by Estelle Ryan
Ivan looked at me. “If you don’t mind me asking, why would you rather have Colin speak to him?”
“Look at Tomas Broz’s nonverbal communication.” I turned to the monitors. “It’s clear.”
“Um, not really.” Ivan smiled. “Indulge me?”
I took a moment to think how to explain in layman’s terms. Being with the team had given me practice. “See the position of his head, his tall posture even though he’s sitting down? He’s making a point to convey his confidence. His raised top lip and the way he’s raised his chin and is looking down at his surroundings shows his disdain for being here. Displaying his linguistic skills was most likely to amuse himself, but also to intimidate. He will need someone who can meet him on his level.”
“Colin.” Ivan nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Just don’t let this get to your fat head.” Manny pushed his hands in his trouser pockets when Colin smiled at him. “Go in there and do your bloody job.”
“Your trust in me is touching, Millard.” Colin pretended to wipe a tear from his cheek. “Touching.”
“Get lost, Frey.”
I ignored them and turned back to study the monitors. When I’d seen enough, I looked up to find Colin standing at the door, waiting for me. I blinked a few times and walked to him.
“Doc.” Manny waited until I stopped and looked at him. “I want to know who he worked for. Who he was going to sell the painting to. If he was going to sell that painting. Why the bleeding hell he had it on his own wall. And if he has any connection to Shahab.”
I nodded and joined Colin. Fifteen seconds later we entered the interview room.
Tomas Broz sighed when he saw us. “More of you? Really?”
“M-mister Broz, m-my name is John D-dryden.” Colin’s stutter and strong Irish accent took me aback. I wished he’d warned me. I always hated when he took on the name of a seventeenth-century British poet as an alias. It was distracting.
But it caught Tomas’ attention. His eyes widened as recognition set in. “The John Dryden? As in the hermit art critic feared by many?”
“Indeed.” Colin walked to the chairs opposite Tomas, his gait different as if he had problems with his left knee. He lowered himself slowly onto the chair, his movements ageing him at least ten years. His slightly rounded shoulders and the now-constant grimace on his face completed the ageing.
Tomas straightened in his seat, his eyes not moving from Colin. I sat in the other seat across from Tomas, content with not being noticed. That gave me more freedom to observe and learn.
“It truly is a great honour to meet you, sir.” He took a deep breath, a clear attempt to gather himself. Then he tilted his head. “Aren’t you on a self-imposed lockdown in Sweden?”
“I was.” Colin’s reluctance to answer conveyed both his annoyance at being forced out of his pretend lockdown as well as his unwillingness to engage in personal revelations.
Tomas leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. “Hmm. So it begs the question how the authorities managed to get you here.”
Colin waved his one hand weakly. “D-doesn’t m-matter. What m-matters is that you were caught.”
It was fleeting, but I saw it. People only jutted their tongues—sticking out their tongues, usually slightly clutched between the teeth—when they were caught in a faux pas or felt like they were getting away with something. Interesting.
Tomas sighed deeply, his discontent almost convincing. “I forgot the cardinal rule.”
“D-don’t become comfortable.”
His smile was genuine. “You understand.”
“No, I d-don’t.” Colin’s depressor anguli oris muscles turned the corners of his mouth down. “You’ve been in this business for nineteen years. Oh, come on. D-don’t look surprised. I know all about you, son.”
“No one knows anything about me.”
Colin raised one eyebrow and lifted a shaking hand to count on his fingers. “Born into an extremely wealthy family, you were a spoiled brat who had everything he wanted. Yet you couldn’t keep your hands off other people’s valuables. The first item you stole was a tennis bracelet worth around thirty-seven thousand euros.”
Tomas’ eyes widened fractionally, his lips parting for a second before he controlled his features.
Colin continued. “The embarrassing detail in that bit of history is that you took it from your girlfriend’s m-mother. And you were only fourteen. Nineteen years later, your name has been associated with numerous high-end jewellery and art heists and you’ve only been caught once. Two days ago. Why?”
Tomas sat quietly for a long time. His expression went from controlled to panicked to calculating and back to panicked. “How do you know this about me?”
“Not important.” Colin leaned forward, wincing as if in pain. “Who commissioned the theft of the Elisabetta Sirani?”
“I took it for myself.”
Colin uttered a derisive sound. “Hmm. I d-don’t know if I believe you. Not if I take into account your reputation for m-moving stolen m-masterpieces as fast as possible. M-mind you, if I had that Sirani, I would also want to look at it every day. The d-dynamic and colourful composition, that painting is both intimate and full of playful joy. How can you not look at that and marvel?”
“And be reminded of the high cost of that acquisition.” Tomas’ words came out as an anguished whisper, the fear evident in his thin lips and his brows raised and drawn together.
“The high cost?” Colin stared at Tomas for a few seconds. “Let me guess. You d-didn’t know who commissioned the theft of the painting. Not until you already had it. Then you realised how d-deep you were in and d-decided to d-disappear off the planet.”
I bumped Colin’s leg with my knee. Tomas’ reaction had confirmed everything Colin had said. Colin nodded. “Who’s your d-dealer?”
Tomas’ internal debate took mere seconds before he exhaled, relief stamped on his face. “I’ve been working with Ant for years. Many years. Hell, if I have to be accurate, it started... yes, I did my first job for him the year before I went to university. I was still in school.
“He proved to be incredibly reliable. His commissions were carefully selected. Not only did he exclusively do business with people who would not betray him, he also chose works that would never be traced back to him, his clients or me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the best in his field.”
I saw the recognition on Colin’s face and wasn’t surprised. He knew anyone of worth in the art industry. Whether artists, legitimate dealers or thieves and their fences, Colin knew them. I didn’t.
“D-did he know who he was d-doing business with when he agreed to the acquisition of the Sirani?”
Tomas huffed a humourless laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know. But he was the one who hinted at who was to receive the painting. I did more homework and when I confronted him, he said nothing. That has always been his ‘yes’ when he didn’t want to commit to a verbal answer.”
I narrowed my eyes. He was not being completely deceptive, but also not completely truthful.
“Who was the client?”
Tomas’ inhale was sharp, his fear real. “No. Just no. Look, I love being able to talk to a living legend like you and would tell you everything I know, but not that. No. That... No. And tell them”—he pointed at the door—“that I’m done talking. They can send in Van Gogh for all I care. No number of sexy female detectives will get me to talk.”
“Sexy female d-detectives?” Colin’s smile was conspiratorial. “I’m sure you wouldn’t m-mind speaking to another one, right? Even if you d-don’t tell her anything.”
Tomas’ facial muscles relaxed slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah, man. That last woman they sent in here was much hotter than the first one. Cute little thing.”
I narrowed my eyes. Ivan had told us only one female detective had been in here. I wondered if my suspicion was correct. “Are you talking about the detective with the bandana and leopard-print scarf? The one with the beige ca
rdigan?”
Tomas looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. He crossed his arms. “Yes, that’s the one. She tried really hard and I almost told her what I told you. I mean, it was hard to resist those pretty blue eyes and sexy voice.” Tomas looked back at Colin. “But she didn’t have my respect. So I only gave her some tourist tips. This is a beautiful city to sightsee.”
“Hmm.” Colin looked at Tomas for a few seconds then pushed himself up with a pained groan. “We won’t take up any m-more of your time, M-mister Broz. I d-do wish you luck. You’re going to need it if you’re going to get through this legal m-mess you landed yourself in.”
Chapter SIX
MANNY WAS WAITING FOR us in the hallway. His fists were resting on his hips, his lips a thin line. He glared at me while waiting until Colin closed the interview room door behind him. “Care to tell us who the hell this detective is, missy?”
“Detective Maxová is blond and never wears bandanas or leopard print.” Ivan stood next to Daniel, his frown pulling his eyebrows low over his eyes.
“I don’t know who she is.”
“Oh, you better give me more than that, Doc.”
I sighed. “I saw her while you were registering us. She came out of the restricted area and left the building.”
“But you noticed her.” Colin leaned against the wall. “Was she the reason you zoned out?”
“I thought I saw something.”
“How many times must I tell you that you must say something when you see something, Doc?” Manny’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he took a few deep breaths. “Bloody hell. Who else is involved in this mess?”
Colin looked at Ivan. “She must be on your security footage.”
Ivan nodded and turned back to the observation room. “I’ll also download the footage of the other interviews with Broz for you.”
We followed Ivan into the room. Manny mumbled his displeasure under his breath. “Frey, I assume you know who this bloody Ant is. By the gods, if you don’t know and you didn’t ask for his full—”
“Take a breath, Millard. Antonin Korn is a well-respected art dealer here in Prague.”
My eyebrows rose. I’d investigated eleven of Antonin Korn’s clients when I had been working for Phillip’s insurance company. He’d sent them to Rousseau & Rousseau to insure their newly acquired artworks. Phillip had insisted on a thorough investigation into the clients as well as the art before he’d agreed to as little as a first appointment. I had never asked Phillip why Antonin Korn’s clients had required this extra scrutiny.
“Well-respected my arse.” Manny’s buccinator muscles pulled his lips into a sneer. “No one is well-respected if he’s a criminal.”
“He’s not a convicted criminal,” Colin said. “There have been rumours for decades and he’s been investigated a few times, but no one could ever find anything on him.”
“Um, guys?” Ivan scratched his head, leaning back in the chair facing the computer console. “We have a problem.”
“What now?” Manny walked closer to the computers.
“It seems like all the footage of Broz’s interviews has been wiped.”
“How the holy blazes did that happen?”
“I’ll get our IT people on it.” Ivan’s jaw tightened. “If it’s truly gone, it means that somebody has been in our system.”
He took out his smartphone and spoke in rapid Czech to someone. For a moment he paused and held up a finger towards us. Then his eyes narrowed, his forehead creased and he leaned back. He listened quietly for eight seconds then ended the call. “Fuck.”
“That definitely doesn’t sound good.” Daniel looked pointedly at Ivan’s phone.
“It isn’t.” Ivan shook his head. “IT says they can’t see any unauthorised access to the system, but they can see that files have been deleted. Not only deleted, the person also overwrote those files. We’ve lost everything related to Tomas Broz. Even your interview.”
Manny’s shoulders slumped. “Are your people good? We’ve got people who might be able to get the footage back. I’ve been told that nothing is truly deleted.”
“We have brilliant IT specialists here. I know that if something is deleted, there is still a chance of recovering it. But if someone overwrites the file numerous times, then deletes it?” Ivan shook his head. “No, I doubt they’ll be able to recover it. I also asked about footage of the reception area when I was signing you guys in, but that has also been deleted.”
“We need to find out who the bleeding hell that woman is, what she was doing here and what her connection is to Shahab.” Manny turned towards the door. “And we need to visit this well-respected art dealer.”
“Give me a minute.” Ivan turned back to the computers. “I’ll get my team to start on this woman’s ID and get clearance for visiting Antonin Korn. I’ll meet you by the cars.”
Manny responded with a curt nod and marched down the hallway. Ten minutes later we were driving through Prague. The architecture in this city was spellbinding enough to give me a reprieve from the overload of information bombarding my mind.
Prague was one of the few European capital cities that had not been rebuilt during the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. All the different eras were represented in the majestic buildings. It was not the Gothic, Renaissance or Baroque eras that enchanted me. It was the magnificent buildings hailing from the Romanesque era that drew my eye each time we passed one. The thick walls, large towers, round arches and symmetrical designs appealed to my autistic mind.
Colin had given Vinnie and Francine an update on our findings. Manny sat quietly in the back, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. His scowl contrasted his relaxed posture. Francine was working on her laptop, Colin and Vinnie talking about the luxury cars on the road with us.
This time of the day, traffic allowed us to reach the gallery without delay. It was on the outskirts of the Old Town, the paved street lined with large Classicist buildings that made the street feel even narrower than it was. The cream buildings were in stark contrast to the clear blue sky. This city was truly beautiful.
The gallery sat between a boutique with tall mannequins wearing evening gowns in the shop window and a cigar salon. The window display of the art gallery was an elegant reproduction of a library, three paintings hanging on the walls between bookshelves and two sculptures on the antique side table next to a leather wingback chair. It looked exclusive. Unlike the neighbouring shops, there were no lights on inside the gallery. A large sign hung above the door, ‘Korn’s Art’ engraved in decorative letters.
Colin parked his SUV next to a police vehicle that looked like it could belong to URNA—Czech’s SWAT teams. We got out just as Ivan parked next to us. He also got out and nodded towards the URNA vehicle. “They were fast.”
Vinnie was studying the five men dressed in dark gray camouflage uniforms, their bulletproof vests similar to the ones I’d seen from Daniel’s team—laden with tools, weapons and pockets. “Why did you get an URNA team out here?”
“Precaution.” Ivan touched his neck, then smiled. I didn’t pay attention to his genuine smile. It was his first, unchecked nonverbal reaction that had caught my attention. He took a step towards the men next to the URNA vehicle. “Let me introduce you to my previous team.”
I barely paid attention to the introductions. Instead I watched Ivan. That slight gesture had brought back to my mind his quickly controlled hesitation at Jan Novotný’s crime scene, his earlier reaction in our hotel room as well as his telling micro-expressions in the police station. What was he hiding?
The URNA team came out of the gallery while I mentally recalled every non-verbal cue that had caught my attention from Ivan. I hadn’t even seen the team enter the gallery.
“All clear.” The leader looked disappointed as he shrugged and looked at Manny, then at Ivan. “Nothing here for us to do.”
Manny was glaring at the gallery door. “What do you mean it’s all clear? There’s no one inside?”
&
nbsp; “Nobody,” the URNA leader answered. “The door is unlocked, but none of the computers are turned on, no lights are on.”
“Huh.” Manny pushed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Well, let’s go inside then.”
Ivan went in first and located the light switches. When the strategic lighting came on, the gallery transformed from a dark space to a beautiful display of artwork. Unlike many other galleries I’d been to, this one was divided into five sections—each designed to look like a room in a house. The living room section had a large fireplace, a landscape painting in a heavy frame above the mantelpiece.
Colin’s eyes widened in pleasure and he walked to the bedroom section. Above the bed were sketches of nude women. He shook his head in awe. “These are Henri Matisse drawings.”
“I don’t care.” Manny walked towards the back of the gallery. “Where’s the office?”
“In here.” Ivan pointed to the door that looked like it led to a garden from the dining room section.
I left Colin to admire the art and followed Manny and Francine into the back room. It was a well-organised space, for which I was grateful. I never understood how people could function, not to mention be productive, in a chaotic and cluttered environment.
Antonin Korn had lined his office walls with dark wooden filing cabinets and cupboards. Ivan had opened the filing cabinet behind the desk, Daniel was looking through a cupboard next to it and Manny was going through the desk drawers.
Francine stood with her hands on her hips. “Where are the computers?”
“Looks like this guy did everything old-school style.” Daniel stood to the side and pointed at the open cupboard. Rows upon rows of ring binders, labels on the back of each one, the large print stating the date and content.
“No way.” Francine’s jaw was slack. “That’s just... barbaric. How am I supposed to work?”
Ivan chuckled. “Like people did for thousands of years before computers.”
“There was no life before computers.” She huffed and looked at Manny. “My system is running background on Jan Novotný, but I can help it along when I’m focused on it. Do you want me to do that or let my system run and see what dirt I can dig up on Antonin online?”