‘You’re a con artist.’
‘Emphasis on the word artist. If I can’t read people then I don’t win, and if I don’t win then I don’t get paid. And I like money.’
Oliver studied her as she focussed on winding up one of the narrow roads that interlaced the side of the hills surrounding the city. ‘But it’s not all about the money. You like beating people. It’s the thrill of the victory as much as anything.’
She risked a glance at him, then snapped back to concentrate on the road just in time to avoid a bus coming the other way.
Oliver explained. ‘I used to work in the corporate world. Half my day was spent in meetings with people who were determined to show their superiority over the others.’
A grim look came over Amanda’s face. ‘One of my grandmother’s sayings is that superiority is just a fancy way of saying dominance.’
‘So am I wrong?’
‘I enjoy the thrill of winning, but I don’t hurt people, and I never go out with the intention of making people appear stupid. Anyone can appear superior to others. It takes talent to do what I do.’
I think you touched a nerve Oliver.
Oliver nodded. ‘Where are we going?’
Amanda pulled up opposite a large brick house. ‘We’re going to see the one person who least wants to see me right now.’
Oliver glanced from the house to her. ‘Who?’ he asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
‘The guy I acquired the painting from.’ She exited the car before Oliver could reply, and he didn’t catch up with her until she reached the footpath across the street.
‘Is this a good idea?’
‘It’s a terrible idea, but it still needs to be done. And the upside is the police won’t have been here.’ She went up the three steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. ‘You’re going to hear me say some things, Oliver. For Gods sake try not to look surprised.’
The door was yanked open revealing a young man, in his early twenties, wearing a stained T-shirt and jeans. His black hair was long and unruly, and a patchy layer of fuzz covered his chin. He caught sight of Amanda and swore.
Amanda produced a wide smile. ‘Eugene, lovely to see you.’
‘Where’s my painting, Violet?’ he demanded.
She reached out and placed her hand on his bare arm, letting it linger there. ‘Why don’t we go inside and I’ll explain everything?’
Eugene stared at her hand, struggle all over his face. Part of him obviously wanted to shut the door, and the other part seemed to hope she never removed her hand.
She’ll take her hand away, but let her fingers run down his arm for a second first.
Amanda did exactly as Violet predicted.
That’s what I would have done.
Eugene stepped aside to let them in, and then led them down the hallway and into the lounge.
‘How’s the study going?’ Amanda asked.
‘Good,’ came the gruff reply. ‘Who’s the dude?’
She turned in surprise, as if she’d forgotten Oliver was with them. ‘Oh, this is my accountant George. George, Eugene is our client.’
‘Client!’ Eugene squeaked. ‘You stole my dad’s painting.’
‘Now Eugene,’ Amanda replied sternly. ‘Stole is an ugly word. You and I both know that I was simply getting the painting assessed by an expert so we can ensure you receive the appropriate compensation.’
‘Then where is it?’ Eugene threw himself on to the couch, and Amanda sat next to him. When she crossed her legs her skirt fell away, revealing a lot of skin that she made no attempt to cover. Oliver sat on the other side of the coffee table, but he might as well still be in the car as far as Eugene was concerned. The boy’s eyes were glued to Amanda’s thigh. She winked at Oliver, then slid a hand down and covered her leg up.
Oh the things I could have done to men if I’d had her clothes.
Oliver began to feel very uncomfortable.
‘Eugene, these things take time. The painting is very unique, and like I told you last time we met, it could be worth up to five thousand dollars.’
The boy’s face was twisted with greed, though it was hard to tell from where Oliver was sitting whether the expression was a result of the money, or the promise of more glimpses of Amanda’s leg.
‘We both know that if we are going to keep your father out of this transaction things need to be handled delicately. And I need to be sure about the painting’s worth. After all it could be worthless, or…’ She let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, like a fish hook loaded with bait.
Eugene bit. He tore his eyes away from her leg, and now the greed was all about money.
‘Or?’
Amanda glanced at Oliver. ‘Are you sure I’m authorised to tell him this, George?’
Oliver had no idea what she was talking about, but he adopted his best accountant face and nodded.
Managing to sound tentative, Amanda told Eugene, ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up.’
Eugene leaned towards her eagerly. ‘Tell me.’
She was silent, a troubled look on her face as she chewed her lip. Then she sighed and leaned into him, her lips close to his ear, breath warm on his skin. ‘Preliminary investigations suggest the value could be as high as twenty thousand.’
Eugene’s jaw dropped and Oliver could almost swear there were dollar signs in the boy’s eyes.
‘Excuse me for a minute.’ Eugene jumped up and rushed out of the room.
Amanda glanced at Oliver expectantly.
‘What?’
She sighed. ‘What do you know about Eugene?’
Oliver started. ‘I only just met him.’
She waited.
Come on Oliver, surely you’ve figured out somethings about him.
He thought about the interaction he’d just witnessed. ‘He’s greedy. That’s how you were able to con him. You played on his weakness.’
Amanda held up a finger. ‘No, I played on his desires. Eugene is a young man who likes to show off. He likes going out and impressing people with money. The only problem is he doesn’t have any money – it’s all his father’s. So I gave him an opportunity to make some cash.’
‘By stealing his father’s painting.’
‘Not quite. We can talk about it later. What else have you discovered about Eugene?’
Oliver gazed around the room. The furniture was modern and expensive. The mantelpiece above the fireplace had two old silver candlesticks, and three family pictures. Oliver got up to have a closer inspection. The first picture was of Eugene with a girl, and the two had enough similarities that Oliver guessed it was his sister. The second picture showed the two children with a woman, obviously their mother. The picture was taken outside under a tree and all three of them seemed happy. Oliver moved onto the third picture which appeared to have been professionally taken in a studio somewhere. In it was the entire family, including the father. He stood behind his family – back straight, hair and clothes immaculate. His teeth were so white Oliver wondered if the photographer had put a filter on the camera.
That doesn’t look like a happy family.
They’re all smiling.
It’s all for show. They don’t want to be there.
Oliver studied it more closely and decided that maybe Violet was right. There was something about the man’s face that was familiar. He peered closer and then it came to him. He whirled around.
‘That’s…’
‘Yes.’ Amanda agreed.
‘This is…’
Amanda nodded.
Who is it?
‘Are you insane?’
Oliver! Who’s the man?
‘It was a necessary risk. And it would have worked out if Peter Yarrow hadn’t been murdered.’
‘Why would you do that?’
Oliver! Violet started singing loudly.
‘Enough,’ he snapped, snatching up the picture. ‘This is Matthew Darcy, son of Joseph Darcy, the man who used to own the painting.’
‘Yes I know,’ Amanda said.
‘And the current deputy prime minister of New Zealand.’
‘Yes,’ she replied calmly.
Shit!
NINETEEN
‘We’re in the deputy prime minister’s house.’
Amanda took the picture out of his hand and replaced it on the mantelpiece. ‘Pull yourself together Oliver,’ she told him mildly.
Before they could continue Eugene came back into the room. His face was flushed and he clutched his phone.
‘Sorry about that.’
Amanda shot Oliver a warning glance, then adopted a sterner visage for Eugene. ‘Eugene, this is important. Who did you tell about our arrangement?’
The man shook his head vigorously. ‘No one, I swear.’
Amanda glanced at the phone in his hand and Eugene flushed and tried to hide it behind his back.
‘What about Katie?’
‘She’s my sister – I don’t tell her anything,’ he boasted.
‘Who then?’ Amanda pressed.
‘No one! Okay, I might have told Charlie, but he’s my best friend, and I only hinted to Gabby that I was coming into some money.’
Amanda sighed in disappointment. ‘Eugene, I expressly told you that until we had a full valuation you weren’t to tell anyone. If word gets out that we think it’s only worth five thousand then that’s all people will pay for it.’
Realisation dawned on Eugene’s face as he saw a lot of money circling the drain.
‘And if your father found out about the deal before it happened then it’d be dead in the water,’ Amanda added.
Oliver cleared his throat, surprising the others, and himself. ‘There may be a way to resolve the issue.’
Amanda raised a single eyebrow, the extent of her surprise. ‘Perhaps if Eugene could write a list of everyone he told about the painting, we can ensure there are no information leaks that would endanger a successful resolution to our business.’
Eugene fell over himself to get a pen and paper from a side table. When he finished, the list had a lot more names than the ones he’d admitted to.
Amanda took it from him and snorted in disbelief. ‘One last thing Eugene, and this is critical. You need to get Victor to back off.’
The boy licked his lips and scratched at his cheek. ‘Who?’
‘We’re done,’ Amanda said and made to leave the room.
‘Wait,’ Eugene begged. ‘Victor doesn’t work for me, he works for my father.’
‘Then your father knows the painting is missing.’
All colour leached from Eugene’s face. ‘H–h–how? He’s been away for the last few days. How would he know?’
‘Because you opened your stupid mouth,’ Amanda snapped. ‘We’ll be in touch, and let’s hope you haven’t blown the whole thing.’ She stalked out of the room, and was at the front door before Oliver caught up to her. They didn’t talk until they were back in the car.
Amanda took a couple of deep breaths, letting air escape slowly. By the time she was done calm had been restored to her features.
‘You did well Oliver,’ she told him.
‘I have no idea what just happened.’
‘But you adapted pretty well. You have the makings of a fine con artist if you ever want to get into the business.’
‘No thanks. Now what was that all about?’
‘Eugene thinks I work for an art investor. I told him I was interested in rare pieces, and that “Sunset over the Island” fitted the bill, but I said I needed to get it formally assessed, to establish it’s worth, and to provide insurance for its sale.’
Oliver considered her words. ‘But it belongs to his father.’
She gave him an amused look. ‘History is filled with kids taking things that belong to their parents Oliver. You’ll learn that the hard way one day. Besides it’s not the first time he’s stolen something from them to fund his lifestyle. Darcy senior can’t kick up a fuss because it’s election year. Anyway, he stole it from his father so there’s a family precedent for this sort of thing. Eugene is lazy and would rather someone, in this case me, do the dirty work than try and sell the painting himself.’
‘So you take the painting, sell it for fifty thousand, give Eugene twenty thousand, and pocket the rest. A quick and substantial profit.’
‘Not quite.’
‘But you know the painting is worth way more than that. Why settle for the smaller amount?’
Amanda headed the car down the hill and back towards the city centre. ‘That’s my business.’
Her tone reminded him of the one he used when his kids barrelled into the bathroom and asked him questions while he was on the toilet. He changed the subject.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Eugene’s sister, Katie, works at a café in town. I need to see how much she knows.’
‘He said he didn’t tell her anything,’ Oliver reminded her.
‘Eugene is a pathological liar.’
‘Do you really think Matthew Darcy knows his son took the painting?’
‘Yes I do, otherwise Victor wouldn’t be involved. But I don’t think he knows where it is now, and he certainly didn’t kill Peter Yarrow,’ Amanda replied.
‘Great, so the second most powerful person in the country knows my name and thinks I stole from him.’
Amanda smiled at him. ‘Now you know why I wanted you around.’
Parking in the middle of the city was difficult at the best of times, and doubly so on a Saturday afternoon. Café’s overflowed with people prepared to pay way more for food than they would in the suburbs. There was a constant stream of people determined to get from shop A to shop B in the least amount of time. The sun had convinced novices that it was warm, and they were now shivering in their T-shirts as a cold wind whipped off the harbour and snaked between buildings.
Amanda finally snagged a park not too far away from their destination. Katie was a waitress in one of the many establishments that vied for customers by proclaiming themselves to be better, or different, while being identical to their ten neighbours dotted along the street. The place was packed, but they managed to snatch a table out from under the nose of a woman talking on her phone.
‘I’d like a trim latte please,’ Amanda told Oliver.
Reluctantly he left the seat he’d just claimed and slalomed through the crowd to the counter. He instantly recognised the girl serving customers from her photo at the house, and the name tag confirmed it.
Her smile was friendly but she barely registered Oliver when he ordered the drinks.
Who would work here every day?
Says the prostitute.
At least I wasn’t on my feet all day.
Oliver told Amanda he’d spotted Katie, but it was a different girl who brought their drinks over.
‘Her family is rich, why is she working here?’
‘Her and daddy don’t get on when it comes to money. She wants to earn her own way through life. I admire her for that.’
‘What happens now? Do we wait until she has a break?’
Amanda gave him a pitying smile. ‘Oliver, what would be the fun in that?’ She got up from the table and carried her drink back to the counter. There was no way he could hear anything that was said, but several minutes later she came back, closely followed by Katie. Amanda gestured for Oliver to follow them and they all went outside.
Katie faced them, arms crossed, guarded expression on her face. ‘This isn’t about a job is it?’
Amanda nodded. ‘See, I told you she was quick,’ she said to Oliver.
‘So you did,’ he replied.
‘You have thirty seconds,’ Katie told them.
‘We work for the Education Review Office. There have been several complaints about your anthropology professor.’
‘Professor Frankton?’ Katie said with raised eyebrows. ‘He’s, like sixty.’
‘He’s forty-three, and I’m not talking complaints of a sexual nature. There have been some
irregularities in his department. We could go in and investigate, but on occasion we like to utilise someone on the inside – a bright student who would be able to ask some questions we couldn’t. Someone who may be viewing a future career in law enforcement.’
Katie’s eyes indicated her surprise. ‘How did you…?’
‘We do our homework Katie. Before I proceed I need to know if this is something you would be interested in doing. And of course we would need your upmost discretion.’
Oliver couldn’t help but admire how Amanda worked the girl. She knew exactly which buttons to push.
There must be something about her I can hate. She’s using my name and I can’t forgive that, but damn she’s good – at everything.
Katie’s eyes lit up, then quickly became serious. ‘Of course. You can trust me entirely.’
‘I mean it Katie – one word of the investigation getting out could destroy months of work. I need to know that you are the sort of person who can keep confidences.’
Katie pulled back her shoulders. ‘I said you can trust me.’
Amanda kept pushing. ‘Always? For example, if your brother told you something in confidence, would you tell anyone?’
She seemed genuinely confused at the mention of Eugene. ‘Why would he tell me anything?’
‘It was just an example Katie.’
‘My brother is a waste of space. Even if he told me something, he’s so full of shit I wouldn’t believe him. And even if I did I wouldn’t tell a soul.’ She thrust her head out in defiance.
‘Even Pru?’
It was almost comical seeing the multiple emotions Katie had expressed since the beginning of the conversation, and now fear and uncertainty were added to the mix.
‘Don’t worry, we treat everything we learn as highly confidential. Her name won’t feature in any report.
‘I haven’t told my parents,’ she said in relief.
Amanda nodded briskly. ‘Excellent. We have your contact details. Our office will be in touch on Monday to sort out the paperwork. We appreciate your help Katie.’
They left the girl standing uncertainly outside the café and made their way back to the car.
‘Do you believe her?’ Oliver asked.
‘Yes I do.’
‘Who’s Pru?’
Murder in Paint (Hitchhiker Book 1) Page 12