Art and Murder

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Art and Murder Page 12

by Don Easton


  “Sounds impressive,” Roche said.

  “I would also probe anyone bent on doing harm to your organization, particularly on the legal front. An added service I’ve provided on occasion is to recommend certain investment opportunities. For that, my fee is based on a percentage of the profit you make.”

  “Remarkable. You also appear capable of cleaning up certain messes.”

  “Tying up loose ends is a service I occasionally provide, but with proper guidance it would become less necessary.”

  “So how do you feel about working for us? You would be paid very well.”

  “If I were to do consulting work for your organization, my working relationship would have to be at the executive level. I will not risk garnering unwanted attention by associating with scum like Klaus and his pals.”

  “Believe me, we, too, were extremely upset to discover how they behaved. We would welcome the services you described. It would add a new level of professionalism.”

  “It would allow you to sleep better,” Jack said.

  “So, you are interested?”

  “I have to admit, Europe does intrigue me.”

  “Ah, yes. You mentioned that you plan to retire soon and perhaps move to Europe.”

  “Exactly, although as yet, I have not settled on where to buy a villa, but would like to do so soon. I already have most of my belongings in bonded storage — which is where the painting will soon be if I sense you are trying to lure me into some sort of trap.”

  “Definitely not!” Roche sounded emphatic.

  Yeah, act surprised, show concern, and deny, deny, deny. “I simply thought I should warn you. I will not be shipping my belongings to Europe until I feel safe. If I die, the painting will be given to a museum, so with that in mind, do you still wish to hire me?”

  “Of course,” replied Roche. He paused and Jack could hear him whisper something before saying, “If you were to work for us, you would have time to scout out a villa while we pay your expenses as part of the agreement.”

  “That sounds generous, but as I said, I am unsure which country I will retire in.”

  “We have, uh, branches in several countries. If you were to consult for us, travel would be necessary for you to meet our people. You could … What is your expression? Kill two birds with the same rock?”

  “With the same stone,” Jack said. “I must say, your offer is tempting. Under the circumstances, providing your brother and his two friends don’t try to extract some sort of revenge on me, you have piqued my interest.”

  “And you have piqued ours.” Roche sounded sincere.

  “I would prefer to speak to you in person before making a decision,” Jack went on. “Considering what has transpired, I would want that to be on Canadian soil.”

  “Can you give me a moment, please?” said Roche.

  “Take all the time you need.”

  Jack could hear Roche in a quiet conversation with someone. The only word he could make out was Canada. At last Roche came back on the line. “Jack, are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unfortunately, it would not be wise for me to meet you in Canada.”

  “Why not? I thought money was not a problem.”

  “It’s not the cost, it’s me. I have recently been involved in some legal difficulties. I do not want to risk bringing you unwanted attention. It is for your own protection that I think I should decline.”

  “I am thankful for your concern. I don’t know what legal difficulties you’re facing, but that’s normally something I would be able to assist with.”

  “We have taken care of the problem, but there could be some aftermath. Nothing of real concern. Simply more of a temporary nuisance.”

  “It is too bad we hadn’t met before last night. My service tends to preclude legal difficulties.”

  “Which is what we would like to discuss with you,” Roche said.

  “Still, considering that you tried to murder me a few hours ago, do you really expect me to come to your backyard?”

  “No, uh —”

  Another voice came on the phone. “I will come to Canada and meet you.”

  The man had a German accent and spoke with confidence. Jack made a conscious effort to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, feigning annoyance.

  “The person who will be paying you, should you decide to work for us.”

  “And you are willing to come here to discuss it with me in person?”

  “Leave your contact information with Anton. I will arrive early next week, if that is suitable.”

  “That is suitable. So who am I talking —”

  The line went dead. Jack stared at the phone in his hand. I want nothing better than to welcome you to Canada. We have many beautiful parks, well equipped with washrooms….

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ten minutes after he and Jack disconnected, Detective Otto Reichartinger received a message through his wireless earpiece, which was part of a cellphone-conferencing system set up for officers who were on surveillance.

  “We traced the call to the Dormero Hotel.”

  “Room?” Otto asked.

  “Don’t know. They hung up before we could find out”

  Guess it doesn’t matter, Otto thought. They’ve probably left. He cursed and screeched out into the traffic. The Dormero Hotel was only a couple of minutes away from where he was, but situated the farthest away from his closest team member. His instructions to lose the subjects, rather than risk them spotting the surveillance, was prevalent on his mind. Unlike movies and television, one-car surveillances did not remain unnoticed for long.

  He was half a block from the hotel when he saw three men approaching a parked car. One man whom he recognized as Roche was getting into the back seat. A large, husky man with short blond hair was getting into the driver’s seat, but it was the third man who attracted Otto’s close attention as he drove past. This man had a swarthy complexion and collar-length black hair. He was also wearing a heavy gold chain, and a reflection from the streetlight indicated rings on the fingers of his right hand. It was too dark for Otto to see if his hands were hairy. Given the man’s complexion, they might be.

  “I’ve got the number-two target getting into the back seat of a red Porsche Panamera,” Otto said into his cellphone. He glanced in his rear-view mirror and saw the car pull out and head in the opposite direction. “Two men are with him. The front-seat passenger may be our number-one target. They’re eastbound on Europa-Allee.”

  “Ten minutes away,” radioed Ulrich, Otto’s closest team member. “Plate?”

  “Don’t have it,” Otto muttered, “but the car looks new.” He described the suspects, including that the number-one target wore several rings.

  “On his fingers?” another team member asked.

  “What do you think I mean? A Prince Albert?”

  “Thought I should confirm,” came the haughty reply.

  “Hey, Otto,” Ulrich asked, “you got a Prince Albert?”

  “If I ever get drunk enough to put a ring in my dick, I want you to shoot me,” Otto replied as he swung his car around and hit the gas to catch up to the Porsche. When he did, he tried to maintain three cars between him and his target.

  Five minutes later, with his team still a few minutes away, the Porsche slowed down in the red-light district, then turned into a narrow passageway that led to one of the more popular brothels, called Eroscenter. The problem was, Otto knew, the small parking area behind led to numerous other brothels and exits. It was also not the type of area where you would leave a new Porsche unattended, especially at midnight.

  “They pulled in behind Eroscenter 47 Elbe,” he reported.

  Ulrich chuckled. “Don’t you have a membership at that place?”

  “What’s your ETA, funny man?” Otto asked.

  “About four minutes.”

  “I’m going in on foot,” Otto said, fearing that to drive in immediately behind the Porsche would ale
rt them to the fact that they were being followed.

  One thing was in Otto’s favour. Parking stalls around the brothels did not remain occupied long and he quickly found a place to park. Moments later he ignored the friendly hello from a hooker on a balcony overlooking the passageway and hustled through.

  It didn’t take him long to find the Porsche, which was parked and empty. Six men were talking in a cluster a short distance away, and he was able to make out Roche as being one of them. So far, so good.

  He decided to use the opportunity to get the licence plate from the Porsche, but as he neared, someone grabbed him by the shoulder. “What are you doing?” said a man with a deep, gravelly voice.

  They were in the shadows, but Otto could see that the man had a broad chest and thick-muscled arms. He also had a broad nose and a short, black beard. It was the nose that caught Otto’s attention and caused his pulse to quicken. I know this face.

  “I said —”

  “Lookin’ for a place to puke,” Otto slurred.

  “Puke near this car and I’ll wipe your face in it.” The man shoved Otto backward. “If you so much as touch it, I’ll break both your fucking arms. Get lost!”

  Otto swayed on his feet as he caught a glimpse of the man’s left hand. Half of the index finger was missing. It’s him!

  Not the Ringmaster, but a thug known as Nine-finger Joe, currently the subject of one of the most intensive man-hunts Germany had ever seen. Nine-finger Joe had escaped prison a month earlier after being sentenced to sixteen years for the violent hijacking of a truck full of liquor.

  “Okay, okay. Sorry,” Otto mumbled. He managed to catch a glimpse of the plate before staggering back out the passageway to the street. He had intended to return to his own car, but the sound of men’s voices following him out the passageway changed his mind.

  He elected, instead, to stand on the sidewalk and engage the hooker on the balcony in idle chatter as he watched. The six men he’d seen in a cluster moments before talked briefly with Nine-finger Joe at the end of the passageway, then made their way toward him. What’s the matter, Joe? Afraid to come out in the light?

  As the six men neared, Otto caught a glimpse of Roche and the driver of the Porsche. They and two others had their backs to him as they proceeded to an outdoor café beside the brothel. The remaining two men left the group and were headed his way.

  “I’ve never been to Canada, have you?” he heard one man say to the other as they passed.

  Both were about thirty and had the hardened look of street criminals. Neither paid any attention to him as they continued on.

  “So, you telling me you don’t have twenty euros?” the hooker yelled down to him.

  Otto waved his hand dismissively at the prostitute as Ulrich drove past. While Ulrich searched for a place to park, Otto returned to his own car and used his phone. “Targets are sitting out front of Café Elbe beside the Eroscenter,” he reported.

  His team responded and he was pleased to hear they were all nearby. “Have some more information for you,” he added. “I just saw Nine-finger Joe in the back. He’s somehow connected to these guys.”

  “Are you serious?” Ulrich asked. “Rumour was that he fled to Thailand.”

  “I’m very serious.”

  “Nine-finger Joe?” another member of the surveillance team exclaimed. “Are you sure? His real name is Manfred —”

  “Yes, it’s him,” Otto stated. “He’s grown a beard now, but there’s no doubt. He’s working for whoever it is we’re following.”

  “There’s eight of us. We can go in and arrest him!” This from Ulrich.

  “No, we’re not doing that,” Otto said.

  “You’re right,” Ulrich agreed. “Want me to call the Special Response Unit?”

  “No! We’re not to do anything that could alert the targets.”

  “But —”

  “Nine-finger Joe’s day will come, just not today.”

  “Hope whatever Canada is working on is worth letting him go.” There was disappointment in Ulrich’s voice.

  “A policeman was murdered in Paris today,” Otto told him. “Catching that person is worth a hundred guys like Nine-finger Joe.”

  “You’re right, sorry.”

  “In the meantime, let’s all make certain we don’t do something that will get another policeman murdered in Canada. Everyone clear on that?”

  After a round of affirmative replies came through his earpiece, Otto checked the license plate on the Porche. It was registered to a Wolfgang Menges with a local apartment address.

  He used his binoculars to look at the four men in the café. The two men with Roche and Wolfgang looked like thugs, but neither was the man with the swarthy complexion.

  You son of a bitch! Where did you go? Are you with Nine-finger Joe? Otto radioed his team to alert them that the unidentified man was missing. Moments later the two thugs left the café and disappeared back down the passageway.

  To avoid jeopardizing the surveillance, Otto opted not to have anyone follow them, and the team remained to watch Roche and Wolfgang. Thirty minutes later Wolfgang drove Roche to the Sheraton Frankfurt Airport Hotel, where Roche doubtless booked a room. Wolfgang returned to his own apartment.

  Otto checked his watch. Quarter to two. Must be quarter to five in the afternoon in Canada. Who is the undercover cop there who asked for me, and what does he want done?

  He had been given a contact number for a Staff-Sergeant Wood, the cop’s boss in Canada. As he opened his notebook, his phone vibrated. He looked at the 604 prefix on the call display, which matched the prefix of the number in his notebook. What? Are you reading my mind?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Again, Jack ripped the tape off Anton, who winced. His skin was more sensitive than ever. “Get to your feet,” Jack ordered.

  Anton complied, glancing nervously at Jack, Laura, Sammy, and Benny while massaging his wrists.

  “What had you planned on doing with Dempsey’s car?” asked Jack gruffly.

  “We were going to leave it at the Vancouver Airport to throw the cops off.”

  Jack shook his head. “Security cameras are all around the airport — you don’t need that headache. We’re only minutes from the Fort Langley Airport, which is small and alongside the Fraser River. My guys will leave it near there. The cops won’t know if he left on a small plane or went into the river. Either way, it’s better than your idea.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that,” Anton said. “I don’t know the area all that well.”

  Jack gave the keys for the car I-HIT had lent him to Benny and told him to follow Sammy in Dempsey’s car and leave it where he said. He then turned to Anton again. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Anton’s voice was shrill.

  “I’m going to drop you off about two minutes away, then you can walk back and free your two buddies. I will also give you my number. I want to know when to schedule a meeting with whoever’s coming to see me. I travel a lot, so let me know as soon as you find out. Give me a number for you, as well, in the event I need to contact you.”

  * * *

  It was four in the afternoon when Jack and Laura arrived at their office. They immediately went to see Rose.

  “Good news,” Rose said as they took a seat. “The painting you found has been confirmed as the original that was stolen from the home in Burnaby. It is now stored in the vault at the Burnaby Detachment.”

  “Bet the owner will be glad to get it back,” Laura said.

  “The original investigator is away on holiday, but they brought us the file. It’s on your desk if you want to look at it.”

  “Did you read it?” asked Jack.

  “Yes,” Rose replied. “Apparently, it was a real break-in. The painting wasn’t insured, so that rules out an insurance scam.”

  “Not insured?” Jack was surprised.

  “The owner is in his eighties. He only discovered it in his attic recently.”

  Jack
nodded. “I’ll look at the file later. In the meantime, I’ve got a phone number for Anton. I would like someone to apply for an emergency wiretap on it.”

  “What about Bojan and Klaus?” asked Rose. “Don’t you have their numbers?”

  “I do, but legislation requires they be notified later if we do electronic surveillance on them. Before Kerin’s murder, the French police didn’t know about Bojan and Klaus. In theory, only I do, so that would jeopardize the informant if they found out that wiretaps were applied for today. Later, if a wiretap shows Anton calling them, we could do it then.”

  “Klaus and Bojan are low-level hoods,” Laura stated. “Roche doesn’t deal with them, regardless.”

  Rose nodded. “As far as Anton goes, I’ve spoken with Inspector Dyck, and he said Corporal Crane is at your disposal to get that going.”

  “Wonder how she feels about that,” Jack said. “I don’t think she was happy with the delivery I made for her.”

  “She seemed okay when she called me earlier. She wants a written statement from the both of you describing everything that happened to use as grounds for the wiretap.”

  “Good. What about Kerin’s notes?”

  “The French police are transcribing them and say we’ll have a full transcript by tomorrow. Everything else I’ve been told about their investigation is in this file.” Rose gestured at a file on her desk. “If you wish to review it again, be my guest.”

  “And Germany?” Jack picked up the file. “What’s going on there? Did they ever find out where Roche was when he called me the last time?”

  “Haven’t heard.” Rose glanced at her watch. “It’s one-forty in the morning there. Maybe they didn’t come up with anything and shut it down.”

  “I think Otto is professional enough that he would let us know,” Jack said. “Give me his number and I’ll call him.”

  “And your statement for Connie?”

  “I’ll call her right after talking with Otto and give her the statement before I go home.”

 

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