The Montague Portrait

by Matt Drabble

  He sat back and wondered about the painting. The idea of some cursed portrait that possessed men with the spirit of Hugo Montague and then murdered their wives seemed implausible to say the least. But there were men willing to kill for it – rich and powerful men whose achievements spoke volumes as to their intelligence. Vargas may be a lot of things, but Travis would bet that stupid was not among them.

  Normally he would have tracked down any missing artefact with minimal effort. Real life was seldom as interesting as the pages of fiction. If there was an arson fire then he would find the culprit with petrol smelling hands clutching his insurance money. This case had dragged him halfway around Europe and left a trail of death and attempted murder in its wake and only added to his doubt.

  Could this painting really be the supernatural object of so many suitors’ desire? What if the stories were true?

  Did he really even want to find the damn thing?

  The money Vargas paid him upfront was only enough to clear the mortgage on the gallery. But what then? Financially, he had no resources with which to run it on a day to day basis, and he had no practical experience of how to run an art gallery. He was at a crossroads and had no chance of picking the right road forward.

  ----------

  He glanced at Charlotte again. Whatever feelings he had towards her that had been stirred up by their brushes with danger, were confusing and unhelpful. He knew enough about her to realise that she was going to keep ploughing forward regardless of whether he kept helping or not. He also knew that it would get her killed, maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but she was going to whip it out against the wrong guy and he was going to shove it up her ass.

  He wasn’t sure that he could take another death on his conscience. She wasn’t his to protect, and nine times out of ten she didn’t need protection anyway. But there was always that tenth time. That time when she needed a cooler head and a smarter plan than plunging in head first.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked him.

  She was holding one hand up to her face, shielding her eyes from the sun and he felt again the strong tug in his heart. If he thought he actually had a choice in the matter, then he was fooling himself. ‘I was thinking,’ he said, considering the few options available to them, ‘that we need a plan.’

  ‘What would you normally do?’ she asked.

  ‘Normally at this point, I would have called Chris,’ he said sadly. ‘But that’s not an option anymore.’ He stood up and began to pace, eager to regain some sort of control. He locked his feelings of guilt away behind a solid brick wall as they were of no use to him now. ‘What we know is that Vargas wants the painting for himself and that you want to destroy it. We know that Lochay has been desperately trying to stop Vargas by any means necessary. And that man seems every bit as committed as Vargas is.’

  ‘That’s the one thing I don’t get in all of this,’ Charlotte said thoughtfully.

  ‘The one thing?’ Travis raised his eyebrows and laughed out loud.

  Charlotte fixed him with a harsh stare. ‘Vargas is a man of power and the portrait is certainly powerful, so I can see his attraction to it,’ she continued. ‘But why is Lochay so desperate to stop us finding the painting? I mean, if he’s capable of sending people to kill us in order to stop us, then he must be a worthy adversary of Vargas.’

  ‘Two sides of the same coin then?’ Travis replied thoughtfully. ‘Opposing forces?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘But whatever their designs for the painting, the only thing we can be sure of is that we need to find it first. I don’t quite know what I believe in yet –’ Travis held up a hand to quieten Charlotte’s protests – ‘but I accept that the portrait is the key to us getting out of this alive.’

  ‘What are you talking about? We’re doing fine so far,’ Charlotte said indignantly.

  ‘No, we’ve been riding a wave of good fortune that’s bound to fail anytime soon. And when it does we’re going to end up like Chris,’ Travis said. ‘We’ve been chasing our tails while Vargas watches us dance. We need to get out ahead of his grasp. We need details, and research is the way to get them.’

  ‘So let’s go and get them,’ Charlotte said, marching away.

  Travis stood still and watched her stomp away firmly. She got about twenty yards from him before she stopped, turned and marched back.

  ‘Okay, so where are we going?’ she asked sheepishly.

  ----------

  The Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze was a public national library in Florence. According to the information Travis snagged from the Tourist Information Centre it was the largest in Italy and one of most important in Europe. If Hugo Montague had been as influential in rebuilding Florence after the war as Carmine Umberto had told them, then he was sure to have a mention in their archives.

  The building itself was beautiful and grand. Sandstone coloured columns and stained glass windows gave off an air of a cathedral rather than a library. The atrium was wide and open, and as they passed through the doors Travis could feel the weight of history bearing down on them.

  He checked his watch and saw that they had little time before it closed. It had been an eventful and troubling day and he hoped to end it on a better note than losing his friend. Vargas had told him that Lochay killed Chris, but at this point he didn’t believe anyone completely, not even Charlotte. All he knew was that the painting was the object of many people’s desire; and whoever held it, held the power.

  The library was a treasure-trove of knowledge and information. It didn’t take long for him to locate the Halls of Study in the lower levels of the building. A hefty chunk of Vargas’s money secured them passes without questions. Travis had expected dusty corridors with musty air and cobwebs. But the lower levels of the library were every bit as modern as the upper. The building was equipped with up-to-date electronic pads at every sensitive door and the interior was dressed in polished wood and gleaming chrome.

  He felt Charlotte watching him as he passed through shelves assessing labels and translating titles. He knew that her patience, although improving, was limited. She was a woman of action and considering the sort of people that Lochay had been sending after them her presence was reassuring. He saw that her eyes flicked across each room through which they passed, and guessed that she was scanning for exit strategies and strategic placements. As he checked shelves for information, she checked faces for threats. It was strange. He had never felt himself in need of a bodyguard before, but he was glad that he had one now.

  They selected a small private study room equipped with a computer. Quickly Travis found the historical section and began scanning the listings looking for the opera house. Luckily all the archives were now digitised. There was no need for scrolling through endless blurry pages on microfiche machines. He called up the dates around when Umberto told him that Hugo Montague was here overseeing the rebuilding of the opera house. There were several pieces on the city’s benefactor, as well as a few smaller pieces on the child disappearances the elderly janitor had spoken of.

  ‘Anything of interest?’ Charlotte asked as she kept watch.

  Travis’s head ached as he struggled to translate the conversational Italian of the newspaper articles. ‘There are various mentions of Hugo and his goodwill.’

  ‘Anything negative about him? What about the missing children?’ Charlotte asked following his thoughts.

  ‘Nothing that puts the two of them together,’ he replied as his eyes danced through the pages on the screen. Something suddenly nagged him and he stopped reading and starting thinking. It was something that his eyes had passed over but had not fully taken in, but it was something important.

  Charlotte started to speak and he quickly held up a hand to quieten her. He began backtracking through the pages he had already checked looking for what was pricking his mind, and came across a small piece in what appeared to be a social section. As far as he could tell it was an editorial surrounding Hugo’s private life and
the upcoming grand reopening. He stared hard at the screen and tried to piece together the translations in his head. He was making no progress, and because the piece on the screen was a scan of the original newspaper article he could not copy and paste the words into an online translator.

  He read through the article carefully when the word leapt out at him – Wheeler. It was the words ‘cognome da nubile’ in the same paragraph that were perplexing him.

  Just then Charlotte spun around towards the door of the small study room they occupied. A couple of seconds later there was the sound of approaching footsteps. He could hear gentle taps on the doors of the adjacent study rooms. He checked his watch and saw that it was rapidly approaching closing time at the library.

  ‘Damn it, they’re kicking us out,’ he said to Charlotte. ‘I need another minute.’ He motioned to her and the door.

  ‘I’m on it,’ she said eagerly.

  Travis was glad of the unspoken rapport they were building between them and quickly turned back to the screen. ‘Cognome da nubile’, he mumbled, trying to decipher the phrase. ‘Cognome da nubile, something name,’ he mused to himself. ‘Maiden name? Was that it?’ Again he cursed himself for his stupidity and launched the internet explorer on the computer. He carefully typed the Italian phrase into an online translator and sat back with satisfaction. He was right. Wheeler was Eleanor’s maiden name. Eleanor Montague was Eleanor Wheeler before she married Hugo. A spark went off in his memory and he somehow managed to dredge up the story from the Shady Oak Retirement Home.

  Joseph Delaney had worked at an art gallery that he said was displaying The Montague Portrait. The ex-security guard had told him a tale of being possessed by the painting and murdering his wife. At the time he had dismissed the story as an old man’s ramblings but now a tucked-away fact leapt at him. Joseph Delaney had married Amanda Wheeler. Hugo Montague had murdered Eleanor Wheeler and then Joseph Delaney had murdered Amanda Wheeler. It surely had to be too big a coincidence.

  Suddenly he heard a soft thud and something heavy slumped to the floor out in the corridor. The next thing he knew Charlotte was backing into the room dragging an elderly librarian in by the feet.

  ‘What the hell?’ he said as Charlotte closed the door behind her and their new companion.

  ‘What?’ she asked innocently.

  Travis shook his head in disbelief. ‘I wanted you to buy me a little time, just stall her, not bloody knock her out! Oh Jesus, please tell me that she’s only unconscious?’ he asked with dread.

  ‘Of course. What do you think I am?’ she said with indignation written all over her face.

  Travis rubbed his aching head. They now had less time than he had hoped for and another criminal offence to add to the ever growing list. ‘All right, we haven’t got much time so listen. Hugo’s wife Eleanor’s maiden name was Wheeler; Joseph Delaney back at the retirement home was married to another Wheeler, Amanda, who he killed. I think that we can start to trace …’ He trailed off as he saw shock in her eyes. ‘What is it?’

  ‘My mother’s maiden name was Wheeler,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Emma Wheeler. What does this mean, Travis?’

  ‘Did you know?’ he asked. ‘Did you know that there was a link between the cases?’

  ‘No, I had no idea.’

  Travis stared at her hard. In his line of work as an insurance investigator he’d had to quickly develop an inbuilt lie detector. Right now every inch of him was convinced that she was either the best liar he had ever seen, or she was telling the truth.

  ‘Okay then,’ he said slowly. ‘Hugo murdered Eleanor Wheeler. Joseph Delaney murdered Amanda Wheeler and then your father killed another Wheeler woman. I’m wondering just how many others are out there – how many other Wheeler descendants are dead because of Hugo Montague.’

  ----------

  Travis and Charlotte’s protective guardian angels watched the library from the outside. They had observed the two going in but not coming out. The woman, Sage Adderley, sat calmly while her brutish partner paced around restlessly. She had long since given up trying to calm him. She was sick and tired of constantly having to watch over the lumbering ox and had already decided to ask Vargas for a change of partner when they got home. Their assignments were often dangerous enough, without having to have two sets of eyes. More than once she had toyed with the idea of putting a bullet in his empty head and claiming that one of Lochay’s crew had got the drop on him. It was a viable excuse, but somehow Vargas would know. No matter how careful she was, Vargas would always find out.

  She yawned and stretched on the park bench opposite the library. Florence was a nice change of pace from their usual haunts and she was determined to return at her leisure for a holiday. The pay with Vargas was great and it also satisfied her need to make full use of her natural ability and skills. But lately she was beginning to feel lonely and empty with no-one to share her triumphs with, and her mind drifted as she considered a potential mate.

  It was a sharp nudge in her ribs that brought her back. Annoyed, she turned to her oaf of a partner who was nodding his head towards a bench across the square. She was infuriated and embarrassed when she realised that he had spotted two of Lochay’s men that she had not.

  ‘I saw them,’ Sage said. He smiled with satisfaction at her slip.

  The square was far too busy for any kind of confrontation in the open. But as long as Lochay’s men were outside the building then Parker and Goode were safe. Her cheeks burned with involuntary redness and she thought again of putting a bullet in the oaf’s head.

  ----------

  Charlotte sat in silence as Travis’s fingers danced across the keyboard. She could not believe that she had missed such a vital part of the puzzle. Of course she had known her mother’s surname but it hadn’t occurred to her that the murdered women had anything in common. Hindsight was always twenty/twenty but she still felt she should have known. It made perfect sense now. Hugo’s rage towards Eleanor would live on if he lived on. What better revenge than to possess the minds of men and get to murder a Wheeler woman over and over again.

  She watched Travis stretch on the uncomfortable chair and crack his stressed neck. Absently she reached out and gently massaged his tight muscles. It was a small gesture, but an intimate one nevertheless.

  ‘How are we doing?’ she asked, checking her watch and wondering just when another staff member would come down to look for the one that lay unconscious in the corner.

  ‘Well, I’m missing Chris more than ever,’ Travis said quietly. ‘But we’re getting there slowly.’

  ‘We have to hurry,’ she said, and just then the printer started up behind them.

  ‘Okay, grab that when it’s finished and let’s get going,’ he said, standing up and looking at his watch.

  She waited for the pages to finish printing, scooped them up, then led the way into the corridor. The lights were dim. The library should be empty by now and she hoped the librarian who disturbed them had been alone on her rounds; the last thing she wanted was to have to go toe to toe with security when they should be slipping quietly on their way.

  They had left two bodies in the B&B in the UK. That was followed by an explosion at Barnes’s house in France and more bodies. There shouldn’t be any direct evidence at either scene to identify them, but she wasn’t naïve enough to assume that sooner or later they would not be identified. There were multiple eyes on them at the small bar in France where they were fishing for information on Barnes. Two foreigners would most definitely have stood out from the locals and no doubt the police would have been furnished with their descriptions. Their trail should be cold and she had little fear that they would be hunted at border crossings.

  But it wasn’t the authorities she was worried about. Vargas seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to pinpoint them at any time. She quite naturally assumed that the phone he provided was tracking them with GPS. But he was also having them followed, and quite expertly too. It made no sense to ditch the phone
without first ditching their followers, as it would only tip her hand to her knowledge of Vargas's surveillance strategy.

  She checked both ways along the corridor and made sure it was empty before she motioned Travis to follow. She handed the printed pages back to him as she wanted her hands free. She wished she had been able to bring one of the guns with her from the B&B in the UK, but she hadn’t dared risk being discovered with it.

  Her sense of direction was pretty much flawless and she easily guided them to the main library hall. Before leaving the small study room she had taken the electronic pass card from the librarian. Under Travis’s disapproving stare she had also checked the woman’s vitals and found them steady and strong. It was a lifetime since she had cared what anyone thought of her or her actions, but now she found herself caring about Travis’s opinion of her.

  She swiped the pass at the main stairs. The electronic locks would register who was accessing the various areas of the library; using their day pass card would no doubt raise an alarm on the system.

  The glass doors swished open and she stepped out into the main hall. Suddenly her senses were buzzing. She could feel that they were not alone. There was a threat somewhere close by. She held up a clenched fist and felt Travis stop behind her. To his credit he knelt silently and waited. She felt touched by his trust.

  The lighting in the giant main hall was minimal and the shadows long. Only soft glows cascaded from small humming bulbs. She trusted her instincts impeccably and there was a threat here. Suddenly she caught the faintest whisper of a hushed breath and knew they had to bolt. ‘Fast!’ she instructed Travis as she ran for the exit on the far side of the hall. Despite his poor physical shape he followed more swiftly than she thought him capable of.