by Estelle Ryan
“I d-don’t have the authority to m-make a d-deal with you. Not even the power to negotiate for you.”
“She does.” Tomas looked at me. “I asked my... friend to look into you. He told me that you work for the president of France. That means you have power. You can make a deal for me.”
I didn’t know how to answer. Our work for President Godard was not a secret, but it was not a well-known fact. I didn’t want to confirm what he’d learned. And I definitely couldn’t promise help.
“Why should we help you?” Colin put his hand on my knee, but was looking at Tomas. I exhaled heavily and realised I had been holding my breath. Colin squeezed my knee.
“I know things. Antonin liked to talk. He talked a lot. We’ve been working together for many years. In the last year or two, he’s been telling me a lot about the people he did deals with. I can tell you everything he told me. It will help get a lot of people arrested. The police should love that. Just please get me out of here.”
“Why such a great need to leave?” Colin’s question was quiet and kind.
“He’s going to get to me. I know it.” Tomas nibbled on his thumbnail, then pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment. “My friend told my lawyer about Doctor Jan Novotný. They don’t know this, but I know Shahab killed him. I know it. And then Shahab made Antonin crazy. My friend says Antonin is in a catatonic state in the hospital. I’m going to be next.”
“How d-do you know Shahab killed D-doctor Novotný?” Colin asked.
“Who else? I’ve heard many stories about Shahab Hatami.” He looked at me again. “Please say you’ll help me. Get me out of here. I’ll disappear. No one will find me.”
“I believe you m-made it easy for the police to catch you with the Sirani,” Colin said. “You evaded capture for years. Why let them catch you and now change your m-mind?”
“I made a mistake.” He shook his head. “I thought the police might catch Shahab quickly and I would be safe in prison.”
“Why did you want Shahab caught?”
“Ant knew.” Tomas swallowed as if his throat was dry. “He knew Shahab was losing his frigging mind. Ant called me last week and said Shahab had been to his gallery and threw stuff around. Ant had been doing business with Shahab for years, but had never seen this crazy side of him. Ant was beyond rattled. He was freaking out and told me I had to make a plan to stay so far below the radar that Shahab could never find me.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “That’s when I decided to phone the police with an anonymous tip about the Sirani.”
Colin lowered his head, his gaze conveying his disbelief. “That’s far too naïve for someone of your intelligence.”
“It was an irrational decision in a moment of great fear,” I said. My theory was immediately confirmed when Tomas jerked and nodded once.
“In all the years I’d known Ant with all the jobs, he’d never, ever been anything but cool and calm. When he phoned me that day, freaking out? It scared me. Really scared me. And now that Doctor Novotný’s dead?” He shuddered. “I have never been so scared in my life. Never.”
Colin narrowed his eyes. “How d-do I know we can trust you?”
“A show of good faith.” Tomas’ expression brightened. “I will tell you everything I know about Shahab—what I knew before and what I’ve learned since. You can follow up on it and if it proves helpful”—he looked at me—“you can negotiate a deal for me. Freedom for a lot of arrests.”
“We can’t promise anything,” Colin said. “Tell m-me you understand that.”
“I understand.” Tomas looked at Colin, some of his confidence returning. “I’ve built my reputation over years of success because I’ve always followed my instincts. I’m extremely good at reading people. And I know that she will do everything she can to help me.”
“Not m-me?” Colin’s lips twitched with a smile.
“No.” He swallowed. “I don’t want to lose the rapport we’ve built, but to be honest, I see something of myself in you. Something I don’t trust.”
Colin’s neutral expression didn’t deny or confirm Tomas’ astute observation. “Tell us what you know about Shahab.”
“Thank you.” Tomas collapsed against the back of his chair in relief. “Okay, you know that I stole Sirani’s Venus and Cupid from the Zeman family house, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if they have it back yet?”
“I d-don’t know. I can ask.”
“Don’t bother. Ant talked to me. When he gave me the job to steal the Sirani, he said that this was for one of his most important suppliers. But something was off with Ant that day. So I asked him what the problem was with that job.” Again he bit his thumbnail. “I should’ve backed out right then. But Ant begged me to get the painting. He said Shahab had been supplying him with art for years. Valuable pieces. And Shahab gave Ant more than double the usual commission.
“Ant didn’t want to work with Shahab and accept the double commission at first, but he’s always been weak when it came to money. He loves it. So he accepted it even though he knew he would have to pay the price for it one day. That day came when Shahab demanded Ant find someone to steal the Sirani.”
“Why that specific painting?”
“Because of who owns it.”
Colin’s eyebrows rose. “The Zemans? Shahab was after them? Whatever for?”
“Ant told me that he sold the Sirani to the Zemans ten years ago. They wanted the painting because Sirani painted it the year before she died. It shows her fine-tuned style, her accomplished technique.”
“The way she used a simple palette of white, red and golds to effectively m-make the scene come to life.” Colin’s pleasure as he talked about this work of art was genuine. “It’s no surprise that in her short life, she stood out in the Bolognese art world, not with her amazing talent and her fresh interpretations of old themes.”
“Exactly. It wasn’t just about owning the Venus and Cupid for the Zemans. It was about the value of the artist, who she was and what she accomplished.”
“Then why d-did Shahab want to take it away from them?” Colin tilted his head. “You had it all these years. Why d-didn’t you give it to Shahab?”
“He was using it to blackmail the Zemans. I don’t know what he wanted from them, but I wasn’t going to let Shahab use this masterpiece as a pawn.” He rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest. “I had a feeling that it would be nothing for Shahab to damage or even destroy the painting just to get what he wanted.”
“And you couldn’t let such an amazing piece of art and piece of history get lost.”
“Or get used in some sick person’s game.”
“Why d-disappear?”
Tomas swallowed. “He told Ant he’d take the painting the week after I’d stolen it. That was when Ant told me what he suspected would happen to the painting. I told Ant I would not stand for it and wouldn’t hand over the art. Ant was horrified. He told me Shahab would kill him.
“So I told him that he could tell Shahab I had absconded with the painting and that once Ant had realised I was gone, he made some enquiries and found out that it was not the first time I did something like that.”
“Is that true?” Colin asked.
“Of course not.” Tomas looked offended. “A man is only as good as his word.”
“I assume Shahab believed Antonin’s story?”
“I contacted Ant two months after the theft. He told me that Shahab was at first angry, but then he thought it was funny. As long as the painting was nowhere near the Zemans, he was happy. But he did tell Ant I was a dead man if he ever found me.”
Colin studied Tomas for a few seconds. “D-did you d-do any more jobs after that?”
“Three.” Tomas blinked. “But I think I shouldn’t say anything else now. Not until you organise a deal for me. And I should maybe phone my lawyer.”
Colin lowered his chin, his expression stern. “If we find out that there is even the smallest d-detail you d
-didn’t share about Shahab, I will personally make sure you get no deal.”
“I told you everything.” He looked up and to the left, recalling information. “Yes, I can’t remember anything else to do with Shahab.” His expression turned pleading. “Please help me.”
“Let’s first see what your information gives us.” Colin got up with a groan. “Until then, you m-might want to consult with your lawyer.”
Tomas swallowed and nodded.
I followed Colin out of the interview room. He’d just closed the door when the door of the technical room opened and Manny rushed out.
Colin immediately raised one hand, palm out. “Before you huff and puff, I didn’t make any promises.”
“Bugger off, Frey. I wasn’t going to huff and puff.” He turned to me. “I was going to ask Doctor Face-reader what she thought of all the blarney.”
“If by blarney you mean dishonesty, you are wrong.” I waited until Ivan and Daniel joined us in the hallway. “Tomas Broz’s fear is real and I detected no deception when he spoke to us.”
“Hmm.”
Colin looked at Ivan. “Would you be able to work out a deal with him and his lawyer?”
“The bosses already approved it.” Ivan nodded. “They’re very pleased with the good PR it will give the department if there are such high-profile arrests.”
I pointed at his face. “There is something about your bosses that is causing you great concern.”
“Not here.” Ivan nodded upwards, his eyes not making contact with the security cameras.
Manny was staring at Ivan. Usually, he would have a caustic remark, but now I observed empathy. He understood the intricacies of interdepartmental politics within law enforcement agencies. He’d even once admitted that the backstabbing and pettiness was the reason he would never go back to that line of work. And why he preferred working with a group of pseudo-criminals. That had elicited a loud and prolonged response.
Manny gave a curt nod. “Let’s visit the Zeman couple and find out why Shahab targeted them specifically.”
“They’re not answering their phones.” Ivan lifted the smartphone in his hand. “But I got a patrol car to drive past their house. They saw the security shutters open, so the Zemans are at home.”
Ivan’s concern about his superiors and the information that he’d been withholding from us was becoming of greater interest to me. And concern. As soon as we finished speaking to the Zeman couple, I was going to confront him. We needed to know what he knew.
The drive to the exclusive area just west of the Old Town took us twenty-three minutes due to heavy traffic this time of the morning. The street we were in was unlike the affluent area where Karel Maslák lived. These properties had higher walls, larger areas with sprawling lawns surrounding houses that could easily be defined as mansions.
We slowed down and followed Ivan into the driveway of a house that looked like a grand country manor. From the street most of its glory was hidden, but as we followed the driveway around the side of the house, my appreciation grew. The mature garden at the back of the house flowed into a public park, separated by a palisade fence. All the ground-floor windows were large, looking out over the garden and the old Brevnov Quarter in the distance. The mansion had two long wings to the sides and a round central section with glass doors leading to a beautiful patio.
We parked in the circular driveway. Daniel, Ivan and Manny got out, both Manny and Daniel holding up their hands towards us. Colin opened his window when Manny stepped closer to our vehicle.
“Something is off here.” Manny was looking at the patio door. “The gate is open and one patio door is ajar. We’re going to clear the house first, then you can come in.”
“Should I phone Vin?” Colin reached for his smartphone.
“Not yet.” Manny slapped lightly on the SUV’s roof. “Sit tight.”
Manny walked away, taking his handgun from its holster. Ivan and Daniel were flanking the patio door, weapons in their hands. Manny stopped behind Daniel and tapped his shoulder. Ivan pushed the door wider and they disappeared into the house.
I crossed my arms. “Phone Vinnie.”
“Yeah, I think so too. Millard can shout at me later.” Colin made a quick call while I stared at the front door until my eyes felt dry from not blinking.
I looked away for a second to regain control over the panic building in my mind. Colin ended the call and nodded at me. “Vin’s on his way.”
Just then Daniel appeared on the patio and waved us over. We walked up the wide wooden pathway leading to the patio and the elegant furniture carefully arranged to make most of the view. If all the French doors to the patio were to be open, it would create a feeling that the garden flowed into the house.
Daniel stepped away from the door and walked towards the impressive staircase by the front door. “Manny wants you upstairs.”
Cold dread entered my mind when I registered his expression. “They’re dead.”
Daniel nodded. “But it’s not Shahab’s usual MO. There’s no torture or blood.”
Colin and I walked past the dining room with a table that could easily seat twelve guests. To our right was the living area with large paintings on the walls, Persian rugs on the floor and exclusive furniture creating an entertainment area both warm and luxurious.
The stairs were on our right, sweeping to the top in a half-circle. The wall forming the right-hand side of the staircase was covered in art. Colin uttered a sound of surprise and stopped in front of a colourful portrait of an easily identifiable woman. “This is a Kahlo.” He looked at the painting next to it. “Huh. This is a Cassatt. And the next one is a Fontana.”
“What does that mean?” Manny asked from the top of the stairs.
Colin took a moment to look at all the paintings on the wall. “Wow. These are all masterpieces by female artists.” One by one he pointed them out. “Frida Kahlo was known for self-portraits. Mary Cassatt was an American who moved to France in her adulthood and became close friends with Edgar Degas. She was known for her works depicting the social and private lives of women and had exhibitions among the masters of impressionism.
“Lavinia Fontana was an Italian artist who died twenty-four years before Elisabetta Sirani was born. But they lived and painted in the same era and Fontana is said to be the first female artist to have painted female nudes and possibly used live nude female models. She had quite a lot in common with Sirani. Or Sirani with her, depending on how you look at it.”
“Hmph.” Manny shook his head. “You two better come and look at this.”
I didn’t want to. But my desire to stop Shahab killing more people was stronger than my revulsion at seeing more dead bodies. I followed the men up the stairs and down a wide hallway. The décor was elegant and no effort had been made to disguise the wealth displayed on every wall, in the furniture and ornaments. Colin’s eyebrows kept shooting up as he passed more artworks and sculptures.
“They’re in here.” Manny walked into the room at the end of the hallway. The open double doors revealed a king-size bed, antique nightstands, a Victorian-era chaise longue and paintings that made the walls look like a gallery exhibition. There was only one painting above the bed.
It was easy to identify Elisabetta Sirani’s Venus and Cupid.
A lavish and sophisticated Venus was looking into the room, her right hand pointing towards a cupid whose micro-expressions were hard for me to reconcile. They vacillated between playful mischief and deep concern. In the background two arrows were lodged in a tree, a quiver with more arrows resting on Cupid’s hip. The bright, warm colours brought the scene to life.
It was beautiful.
I kept staring at Cupid’s face, trying to understand which emotion Elisabetta Sirani had tried to convey. Looking anywhere else was going to draw my eyes to where Ivan, Daniel and Manny were looking at the floor. Colin took my hand, interlaced our fingers and tightened his grip. “Want to leave?”
“No.” I inhaled deeply and started ment
ally playing Mozart’s Violin Sonata No. 18 in G Major. After the first two lines of the Allegro con Spirito, I looked away from the painting and stepped deeper into the room.
On each side of the bedside tables were large windows with views of the landscaped garden. The window on the right looked badly damaged, cracks marring it and the wooden frame broken in places. Under the window were two bodies.
“This is Marta Zemanová and Radek Zeman.” Ivan was on his haunches, taking care not to touch anything, but trying to see as much as possible. “I’m no expert, but I’ve seen enough overdose victims to think that is not what killed them.”
The woman was a bit overweight, her features softened by the extra few kilograms. A scattering of freckles on her rounded cheeks provided evidence of time in the sun, wrinkles around her eyes evidence of laughter. But in death her eyes were stretched wide open, her gaze empty. The man had the same expression on his handsome face.
But what distressed me most was their position. Marta was lying in Radek’s arms, her head resting on his chest, her hand fallen to the side of his face as if she’d been touching his cheek. Radek’s left arm had fallen to his side, but his right arm was still around Marta, his eyes staring unseeing to the ceiling, tracks of tears dried on their faces.
Daniel walked around to Marta, leaned over and studied her face. “I don’t see any of that foamy stuff around their mouths. That is what is usual with opioid deaths. The petechiae around their eyes and their blue fingernails show a lack of oxygen, but that can also be due to opioids.”
“That’s what I’m thinking too, but we will have to wait for the ME to give us a real cause of death.” Ivan got up and looked around. “How did they suffocate to death?”
“And why does it look like they tried to break out?” Colin pointed at the damaged window.
“What the bleeding hell happened here?” Manny stepped away from the bodies and looked around the room. He took his smartphone from his trouser pocket and swiped the screen. Ringing sounded through the phone.
“Hey, sexy.” Francine sounded distracted.
“You’re on speaker, woman.” Manny stared hard at his phone. “We found the Zemans.” His tone softened. “They’re dead. What did you find out about them?”