The Sirani Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  “Why would you do that?” Shouldn’t she be loving and caring?

  “Because the son of a bitch scared the living trees out of me.”

  I leaned away from her. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “None of this does.”

  I stared at her. Despite her immaculate make-up, she looked exhausted. This unusual and extremely stressful situation was likely the reason for her greater than usual melodrama. “What did the doctor say? Exactly.”

  “Exactly?” She leaned back in her chair and looked up and left. “Manny’s headache should ease by tomorrow, but she doesn’t know about his nausea. He doesn’t want to take any medication for it, so we’ll just have to keep an eye on him. She’s happy with his ECG results, but also said we should keep an eye on his blood pressure and heart rate.”

  “I’ll do that,” Roxy said from the door.

  “Rox!” Vinnie jumped up and walked to the door, his arms wide open.

  Roxy’s face relaxed into an affectionate smile as she walked into his arms and hugged him back. “Man, what an afternoon this was.”

  “Did you enjoy the ride?” Francine’s smile disappeared the moment she noticed Roxy’s shoes. “My God. You could at least have made the time to wear some shoes worthy of the occasion.”

  “What ride and what occasion?” This was another reason I hated shutdowns. It meant that I missed out on a lot of action and felt like I was in a constant state of catching up.

  “Vin asked and Émile sent Rox over in his private plane.” Francine sniffed. “An elegant private plane where one should wear elegant footwear. Not those horrid sneakers with all the beads and ribbons.”

  Émile Roche was a wealthy businessman we’d befriended after a case in which he’d been involved. At that time he’d had a reputation for questionable business deals, but had since worked hard to ensure that all his business was conducted in a legal and transparent manner.

  “They’re so comfy though.” Roxy lifted her foot and twisted it from side to side. “I think they’re pretty.”

  “Pretty horrid.” Francine turned away from Roxy. “As I was saying—Manny is coming home with us tonight. The doctor wanted to keep him overnight for observation, but I convinced her that Rox and her bad shoes will look after him.”

  “I knew you loved me.” Roxy walked to the table and sat down next to me. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m well.”

  She leaned in and studied me. At first I had found it both interesting and disconcerting to have a medical professional try to be covert while checking my heart rate and breathing. After I’d confronted her about it, she’d stopped being subtle. She stared at my neck for twenty seconds, then sat back and smiled. “Your heart rate is normal and your breathing strong.”

  “So when will the old man be discharged?” Vinnie handed out the coffee and sat down next to Roxy.

  “In about two hours. The doctor wants to take a last blood sample before we go, but wants to wait three hours after the last one. So we’re stuck here for a while longer.”

  “And Manny could do with the extra sleep,” Roxy said. “That really is the best way for the body to recover from any boo-boo.”

  “Boo-boo.” Vinnie laughed when Roxy punched his arm. “What? It’s funny. And you’re the one who said it.”

  “Well, I meant it lovingly.” She tapped his nose with her fingertip. “Not in the evil way you took it.”

  I looked at Francine’s devices. “Did you uncover any new and useful information?”

  “A bit.”

  “We come bearing gifts.” Ivan and Daniel walked into the conference room. Ivan was carrying a tray with two large serving dishes. He put it on the table. “My wife made a vegetarian quiche and one with chicken.”

  Daniel put a bag with paper plates and juice on the table, then looked at me. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I was grateful for the size of the room we were in. Usually panic would start scratching at my brain with this many people in one space. But this room could easily accommodate all eighteen chairs filled as well as another ten people standing without making it crowded. I stared at the white serving dish as Ivan took the covering off.

  “I can vouch for Ivan’s kitchen and for his wife’s cooking.” Daniel knew that I seldom ate food prepared in kitchens and by people I didn’t know. “I would recommend it above any restaurant in the area.”

  “Me too.” Ivan’s sigh was happy. “It’s my wife’s fault I have to go to the gym so often and for such intense sessions. She loves cooking and I love eating. We’re a terrible match.”

  “That’s a perfect match in my mind.” Roxy waved at Ivan. “I’m Roxy.”

  “Doctor Roxanne Ferreira.” Ivan nodded. “Daniel told me you would be joining us.”

  Had it not been for Colin taking my hand and tolerating my increased grip, I would’ve expressed my annoyance at this neurotypical need for socialising. Clenching my teeth, I waited for everyone to fill their plates before I turned to Francine again. “What did you find?”

  “Ooh, yes.” She put a large portion of the vegetarian quiche in her mouth and hummed her approval. “This is really good.”

  “Told you so.” Ivan’s chest widened in pride.

  “Okay.” Francine tapped on her tablet screen. “First thing: I couldn’t locate the exact address from which the email was sent to Phillip.”

  “Good evening, everyone.” Phillip walked into the conference room, putting his phone in the inside pocket of his bespoke suit jacket. He looked at me and smiled. “Genevieve.”

  “Francine is telling us her findings.” I wanted us to stay on track.

  “Please continue.” Phillip sat down and accepted a paper plate from Daniel with a smile and put a slice of the chicken quiche on his plate.

  “I tracked the email to Düsseldorf, but wasn’t able to get an exact IP address.” Francine’s lips thinned. “Annoying. But that gave me an idea. I looked for private investigators working in and round Düsseldorf, but didn’t find anyone who fits the description of the woman you saw at the police station and the gallery.”

  “Tell her about Jan.” Vinnie turned to Ivan as he put another helping of quiche on his plate. “Dude, seriously. Your wife can cook.”

  “I’ll tell her.” Ivan nodded at Francine. “Did you get much more on Jan Novotný?”

  She looked at me. “Ivan sent me everything they had on ol’ Jan. It didn’t really give me anything I didn’t find myself. I put everything in a file and sent it to you. In my ever-so-humble opinion, the only information that is really relevant and helpful at the moment is that Doctor Jan was very close to developing a cure for opioid addiction.”

  “That is very relevant.” I thought about this some more. “We need to know if there is a connection between Doctor Novotný’s research and the fentanyl found in the gallery that caused Manny’s overdose.”

  “Fentanyl is a son of gun.” The corners of Roxy’s mouth turned down. “It is the most widely used synthetic opioid and does what it’s supposed to in terms of pain relief, but man, it comes from the blackest heart of evil. It’s fifty to a hundred times more potent than morphine and the fentanyl analogues can be much stronger than that.”

  “What’s a fentanyl analogue?” Francine asked.

  “Drug analogues are developed to imitate a specific drug, but are not exactly the same. In the case of fentanyl, the effects are usually a hundred times stronger. Or when we’re talking about carfentanyl, it’s ten thousand times more potent than morphine.”

  “Shit.” Ivan shook his head. “I’ve done my fair share of courses on drugs and their effects, but it still shocks me. It... man, it’s a weapon.”

  “It is.” Roxy put her hands on her hips. “And far too many people are killed by it every single year. America is suffering an epidemic at the moment. An estimated seventy thousand people die as a result of opioid overdoses in a year. In the whole of Europe, we’re talking about fewer than ten thousand people in the same period. Globall
y, just under two hundred thousand people.

  “Reasons for addiction are diverse, but once that beast has a hold on you, it’s a ghastly battle to get out. And we have to keep in mind that this addiction is not limited to a lower income class. It’s across the board and the wider effect it has on families and communities is devastating.”

  Colin straightened in his chair. “At this point, I think we all agree that the fentanyl on that briefcase was meant to kill Ant. The million-dollar question now is what the odds are of Shahab’s victim—Doctor Jan—working on a cure for something that was supposed to kill another man—Ant—who we suspect sells the Near Eastern antiquities Shahab supplies. And of course Ant’s connection to Tomas Broz and the stolen Sirani.”

  Even though Colin’s theory was viable, I wanted something more concrete than speculation. I looked at Francine. “Did you find anything else?”

  “I’ve been going through Doctor Jan’s emails. Wow, did he like to send chatty emails.” She paused dramatically. “But here’s a question for you. He was about to publish his work on the cure for opioid addiction with the focus on fentanyl. It is something that would render fentanyl harmless altogether and would make the person taking this drug immune to its effects. My question is this: Why would Doctor Jan—out of the blue—take a sabbatical?”

  “Strange indeed.” Daniel looked at me. “You’re more familiar with academia. Does this make sense? Have you seen something like this?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I recall. But there is incredible pressure on people to publish. Depending on personality traits, some people thrive under this pressure and others can’t handle it. This causes irrational behaviour which could explain a seemingly senseless sabbatical.”

  “Has he taken sabbaticals before?” Daniel asked.

  “No.” Francine tapped her tablet screen. “There are quite a few testimonials from former students and colleagues in articles about Doctor Jan’s work. It looks like everyone feels like he’s making them look bad because he works so much and loves his work more than anyone they know. A few of them even said that he never takes breaks.”

  “Well, if this is out of character for him, it definitely becomes more suspicious.” I needed to know more about Jan Novotný’s personality. I took a moment to go through everything I’d learned. “Tell me more about the type of emails he sent.”

  “Like I said, he was quite the chatter. He was in constant contact with his team and even former students. He also emailed a lot with someone I think might be family—a nephew maybe.”

  Ivan leaned back in his chair, his hands fisted. “Patrik Bakala?”

  “Who’s that?” Colin’s harsh tone made Ivan lean back even more.

  “The first victim we found.” Ivan raised both hands, palms out. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you the full details earlier. There’s a lot going on.”

  I stared at him. It was time to confront him. “What are you hiding?”

  “Dude!” Vinnie threw his knife and fork on his plate, got up and glared down at Ivan. “Was the old man right to distrust you?”

  “Vin.” Daniel waited until Vinnie looked at him. “Let’s talk, not threaten.”

  Vinnie crossed his arms, but didn’t sit down or say anything else. Instead he returned his hostile gaze to Ivan.

  “Tell us what you know.” I watched his reaction to my request closely. I wanted to take note of every half-truth, omission or deception.

  Ivan looked at me. “I can’t tell you everything.”

  “Truth.” Not only did I notice his regret, I also saw his frustration. “Tell us everything you can.”

  His smile held relief. “Then I’ll tell you what I know about Patrik Bakala. We found him in Divoká Šárka three days ago—Divoká Šárka is a park about thirty minutes northwest of the city centre. He was left under a bush just like Novotný.”

  “And Shahab’s other victims.” I studied his expression. “You made the connection then.”

  His lips thinned. “I had a hunch, so I checked Interpol for similar crime scenes.”

  “Not this morning like you said earlier.” Daniel looked disappointed.

  “And you found our notes from last year.” Francine tapped her lips. “Is that why you wanted us here? Not for the art theft?”

  The expression on Ivan’s face was my answer. He sighed. “I got lucky. I was looking for a way to convince my bosses to call you in, but I didn’t have to. Tomas Broz got himself arrested and that was the way I could get you here.”

  “What?” Daniel thought for a moment, then nodded his head. “You were stonewalled when you pursued the Shahab connection.”

  “Yes. I still don’t know why the brass insists that we stay away from that line of inquiry.” He touched his neck in an unmistakable cue of deception. “The moment I told them I thought Shahab might’ve killed Patrik, they reacted strongly. Which only made me more convinced of my theory. The last twenty-four hours have proven that my gut was right.” His lips thinned even more, then he looked at Daniel. “They’ve been pressing hard for me to steer you away from Shahab.”

  “Well, if that doesn’t get my Spidey senses all a-tingling, then nothing will.” Francine’s fingers hovered above her laptop’s keyboard. “Should I hack your police system and see what they’re hiding?”

  “Oh, God, no.” Ivan waved his hands, then lowered his hands and pressed them hard against his thighs. “Let’s rather talk about Patrik’s crime scene.”

  “Yes, let’s.” Colin’s nod at Francine was subtle, her responding smile just as fleeting. I sighed. These people had a fluid concept of abiding by the law.

  Ivan narrowed his eyes at Francine as she typed on her laptop, then looked away. “I was not on call when they found Patrik. If it hadn’t been for his severe injuries, I would not have been called to the scene. His fingers had been broken as well as all but two of his ribs. The autopsy revealed that his spleen and liver had ruptured. He had been brutally beaten.”

  “What do you know about his life?” I asked.

  “Well, he was twenty-three when he died. He was doing a postgraduate course in micro-biology and lived a quiet life. He had a driving license and a small car, never got as much as a parking ticket.”

  “Did you know about his relationship with Doctor Novotný?” I asked.

  “Not until Francine told us about the emails a few seconds ago.” Again his orbicularis oris muscles contracted his lips into a thin line. “We were only able to ID him the evening before you came. The evening before his uncle’s death. But we still don’t have an address for him. Yesterday, I requested access to his social media and other online accounts, but was denied. I was told that it was not relevant to his murder.”

  “Okay, stop.” Francine rolled her eyes. “Come on. Did your bosses really think that would make a good detective ignore evidence that is always relevant? Especially if we’re talking about a young person. They live on the internet.”

  “Clearly they hoped it would.”

  “Then they’re stupid. Pah. If you were chosen to run such an elite team, they should know you would pu... hey! Maybe they were hoping you would ignore them.”

  It was fast, but I’d noticed Ivan’s reaction.

  “I didn’t ignore them. Not technically.” He glanced at Daniel. “I grabbed the first opportunity I could to call in reinforcements.”

  “Tomas Broz and his painting.” Vinnie sat down. “You’re just lucky that they are connected.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t see that one coming.”

  “Do you know why they don’t want you to look deeper into Shahab as a suspect?” I asked.

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Typical gesture when someone wanted to hide their words. Then he raised his head. “I have some idea, but please don’t press me to go into that. I will share it the moment I know it will help us. For now... just please don’t ask me about it.”

  “Good evening, everyone.” A woman in her mid-fifties walked into the conference room. Her unbuttoned white co
at was without stain or wrinkle, but her short hair looked like she’d pushed her hands through it countless times. Her pastel-green blouse was rumpled and only tucked in on one side. She looked tired. “I’m Doctor Filipová. Mister Millard asked me to update you.”

  “He’s awake?” Francine jumped up and walked to the door.

  The doctor put her hand out to stop Francine. “He’s awake and getting dressed. He’s also very difficult and insisted that we leave him alone and update you so he wouldn’t have to do it.”

  “Sounds like the old man is almost back to his old happy self.” Vinnie smirked. “What’s the prognosis, Doctor? Will he become a happy and laid-back man, filled with the joys of life?”

  The doctor smiled. “I doubt that. But he will make a full recovery.”

  Roxy got up and walked to the older woman. “I’m Doctor Roxanne Ferreira. What did you find in his blood?”

  “Enough fentanyl to have ended his life and another three people the size of him.” She looked at Vinnie, then took in everyone sitting around the table. “If you hadn’t acted as fast as you did and brought him here, he wouldn’t be complaining about everything at the moment.”

  “Aftercare?” Roxy asked.

  “Rest and monitor his heart, but I’m confident he won’t feel any aftereffects within another day or two.” The doctor pushed her hand through her hair. “If I leave now, I might make it in time for a late dinner with my husband. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Francine pulled the doctor into a tight embrace, then stepped back and wiped her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She turned to the door. “Now pack yourselves up and save my poor nurses from that man.”

  “It’s I who needs saving.” Manny was standing in the door, his hands in his trouser pockets. His pallor was alarming, but his smile genuine when Francine squealed and threw her arms around him. “Stop the fussing, woman. I’m fine.”

  The doctor looked at Roxy. “You can deal with him now. He’s not fine yet and needs to rest, but I’m going home.”

  She waited for Manny to enter the room before she left. Manny allowed Francine to drag him to the table. He looked at everyone and nodded in response to the greetings and teasing. His glance landed on me. “Doc?”