Fatal Cover-Up

by Lisa Harris

  Joe clicked on the attachments. One by one they popped up. They were photos of the three paintings. The paintings they were looking for. Which meant Marco’s parents had to have told him about them. He ran through one of the probable scenarios in his mind. Marco’s parents called to tell him Talia was coming for some of Thomas’s possessions. He’d looked for them and found them. Maybe he’d been curious about why she wanted them. Or perhaps suspicious as to why she would suddenly want a look at some of Thomas’s possessions. They knew what their son had been involved in. Did they think she knew what he’d been doing?

  He glanced at the message in the email. He might not speak Italian, but he could figure out a couple of the words. The email address was to a gallery. Marco had been asking someone for the value of the paintings. Which meant he tried to find out how much they were worth.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Three minutes had passed.

  “Talia?” Joe hurried to the doorway of the bedroom, where she was going through a trunk. “We’re running out of time. I figure we’ve only got a couple more minutes before the police show up, but I think I’ve found something.”

  “Good,” she said, stepping back from the trunk. “Because I’ve gone through everything, and the paintings aren’t here.”

  “That’s because Marco already found them.” He held up the cell phone and showed her one of the photos. “He sent an email with photos of the paintings attached to a gallery.”

  She moved beside him and shook her head. “I never told him specifically what we were coming here for.”

  “Maybe your in-laws told him because he took pictures of the paintings and sent them to someone for an appraisal.”

  “Who did he send them to?”

  Joe glanced at the email. “The address says Sienna Gallery. Do you know where that is?”

  “It’s an art gallery here in Venice on the other side of the island.”

  “There’s also a response,” he said, handing her the phone to translate the Italian.

  “Looks like he received a response from a Signor De Luca, who told him he would need to look at the paintings in person in order to do any real evaluation of their worth.” She looked up at Joe. “He didn’t trust me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know that if he’d never come here looking for them, he might be alive today.”

  “You can’t be sure of that, either.” He instantly regretted the sharpness in his tone, but neither of them needed to be playing guessing games on what might have happened. “It doesn’t matter what Marco was thinking at this point. We need to go talk to this signore. See if there was any further conversation between them. See if he went ahead and took them in to be appraised in person.”

  She glanced toward the front door. “But what about the police?”

  “If we stay, they’re going to detain us for questioning. We can always come back later and answer their questions.”

  He could hear the sirens from the police boats in the background. Time was running out.

  She nodded.

  Five minutes later, he was following her onto the crowded floating jetty of the public ferry, the quickest way, she’d told him, to get to the gallery. He rested his hand against the small of her back as they pressed onto the vaporetto, ensuring they got a spot near the exit in case he decided they needed to get off at one of the stops in a hurry.

  The boat moved away from the platform, then made its way down the canal, past rows of docks. He could see the green dome of a building in the distance. Birds dove under a bridge as they passed under the structure. Tourists flooded the walkways, their thoughts on nothing more than experiencing first hand St. Mark’s Square, an iconic gondola ride down the Grand Canal and a plate of fresh pasta.

  He shifted his attention to the passengers on the boat, and to each person on every subsequent platform they stopped at. Because if Anna was here, he was going to find her.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The river. The buildings,” Talia said, breaking the silence between them. “All this beauty, and yet all I can think about is Marco.”

  He glanced down at her, realizing she hadn’t had time to grieve, let alone process what she’d just seen. And for her, this case had just become even more personal. She might not be married to Thomas anymore, but he’d sensed the affection she still had for his family despite any tension still lingering between them. She was the kind of person who loved intensely. Which meant a situation like this had to continuously drag up places in the past she’d probably prefer to leave undisturbed.

  “Do you think we should have stayed?” she asked.

  “I think we have to first find a way to make sense of all of this. Marco’s death. Thomas’s death. My brother’s death. Staying would have simply delayed that process.”

  “You know this is my fault,” she said. “Marco’s death.”

  “Talia, stop right there. I meant what I said earlier. That’s a place you can’t go, because none of this is your fault.”

  “But it is.” She looked up at him. “I knew they would figure out we were coming here, and that they didn’t trust me to deliver the paintings. They had to make sure they got here first. And now Marco is dead because he somehow got involved. He probably had no idea what he getting into when he found those paintings and started asking how much they were worth.”

  “All of that might be true, but his death is still not your fault.”

  “How am I going tell his parents?” The wind blew against her hair, blowing strands across her face. She pushed them away. “This has to stop.”

  He took her hand, wishing he could make all of this go away for her. Wishing he could take her back to the day before all of this happened. But they could only move forward through this together. “The local Italian police have the photo of Anna and are looking for her.”

  “And if that’s not enough? That wasn’t enough for Marco. If she manages to get to my sister or me, or—”

  “Don’t go there, Talia.”

  He wished he could tell her that all of this was going to have a happy ending. Except he knew he couldn’t. Not when someone out there was bent on destruction.

  He stared out across the water. The breeze from the water was the only thing relieving the heavy humidity hanging in the air. What if there was nothing he could do?

  She squeezed his hand, then nodded as the boat approached the next floating jetty. “This is our stop. The shop’s just a couple minutes off the beaten path.”

  Talia led them quickly away from the water, down a maze of narrow passageways lined with heavy wooden doors. He was going to need to call his boss and tell him what was going on, but he was worried that once he did, he’d be pulled off the case. Which was why for the moment it was better to figure things out on his own.

  THIRTEEN

  They stepped into the shop filled with dozens of sculptures on display and art hanging on the walls. As an artist, it was a place where she could easily spend days getting lost in the artwork. But at the moment she needed to focus.

  “Buongiorno,” Talia said to the man behind the counter in Italian before switching to English for Joe’s benefit. “I need to speak to Signor De Luca.”

  “I’m sorry, but that isn’t possible right now. Signor De Luca is on the phone with a client.”

  She tapped her fingers against the counter. Time was running out and she wasn’t in the mood for delays.

  Beside her, Joe pulled out his badge, clearly feeling the same urgency she was. “I’m Agent Bryant with the FBI’s art crime team. It’s extremely important that we ask your boss a few questions immediately.”

  The man glanced at the badge and nodded. “Of course. I’m sure he will be happy to help the FBI. If you’ll just give me a moment.”

  “I should get me one of those badges,” Talia said, as the man slipped through a door into the back. “But in the meantime, you’re not a bad person to have on someone’s side when in a jam.”

  “Ha
.” Joe let out a low laugh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind my direct approach, but it’s a method that works. Besides, I figure we don’t have time to mess around with formalities or Signor De Luca’s timetable.”

  A minute later an older Italian gentleman with gray hair along his temples stepped up behind the counter. Even in the July heat he wore a button-down shirt and jacket.

  Talia stepped forward and laid her hands on the counter. “Signor De Luca, my name is Talia Morello. I was married to Thomas Morello before his death three years ago.”

  The older man frowned. “I’m acquainted with your family, and sorry for your loss. But I’m not sure what that has to do with the FBI?”

  She motioned to Joe. “This is Agent Joe Bryant. He works with the FBI’s art crime team.”

  “How can I help you?”

  Joe glanced at Signor De Luca’s colleague. “Could we speak in private?”

  “Of course. Why don’t you follow me to my office.”

  A moment later they were standing in a cluttered office filled with an overflow of artwork, piles of papers and books and a clearly antiquated filing system.

  “I understand that Thomas’s brother, Marco, sent you some photographs of some paintings to appraise,” Talia said, once the older man had closed the door behind them.

  “He asked me if they might be worth any money.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  The older Italian hesitated. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that any business I do with potential clients is all confidential, including quotes. And I’m still not sure why you’re asking these questions.”

  “We’re asking these questions,” she countered, “because people have already died because of those paintings.”

  “Died…? I had no idea. I told him that I’d have to see them in person for me to be sure, but if they were real, which they appeared to be from the photo, they were some of Li Fonti’s original paintings and would be worth several million to the right buyer. He said he was going to bring them in this morning, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

  Because he’s dead.

  And she wasn’t ready to tell him that.

  “Are you okay?” Signor De Luca studied Talia’s expression. “What’s really going on?”

  “All I can say at this point,” Joe said, “is that some very bad people want to get their hands on those paintings. And they are willing to do whatever it takes to get them.”

  “I wish I could help you, but you know as much as I do. Without seeing the paintings in person I can’t be positive, but that’s exactly what I told Marco.”

  Talia glanced at Joe. There was nothing more they could do here.

  “Thank you for speaking with us, Signor De Luca.”

  “You’re welcome, and if you do happen to get your hands on those paintings, I would love to look at them.”

  “What was your relationship with Marco and his parents, especially after Thomas’s death?” Joe asked Talia, once they were outside the gallery and heading back toward the vaporetto.

  Talia hurried to keep up with him. “What do you mean?”

  “Did they blame you at all? Think you were anyway involved in the money he’d been stealing from the apartment?”

  She slowed her pace. Small beads of moisture dotted the back of her neck from the rising temperature. She wanted him to ask her if she’d take him on a tour of the city, a romantic boat ride through the canals, or where to buy the best fresh pasta… Anything but this line of questioning.

  She swallowed hard. “You mean do they still wonder if I wasn’t involved with what Thomas did? And that I’m showing up now to claim what’s ‘mine’ so I can cash in?”

  “I know that’s a tough question, but yes. I think we need to consider everything.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. “I don’t think so. I can’t say that we’re extremely close, especially after Thomas’s death, but his family has always been extremely supportive of me. But here’s another thing.” She stopped on the bridge they were crossing and grasped the wrought-iron railing. “It’s still possible that Anna has the paintings.”

  “I agree, and if she does, she’s not going to hang around here. She’ll have an exit plan to leave the country, sell them and disappear. Unfortunately at this point there’s no way for us to know for sure.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asked. “I feel like we’re at another dead end.”

  “We need to find Anna.”

  She stared out across the narrow waterway. A boat bobbed in the water that hovered just beneath doorways. She knew he was right, but while part of her wanted to find both the paintings and Anna, the other part of her just wanted to run.

  “I never should have brought you with me,” he said, clearly sensing her hesitation. “I thought it would make things easier to find the paintings, but now I’m worried that I’ve put your life in more danger by bringing you here.”

  “You’re the one who was shot.” She grasped on to his good arm with her fingertips, then pulled away. “I need to see this through as well, because just like you this is personal. It’s affecting people I care about. I might want to walk away, but I can’t.”

  “I just want—need—to keep you safe.”

  But even he couldn’t guarantee he could keep her safe.

  Her hands trembled and her legs felt weak. Between the heat and the shock of seeing Marco’s body, she felt completely rattled.

  Joe brushed a strand of hair out of her face then took her hands. “Your face is pale and your hands are clammy.” He squeezed her hands, then let them go. “Sit down. I’ll go buy you something to drink.”

  “I really will be okay, Joe. I’m just shaken. We need to get back to the boat and go talk to the police.”

  She started walking again, and tried to ignore the strong pull of emotions swirling through her, and the heat pounding down on her.

  “I’m serious, Talia. There’s a bench up ahead and a place where we can get some water,” he said. “You sit down, and I’ll buy us both something cold to drink.”

  “I wasn’t even the one who was shot.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He shot her a smile. “I’ve always been tough as nails.”

  They walked into the large, open square. She obeyed and sat down at one of the benches while Joe went to get the drinks, close enough to where he could still see her. Even at this time of day, the square was already filling up with tourists. Cafés were setting up their outside tables for the lunch rush with tablecloths and flowers on each table.

  A woman sat down next to her.

  Talia started to stand up, then stopped when she saw the gun.

  Anna.

  Her chest started pressing against her lungs. “What do you want from me, Anna?”

  “I thought you might recognize me. And at this point, I’m pretty sure you know exactly what I want. In the meantime, though, I’m going to need you to come with me.”

  “Forget it.”

  She glanced at the gun and frowned. “I’d really hate to have to shoot you, but trust me, I will. It’s not like I have anything to lose.”

  “You wouldn’t shoot me. Not with dozens of potential witnesses out there.”

  “Do you really want to test me? I can be lost in this crowd in a matter of seconds. Which means you scream or try to get someone’s attention, and I’ll not only shoot you, but one of these nice tourists in this crowd. Or maybe I’ll take a shot at Joe again, and I can promise you, I won’t miss this time.”

  She could see the intensity in Anna’s eyes. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. How had she gone from wanting to save people to this?

  Talia looked back at Joe, who was paying the cashier. “Where are we going?”

  “Does it matter? You think your hero’s going to come to your rescue, don’t you? But I’ve ensured that he’s going to be tied up for a few more minutes.”

  Talia felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Anna had everything planed. A backup for anythi
ng that went wrong. But she was also desperate. Which gave Talia an advantage. She just had to find a way to play at Anna’s weakness.

  “Let’s go.” Anna gripped Talia’s arm. “Now.”

  *

  Joe collected his change from the vender along with the two waters, then turned around and bumped into a woman holding a baby in the process. The woman’s bag dropped to the ground between them.

  “Mi perdoni… I’m sorry.”

  “No. It was my fault.” He shoved his change into his pocket, then picked up the bag and handed it back to her. He turned to where Talia had been sitting only seconds before.

  She was gone.

  He dropped the water bottles and started running toward the bench where he’d left her. His heart pounded in his chest as panic set in. How had this happened? She’d been there one moment and the next she’d vanished…

  He kept running, ignoring the pain radiating through his arm with each jolting step on the stone walkway. He saw a motorized boat disappearing around the corner of the building. There were dozens of narrow streets and canals crisscrossing their way through the city and he had no idea which way she’d gone.

  His phone rang in his pocket. He paused, then answered the unknown number.

  “Mr. Bryant. It’s nice to finally talk in person.”

  “Anna Hayes.” His stomach clenched. “Where’s Talia?”

  “She’s safe. For now. But don’t even bother to try and find us.”

  “Just tell me where you are—where Talia is—and end this before someone else gets hurt. We know about Marco, and the local police have your name and description—”

  “Your attempts to threaten and intimidate me won’t work. I tried to warn you, but neither of you would listen. It was supposed to be so simple. She was supposed to bring me the paintings, and I was going to disappear.”

  “Just let Talia go.”

  Joe blew out a sharp breath. He had a feeling the woman couldn’t be reasoned with. And what had Talia had told her? Did she know they hadn’t found the artwork yet?