Vincent joined the conversation, asking, “Do you know the name of the dealer representing her?”
“Of course! It’s Ivan Novak. He has galleries all over Europe.”
Zelda noticed Vincent freeze momentarily when Elaine mentioned Novak’s name, but recovered quickly. “His galleries are world renown. Your daughter must be quite talented to be represented by him.”
Elaine blushed. “He signed her as soon as she graduated and has shown her work in his galleries all over Europe. He’s even sold five of her paintings to museums in Austria and Norway.”
Vincent whistled appreciatively. “That is impressive.”
Elaine beamed with pride.
“When did you talk to Gabriella last?” Vincent asked as casually as he could.
“Two weeks ago? Let’s see. She called on my morning off so it would have been Thursday.”
A day before Gabriella disappeared, Zelda realized.
“Do you think you could give her a call and see where she’s at?” Zelda asked. “She just took off without telling anyone where she was going. I really thought she was here with you.”
“If you tell her Zelda is looking for her, I’m positive she’ll want to talk to us,” Vincent pressed.
Elaine looked at Vincent quizzically. “Why would I do that?” The older woman stood up, her guard rising again. “I told you where she is. Who are you really? What do you want with my daughter?”
Zelda began to panic.
Vincent rose and started walking toward the door, and Zelda followed suit. “I’m sorry if we bothered you,” he said. “Thanks for talking with us. Clervaux is quite beautiful.”
“Wait, why did you come here?” Elaine grabbed Zelda’s arm.
Zelda could have easily pulled loose from the old woman’s grip but didn’t want to make matters worse than they were. All they needed was for Elaine to call the cops. She turned to face Gabriella’s mother as Vincent put his hand on the doorknob. “I am her neighbor, Zelda Richardson, and we did collaborate on several windows. Could you please tell Gabriella that I said hi the next time you talk to her? We didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just worried about her; that’s all.”
The woman’s brow furrowed, but she bowed her head in agreement.
As Zelda walked quickly to catch up to Vincent, she glanced back at Elaine’s house. The older woman was still in the doorway, watching them walk away. Just before Zelda turned back around, she swore she saw Elaine take a picture of them. But when she looked again, the door was closed.
49 Sweating the Small Stuff
September 18, 2018
Ivan knew he should be thrilled—the Milson Museum robbery went off without a hitch, Gabriella was already hard at work on the Van Gogh sketch, and the rest of the artwork was already in his storage unit. He could begin the arduous process of packing up everything destined for Venice.
He looked around the storage unit, now partially filled with pairs of modern artwork leaning up against the walls and a stack of wooden boxes in the middle, calculating how long it would take him to complete his first task. He had two days to crate half of them up, which should be more than enough time.
Yet now that the first phase of his plan was almost complete, he couldn’t help fretting about the next step. The Robber Hood press release was already saved in his email, ready to be sent to a hundred media outlets at the touch of a button. When was the most pressing question. He didn’t want to send it out until Gabriella was done copying the Van Gogh sketch. Too much of his plan depended on the timing, and right now, he knew patience was more important than pressuring Gabriella to hurry up. Her work needed to be as perfect as possible for the final phase to work.
The only potential chink in his plan was his inability to find out where and when Luka would deliver the artwork to his Turkish contact. It was crucial he knew both details.
How was still the problem. He had to assume Luka’s men would check the paintings for any electronic tracking devices and possibly repackage them before sailing on to Turkey. The man was paranoid to the extreme—and rightfully so. There were enough people and organizations after him to justify it.
Ivan refocused his thoughts on the task at hand. After he had crated up half of the art, he would have a few hours to arrange the rest. He wanted it to look appealing when it was found. He was confident the photographs of it would be shared around the world.
50 White Lies
September 18, 2018
As they walked back to the car, Vincent seemed to be struggling internally as if he dared not share his thoughts aloud.
“Do you believe Gabriella is in Venice?” Zelda asked, venturing a guess.
“Honestly, I’m more curious as to where the art dealer Ivan Novak is.”
Zelda stopped in her tracks. “Why would you be interested in him?”
Vincent turned around and doubled back to her. “He represents another artist I think was involved with the botched Kronenburg Museum robbery. I also have reason to believe that copies of the stolen artwork are being made. Two artists—both represented by Novak and both with possible connections to the Robber Hood thefts. It could very well be that your friend is helping paint the forgeries and that Novak is preparing to sell them. It’s almost too much of a coincidence to be anything else.” He grabbed her gently by the shoulders. “Zelda, I think the dealer may be the missing link I’ve been searching for. I want to follow this lead as far as it goes.”
“I still can’t believe Gabriella would be involved in any of this.”
“We don’t know what her role in this is or even if forgeries are being created. But I would like a chance to find out more about Ivan and his galleries before you tell Marko Antic about his connection to Gabriella.”
“But if I tell Marko about Novak now, maybe he’ll leave Jacob and me alone. Especially if I tell him that her mom thinks Gabriella is with him in Venice.” Even as she spoke the words aloud, Zelda wondered if it were true. Would Ivan’s name and location be enough for Marko to leave her and Jacob be?
“If you tell Marko about Venice or Novak, I doubt we’ll get the chance to question Gabriella. If Marko is so desperate to find her, I imagine he will kill her once he does.”
“Oh, my God!” Zelda screamed out her mounting frustration. “I want my job back but not enough to condemn someone to death in the process.” She pounded her fists against her temple. “Okay, it sounds like we have to find Gabriella first. So that means going to Venice, right? What are we waiting for?”
Vincent stood with his hands on his hips, staring at her. “First of all, you need to calm down. The mother thinks she’s in Venice helping Novak prepare an exhibition, but we don’t know for certain if either of them is actually there. And even if Gabriella is in Venice, she may not want us to find her.”
“Then what do we need to do next?”
“As soon as we get back to Amsterdam, I’ll see what I can find out about him, his gallery, and the artists he represents. Right now, I want to get on the road. Would you get in the car?”
Zelda hung her head. “Okay.”
As soon as they were on the freeway, winding their way back to Amsterdam, Zelda asked, “So what do you propose I do, exactly? I have to tell Marko something. I don’t know how far he will go with his threats, but I don’t want to test him.”
Vincent nodded, keeping his eyes on the road the whole time. “Look, I understand your concern, but I have to ask you not to contact Marko until we’ve had a chance to question the dealer. He doesn’t know we went to Luxembourg, right? Can’t you wait a day or two before you answer his calls?”
Zelda stared outside, contemplating his words. The darkness enveloped everything, and if it weren’t for the frequent streetlights, the road they were on would be plunged into nothingness. She needed to find Gabriella, and right now, Novak was their only lead. As tempting as it was to tell Marko about the dealer and Venice straightaway, Vincent was right. If Marko found Gabriella first, Zelda would never get her life back. In
his last message, Marko said she had twenty-four hours to respond. Could she risk ignoring him for another forty-eight hours? His aggression was scary, and she feared his next visit would end in violence.
“I don’t know if Jacob or I have two days, and I’m not willing to risk it.” Zelda pulled out her phone and replied to Marko’s last message before Vincent could change her mind.
“What did you tell him?” Vincent asked, his voice breaking in anger.
“That I met with Gabriella’s mother today, and she told me her daughter was in Bali for a month-long workshop.”
“Nice. Smart thinking.”
Zelda smiled. “Thanks.”
Moments later, she received a reply. “Don’t believe the mother. Keep searching.”
“Damn it! Marko doesn’t buy it. He says I have to keep searching for Gabriella.”
“As soon as we’re back in Amsterdam, I’ll look into the art dealer’s background and see if I can find any connections to Eastern European criminal organizations or the Robber Hood thefts.”
Zelda stared out the window, fuming in anger. For the second time in a week, she felt cornered and helpless. She hated feeling like this. She was done being the victim. It was time to take action. She picked up her phone and surfed to Gallery Novak’s website. She dialed the number of their Venice location without saying a word to Vincent.
“Gallery Novak, Isabella speaking. How can I help you?”
The woman’s Italian accent made the standard English greeting sound like music. Zelda adopted her snottiest tone, “Yes, hello, I am calling for Ivan Novak.”
Vincent tried to swat the phone out of her hand, but Zelda pushed her body up against the passenger-side window, keeping her mobile out of his reach.
“I am sorry, but Mr. Novak is not available. Can I connect you with one of our sales associates?”
“Do you know where I can reach him?”
“No. He is traveling at the moment. Can I leave a message for him?”
“No. A friend of mine recently purchased two paintings by a young artist he represents, Gabriella Tamic. I wish to purchase four. Ivan helped her personally. She said he was quite passionate about Gabriella’s work.”
“Of course, madam. I understand.”
Zelda knew a snotty bitch like the one she was pretending to be would never be satisfied with being helped by a mere salesman. Not when the owner was also available to serve her every whim.
“Mr. Novak will be in the gallery on Friday. Can I make an appointment for you to meet with him then?”
“I will be there at ten in the morning,” Zelda responded.
“Excellent,” the woman responded as if Zelda’s rudeness was par for the course in her job. “And who may I ask is calling?”
Zelda’s haughtiness flew out the window. Shoot! She glanced around in panic, searching for inspiration when a bright yellow van with a mural of the Alps painted on its door passed their Volvo. “Van–essa, Vanessa von Trapp. The third. See you Friday!” She hung up the phone and puffed out her cheeks. “Well, that was easier than I expected.”
Vincent glared at her. “Zelda, what did you just do?”
51 Tying Up Loose Ends
September 18, 2018
Luka Antic scowled at his phone. Marko had just let him know that Zelda Richardson was no closer to finding Gabriella than his men were.
Gabriella was the only loose end in an otherwise perfect plan. Was she copying artwork for Ivan Novak or not? He trusted Marko implicitly, but his nephew never did get the chance to double-check what he thought he saw in her studio. Yet if Gabriella wasn’t copying artwork for Novak, why did he move her and her paintings out of her Amsterdam studio and then deny doing so?
If only he could ask Novak directly about Gabriella’s current whereabouts and the paintings Marko thought he saw. But that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. In three days, all of the artwork—his down payment for the most important business transaction of his life—would be collected for transport to Turkey.
So much was riding on this deal. He had already reached agreements with several sellers in the Netherlands, Germany, and Sweden for most of this first shipment. It wouldn’t be a problem to move the rest of the merchandise. He couldn’t chance Ivan doing something stupid or rash. This transaction would secure the future of his vast organization, and he’d be damned if Ivan Novak’s greed would destroy that. Until he knew otherwise, he had to assume the art dealer was having copies made. And no matter when or to whom he sold the copies, there would always be a chance that Kadir would find out about their existence and question the authenticity of his artwork. Then Luka would be to blame, not Ivan.
But right now, Ivan was the only person who knew where all the stolen artwork was. As soon as the deal was done, there would be enough time to take care of Ivan.
He didn’t expect much from Zelda Richardson, but he wasn’t ready to cut her loose, either. Her connection to both the artist and museum were almost too coincidental to be just that. He would string her along until he had dealt with Ivan. Then he would get rid of her and her boyfriend, Jacob. ‘No loose ends’ was a motto he had adopted long ago, one that served him quite well.
52 An Unexpected Vistor
September 19, 2018
“Ivan? My mom just called. My neighbor, Zelda Richardson, came by her house last night. Zelda said she was in Clervaux on vacation and thought I was there visiting. But that can’t be true because I never said I was going down South. Besides, I make a point never to discuss my family with any of my friends. Zelda couldn’t have known where my mom lives. Would the Amstel Modern have sent her to my mom’s house to look for me? But if they did, that must mean they know I’m involved.”
Even with the bad connection, Ivan could hear Gabriella’s voice trembling. He suspected tears were already forming.
“Wait. Are you sure it was Zelda? Maybe it was someone pretending to be your neighbor?” Ivan kept his voice firm.
“I thought so too, but mom took a picture of her visitors and sent it to me. It’s definitely Zelda, though I don’t recognize the man she was with. It’s not her boyfriend.”
“Can you send the photo to me?”
“Sure.” She hung up and sent him the image. A minute later, she called back. It gave him just enough time to recognize the man in question, and Ivan’s heart sank as he realized what her companion’s presence meant.
“Do you know who he is?” Gabriella asked.
“Yes. Vincent de Graaf. A private investigator who specializes in the recovery of stolen art.” He knew de Graaf by reputation. He was tenacious and had a strong network of informants in the Balkans. Did one of the victimized museums hire him? Or was he helping the Dutch police with their investigation into the Robber Hood thefts? So many scenarios were running through Ivan’s mind. “Gabriella, I have to ask you again. Are you certain Zelda did not see the artwork on your wall?”
“I really don’t know. I don’t think so, but I hardly remember anything about that day—until I woke up here in Maastricht.”
When Ivan had arrived at her studio, Gabriella was slipping in and out of consciousness. If only she had been awake enough to explain to him that Zelda was there helping her, he probably wouldn’t have hit the girl. What a mess. He told himself to keep cool and not panic. They were so close to finishing this job. He was tweaking the press release when Gabriella called. It was scheduled to go out at five a.m., just in time for the morning news programs to pick it up. Once the press release went viral, he hoped new tips about Robber Hood’s identity would overwhelm the police force and that the national media would focus on museum security. That would make moving the artwork so much easier.
“Why would Zelda be working with de Graaf? I can’t imagine the Amstel Modern would ask a collection assistant to help him with his investigation,” he mused aloud.
“It doesn’t make any sense. I still don’t know how Zelda found my mom.”
“De Graaf must have helped her with that. But why?
Why drive all the way down there to talk to her? Unless he believes you are in Clervaux. I’ll ask around and see what I can find out about both Zelda and de Graaf’s involvement. As long as you stay in Maastricht, he won’t be able to find you. How is your latest project going?”
“I finished it last night. It’ll be dry by the time you drive down.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Ivan was about to hang up when Gabriella asked, “And what about Luka Antic? What if he goes to my mom’s house?”
“He wouldn’t have sent Vincent de Graaf to talk to your mother, and you know it. Besides, Luka has no reason to search for you. Your part of the story is finished—at least in his eyes.”
53 Going Viral
September 21, 2018
Sipping his third coffee of the day, Ivan hit refresh and skimmed through the six new articles posted seconds earlier. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Thirty minutes ago, at one minute after five in the morning, the first news blogger reported on his press release. Since then, it had been picked up by every news agency in the Netherlands and across most of Europe. It was gratifying to watch the flood of mystified reactions pouring in.
Ivan was incredibly relieved to see his plan was working. So far, the news reports universally focused on security, a need for more funding for cultural institutions, and how best to prevent such audacious robberies in the future. He hadn’t seen a single mention of suspected involvement by criminal organizations, Eastern European or otherwise.
Now all he had to do was pack his bag and meet his private jet at the airfield. It was the easiest way to get himself and so many pieces of artwork to Venice in time for the delivery. His crates wouldn’t arouse suspicion. He always used the same company to move his artwork from one gallery to the next. If all went as planned, he would be enjoying a Venetian sunset along the Grand Canal tonight.
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