“Er, can I call you on that once I’ve arrived, sir?”
“Yes. I was thinking about the people who knew Freneton best. Of course, two of them are dead and another is Cotton. You’re probably the next on the list, apart from me. Listen, laddie, where are you?”
“At home, sir.”
“Packed and ready to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right, there’ll be a squad car arriving within minutes, as soon as I’ve called in. He’ll take you to Birmingham; it’s the nearest sensible airport now East Midlands is all bloody budget rubbish.”
“Sir, I’ve checked the flights and I’ve missed the only non-stop one to Rome from Birmingham already. And anyway, if I want to get to Florence as quickly as possible, a direct flight would be better. There’s a service from London City. I know it’s further to drive, but I’d be better off flying from there.”
Derek winced as the displeasure of Hawkins’ grunt pounded his ear.
“Do whatever it takes, Thyme, and report to me as soon as you arrive and know something. I want hourly updates.”
Derek hadn’t been idle in the three hours between Godden’s call and his conversation with Pete Hawkins. First, he had called Henry Silk, hoping there might be evening flights direct to Rome from Los Angeles. There were none, but it didn’t matter.
“Henry, it’s Derek. Sorry if I’ve interrupted something, but it’s important.”
“You’ve interrupted nothing except my attempts at sleeping.”
“Sleeping? Isn’t it the early evening there?”
“Where?”
“Los Angeles.”
“In Los Angeles, it is, yes, but I’m in London. I flew in yesterday morning. I’ve got a break in filming. What’s up?”
As Derek explained, Henry was already grabbing a bag and throwing things in it.
“Christ, Derek, that’s …” was all Henry could manage once Derek had finished.
He took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll get the first flight I can. I’ll probably be there before you, or we could even be on the same flight. I assume you’ll be going from City Airport.“
“Yes, the eleven o’clock flight.”
“I’ll book that one too. See you there.”
After Henry, Derek had called Pietro Fabrelli, knowing he was an early riser. But he too wasn’t where Derek had expected.
“Madonna, Derek,” gasped Pietro, “that’s …. Listen, I’m in China, in Pechino, at a huge fashion show. I’ll drop everything and jump on the next plane, but I probably won’t get back until tomorrow or even the next day. However, Chiara, my PA in Milano is in the office as usual. Anything you need, Derek: people, access to anywhere, contacts, anything at all; you must call her. I’ll tell her to give you everything you want. And if there’s any sort of ransom demand …”
“Actually, Pietro, it’s really important that the whole approach to this is softly softly. It requires great delicacy.”
He heard Pietro snort. “I hear what you say, Derek, and I promise I won’t go blundering in. However, I must say I find it most reassuring that you British Bobbies are involved. I don’t wish to be disparaging about my countrymen, but—”
“I can assure you, Pietro,” interrupted Derek, “that Massimo Felice is a very professional and competent officer. From what I’ve seen, not all your police are like the idiots in Montalbano.”
“I hope you’re right,” muttered Pietro.
By four that afternoon, Derek and Henry were in yet another of Pietro’s apartments in Florence, one he reserved for important overseas contacts in the fashion world. With insight that impressed the police officer in Derek, he had called back to suggest its use rather than meeting up in the safe house apartment.
“I know that Felice and his people have been taking great care to keep their use of that address secret,” said Pietro, “and I know their current operation is still ongoing. If the people targeted in that operation are nothing to do with Jennifer’s disappearance, we don’t want to ruffle the waters, do we?”
Derek smiled to himself at Pietro’s metaphor confusion.
“That’s brilliant, Pietro, thank you. I’ll tell Paul Godden we can use it as a base.”
“Not just a base, Derek; stay there too. There’s no need for a hotel. It’s got four bedrooms and Chiara can organise food; anything you want.”
Twenty minutes after Derek and Henry arrived at the apartment, Paul Godden pressed the buzzer at the street-level entrance. He was accompanied by a young female officer from Felice’s squad, Martina Bianchelli, who had been assigned to him to smooth away any problems he might encounter when not with Felice. Her slight build and ready smile that lit up her already attractive face didn’t fool Derek for a moment. He could see from her overall stance and economy of movement that she was more than capable of defending herself or subduing an unwilling suspect.
While Signorina Bianchelli settled herself by the window to watch the street three floors below, Godden introduced himself to both men — he’d spoken to Derek several times on the phone but they had never met — and invited them to join him on the sofas surrounding an expensive and exclusive all-glass coffee table.
“Delighted to meet you at last, Henry,” said Godden, ever the gentleman. “Of course, having seen you on the screen many times, I feel as if I know you.”
“Occupational hazard,” said Henry, with a smile. “Now, please, Paul, do you have any good news for us?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” said Paul, pulling a face. “We
still haven’t located Constance Fairbright. It seems she values her privacy and can afford to screen herself behind layers of her organisation. Almost everything she does is through another name. We’ve contacted her HQ in Boston who were cagey, to say the least, even when we cut up through the layers to a Vice President, whatever that means.”
“Just a title,” said Henry. “Often not as important as you might think.”
“Maybe, but this person, a quite aggressive lawyer representing Fairbright, absolutely refused to give a number for her and even maintained that the only address he had in Italy was the Hotel Barchester in Rome. As you may know, that’s possibly the most exclusive and expensive hotel in the city, and Fairbright keeps their largest suite on a permanent booking.”
“I can’t believe that, can you?” said Derek, frowning. “The bit about not having another address, I mean.”
“No, I can’t,” agreed Godden. “We’ve got onto our US counterparts who will be trying their luck today, but Fairbright has committed no crime and nor is she missing, apparently, so her company is under no obligation to play ball.”
“What about the hotel?” asked Henry. “They must have something; can’t they be leaned on?”
“They’ve been a little more forthcoming. It would appear that they genuinely don’t have a contact address for Connie Fairbright. However, they did tell us of a Cesare Contorni who has been instructing her in Renaissance art — we’re still trying to find him — and an Alessandro Rossi, who is a language tutor. Unfortunately, Alessandro Rossi is a very common name, so we haven’t located him yet either.”
“And Freneton?” said Derek. “Has she been seen at the hotel?”
“Oh yes, they were in no doubt about that. Until Fairbright moved out a few months ago, Freneton had been living there on her tab, everything paid for. We showed our file photos to various members of staff there and they all agree she’s the woman they know as Diana Fitchley. Their reserve disappeared when the conversation moved to her. I don’t think a single one of them liked her at all.”
“Hardly surprising,” muttered Derek.
Remorseless Page 26