The Becić Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  “A tweed suit, Millard.” Colin pulled on my hand and we followed Phillip to the front door. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Gérard has expensive taste, but not always the best fashion sense.”

  I had met Gérard Chesnais the first week Nikki had started working here as an art restorer. He was not only highly educated and erudite, but his knowledge of art frequently enthused Colin in a manner few things or people could. Gérard was a demanding and strict boss, but fair. And he encouraged Nikki to improve herself by attending numerous courses and workshops. In the short time she’d worked here, she had already been to three specialised workshops and two short courses.

  This had contributed to Nikki’s growth. Not only in her professional life, but also in her personal life. I knew Gérard was playing a role in her development. He had four children and had recently had his third grandchild. He’d told Nikki that his children had given him all the training he’d needed to be a boss. But his grandchildren helped him be her boss. He told her on a daily basis that her energy and enthusiasm exhausted him. The affection and good humour I’d seen in his nonverbal cues when he’d said that belied the negativity of those words. I had no doubt that Gérard cared for Nikki.

  His worry was evident now in the way he rubbed his hands on his hips before he shook Phillip’s hand. “Oh, my dear friend. I’m beside myself with worry for our little Nikki. Anything I can do”—he waved his hand at the building—“anything we can do to help find her, just say the word.”

  “Thank you, Gérard.” Phillip put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Nikki is lucky to have you as her boss.”

  Gérard removed his trendy wood-framed glasses and wiped his eyes. I’d asked Nikki why he wore eyeglasses when he didn’t need to and she’d postulated that he felt it made him look more sophisticated. I had thought then and still thought now it was such an absurd thing to do.

  But as Gérard put the glasses back and pushed them up the bridge of his nose, I realised that it grounded him. His nonverbal cues confirmed him gaining control over his emotions and falling back into the role of gallery owner.

  He turned towards the entrance. “Let’s go inside. I have much to tell and show you.”

  “Things you didn’t tell the police?” Pink asked.

  “Oh, I told them, but I don’t think they wanted to hear it.” He shook his head and straightened his shoulders. “But I know you’ll listen.”

  He waved us in and I followed the men into the elegant foyer of the gallery. Then stopped as soon as the expression on Gérard’s face registered with me. I turned around and waited for him to enter. He shook his finger dramatically at a panel on the wall to the left of the door. “See this?”

  “Your alarm system,” Pink said.

  “Yes. Our alarm system.” His eyes were wide.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete.” Manny sighed heavily.

  “What about the alarm system?” Phillip’s tone had the right amount of curiosity to cater to Gérard’s need for melodrama.

  “Each employee has their own code to disengage the alarm.”

  “And?” Manny shifted and started tapping his foot.

  “What is special about these codes, Gérard?” Phillip asked.

  Gérard glanced at Manny, then turned towards Phillip. “Nikki didn’t steal the painting.”

  “If she doesn’t have the legal right to have that work of art, it’s theft.” I could see no other way to describe her action caught on the security cameras.

  Gérard’s smile was genuine. He loved it when I corrected him. Strange man. “Okay, if we work on your definition, she technically stole it. But she didn’t.”

  Manny took a step forward, his hands on his hips, thumbs pointing back. Aggressive. “Start talking or so help me...”

  Gérard fiddled with the frame of his glasses. “Nikki came up with a fantastic idea when we installed the new alarm system. We were going to give a select few employees their own code for the alarm system, but Nikki insisted we give two codes to everyone. The second code was to be used if the employee was under duress, but still wanted or needed access to the gallery. It would disable the alarm and so keep the employee alive, but would let us know that they needed help.”

  “I mentioned the idea to her when she told me you were upgrading your security system.” Pink’s lips were in a thin line. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. I helped consult when you guys chose the system.”

  “And for that I’m still grateful.” Gérard pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I’m glad I listened to you and didn’t fall for the salesman’s insistence on getting all things IoT.”

  “Io-what?” Manny asked.

  “Internet of Things,” Pink said. “IoT.”

  “Ah, yes.” Manny shuddered in mock horror. “Francine talks about it a lot. The artificial intelligence that connects everything in a person’s house or an office building.”

  Pink smiled. “Um, well. That’s simplifying it a lot. Really. A lot.” He rolled his eyes at Manny, then turned to look at Gérard. “Did everyone get two codes for the alarm?”

  “Yes.” Gérard’s smile was warm. “The second codes were programmed to set off a silent alarm that would alert me and my floor manager that something was amiss.”

  “What happened?” I was startled by the guilt in his nonverbal cues.

  “I slept through it.” Gérard took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a white handkerchief from his suit jacket pocket. “As did my floor manager.”

  “We’ll have to fix that.” Pink leaned forward. “Are you telling us that Nikki used her distress code?”

  Gérard’s head jerked up. “Yes. I didn’t say that? Oh, dear. My heart is overriding my brain at the moment. Yes, Nikki used her second code.”

  “Oh, Gérard.” Pink sighed and folded his arms.

  “Wait.” Colin’s corrugator supercilii muscles pulled his brows together in a frown. “I’m confused. Who learned about the alarm first? You or the police?”

  Gérard put his glasses back and adjusted it a few times. “We set the system up to alert the police if I or the floor manager don’t cancel the silent alarm set off by the second code.”

  Pink tilted his head. “The police were supposed to be alerted ten minutes after the second code was used and not cancelled by you. Did you change this?”

  Gérard nodded, regret clear on his face. “I never imagined any of this would ever happen, so I changed the ten minutes to three hours. A police officer came to my home around one o’clock this morning, because I didn’t answer their calls. That’s when I learned about this.” His eyes were downcast. “If only I hadn’t silenced my phone. Then I would’ve heard the notification that Nikki had used her second code. Instead, I learned about this three hours too late.”

  “Three hours, Gérard.” Pink’s eyes were wide, his cheeks turning an angry red. “And you told the police all of this?”

  “Um. No. Not all of it.” Gérard raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “They were rude. I don’t like rude people. I told them countless times Nikki didn’t steal the Becić. But even when they saw the footage, they completely ignored me.”

  I could understand why the average person would discount Gérard’s proclamations. The first impression he created was one of melodrama, which was usually assumed to accompany exaggeration and untruths. I’d immediately seen the façade he used as a defence mechanism to protect a highly sensitive personality. He had all the skills to be a fantastic manager, but he had the temperament—the sensitivity—of an artist.

  “Now that we have that cleared up, can you please show us where the Becić was?” Phillip asked.

  Gérard nodded. “Follow me.”

  I loved how quiet the gallery was now. Even on the less popular days I’d been here, there had been many visitors. I wished I could’ve taken my time to walk through each exhibition without the anxiety-inducing presence of other people. Maybe I would ask Nikki about it when we got her home.

 
I took a deep breath and forced myself to not think about her absence, but focus on how we could get her back.

  We took the same route Nikki had when she’d entered the gallery last night. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breathing shallow, my grip on Colin’s hand tight.

  My life had been much simpler before these people had entered my life. Before I’d started loving them. My emotional life had also been poorer for it. Loving and caring so deeply was still new for me. I didn’t have the tools to deal with the worry, the fear threatening to overwhelm me.

  Colin pulled me closer and hugged me tight against his side. “We’ll find her.”

  With most people, I needed to see their nonverbal cues to understand the true meaning of their words. Not Colin. I knew him well enough to recognise the tightness in his tone. He was deeply worried.

  Gérard opened the door to the restoration room and waved us in. “This is it.”

  Manny and Pink walked in first, their hands close to their holstered weapons. I followed Colin in and looked around. All the paintings we’d seen on the security footage were here. The Degas Colin had mentioned was displayed on an easel, a landscape by Alfred Sisley on the easel next to it. The next three paintings were covered with soft canvas drapes.

  “Nikki was working on the Becić here.” Gérard was standing next to Nikki’s worktable, the empty easel behind him, the empty frame on the stainless-steel table. Nikki’s stool was lying on its side, an overturned container spilling paint brushes on the floor.

  I shuddered.

  Manny grunted as he studied the scene, his fists on his hips. He turned to Colin. “Why the Beet-itch? What is special about this painting? Or this artist?”

  “Becić.” Colin shook his head at Manny’s intentional mistake and looked at Gérard. “All I know about this painting is that Becić likely painted this during the time he did his series of villagers and landscapes while living in a village close to Sarajevo between 1919 and 1923. During that period he produced watercolours and oil paintings of shepherds and peasants as well as landscapes. As an artist, Becić played a significant role in the beginnings of modernity in Croatian art. Becić and a few peers moved away from the traditional academic styles, influenced by realism and Impressionist artists like Manet. Did I miss something?”

  “Not really.” Gérard fiddled with his glasses, moving them a few times until he seemed satisfied with their position on the bridge of his nose. “Becić worked as a war artist during the First World War. This was on the Salonika Front, also known as the Macedonian Front. Painting these soldiers and the wounded was most likely what drove him to the village near Sarajevo. There he could focus on peaceful landscapes and rural subjects. It was his way of dealing with the traumatic events he’d witnessed.”

  “Provenance?” Colin asked.

  Gérard gasped. One hand flew to his throat, the other to readjust his glasses. “Are you suggestin—”

  “Oh, no.” Colin held out both hands, palms up. “I didn’t mean to imply that this painting was stolen. Not at all. I was just asking about its ownership history.”

  Gérard rolled his shoulders and blinked a few times. “Well, if that’s what you want to know.”

  “It is.” Colin’s gentle smile successfully placated Gérard.

  “I have all the papers for inspection. The new owners gave us certified copies of the documents when they brought the painting to us for restoration.”

  “Dammit.” Manny shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “That’s not giving us anything.”

  Gérard looked at Phillip and cleared his throat. I narrowed my eyes and pointed at his face. “Why are you ashamed?”

  Manny took a step closer to Gérard. The latter flinched. Manny lowered his chin and glared at Gérard. “The truth. Now.”

  “I’m not hiding anything. I swear.” He held up his little finger as if that was supposed to mean something. I ignored it and focused on his face. He was telling the truth. “The painting was bought for around forty thousand dollars. The owner insured it for that amount and we insured it as well for the time we’ll have it here. Having someone else’s painting in my possession is a huge responsibility.”

  “What’s with the shame then?” Manny asked.

  It was quiet for a few seconds. Colour crept up Gérard’s neck, into his face.

  “How many paintings have been stolen from your care, Gérard?” Phillip’s expression was kind.

  “None. Never. It’s a matter of great pride for me.” He swallowed.

  “Did you organise this theft?” Phillip asked.

  “How could yo...” His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes for a second. But then he looked at Phillip. “I see what you’re trying to do.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Phillip moved closer and rested his hand on Gérard’s shoulder. “You’re helping us find Nikki. And you’ve done everything to ensure the safety of the art and your employees.”

  “I didn’t do enough.”

  “This is not productive.” I didn’t have patience for someone’s self-pity when I had no idea where Nikki was. If she was still alive. “If you want to help Nikki, tell us something about Vladimir Becić or the painting that we don’t yet know.”

  Gérard stared at me for a few seconds and nodded. “Do you know about the Munich Four?”

  “Oh, I forgot about that.” Colin snapped his fingers and shook his head as if to himself. “Of course, Becić was one of the Munich Four.”

  “Talk.” Manny stepped back and leaned his hip against the table.

  “It’s possibly of no importance, but Becić and three other Croatian artists—Josip Račić, Miroslav Kraljević and Oskar Herman—were classmates at the Academy of Fine Arts in Munich. Art historians dubbed them the Munich Four. Their other classmates called them the Croatian School. In their separate ways and styles, they influenced Croatian modernism and formed an important category in Croatian art.”

  “Hmm.” Manny scratched his stubbled jaw. “Not really useful.”

  “At the moment.” I didn’t know if it would become relevant in the future. Anything and everything had the potential to be important information.

  Manny’s phone rang and he took it from his jacket pocket. He looked at me. “Francine.” He swiped the screen and held the phone towards us. “You’re on speaker.”

  “Hi, everyone.” The tightness in Francine’s tone sent a spike of adrenaline through my system. “You’d better come in to the team room. I have CCTV footage from the streets around the restaurant where Nikki was supposed to meet Martin.” Her voice broke and she loudly cleared her throat. “It’s better if you see it for yourself.”

  Chapter FOUR

  I TAPPED MY FOOT ON the elevator floor, frustrated that it felt like it was moving slower than usual. Our team room was on the top floor of a building next to the one housing Rousseau & Rousseau—Phillip’s insurance company. Vinnie and Daniel had added extensive security measures before we’d moved in. I usually felt safe here.

  But today, my non-neurotypical mind wouldn’t allow me to relax or feel safe.

  Colin took my hand and squeezed lightly. “You know if there was really anything wrong, Francine would’ve told us.”

  I nodded once. “But she’s upset.”

  “We all are, love.” Colin exhaled when the elevator stopped and the door opened into our team room. The drive from the gallery had been quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts and worries about Nikki.

  I pulled my hand from Colin’s, straightened my back and stepped into the team room. I wanted to take action. I needed to take action, do something that would help us find Nikki and bring her home safely.

  The smell of coffee and fresh pastries greeted us as we walked towards the large round wooden table. This was where we had briefings or where Manny sometimes spread out all the papers he accumulated while investigating a case.

  There were no documents on the table now, just a large basket with fresh croissants in the centre. Vinnie was
placing mugs of steaming coffee by certain chairs. Typical of human nature, we all returned to the same chairs we’d occupied the first time we’d taken our places at the table.

  Roxy was currently sitting in Vinnie’s chair as she did whenever she visited us here, Eric on her lap. He was wearing soft denim pants and a sweatshirt with ‘Sorry, I don’t do quiet’ printed in children’s handwriting. His look of contentment changed when he saw me. His eyes widened in pleasure and he wiggled down from Roxy’s lap.

  “Dohgee!” He ran past Vinnie and picked up speed. “Dohgee!”

  The heaviness that had been resting on my chest since the moment Pink had entered our apartment lifted. This little human being softened the sharp edges in my life and brought so much love into my life that I frequently felt overwhelmed by it. If only I could get him to call me by my name. Nikki called me ‘Doc G’ and Eric’s version sounded far too much like ‘dodgy’ for my liking.

  I caught him as he threw himself against my legs. He lifted his arms and I picked him up. “My name is Genevieve.”

  Eric nodded solemnly. “Dohgee.”

  I sighed, then stiffened slightly when he wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled himself tightly against me in a hug. A few years ago, this would’ve been unimaginable for me. It was still hard to have so much physical contact, but for some reason my autistic brain was more willing to accept it from Eric than any of my friends. With the exception of Colin. His touch calmed me.

  I settled Eric on my hip and followed Colin to the table. He walked past Roxy and squeezed her shoulder. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Worried.” She pushed a wayward curl behind her ear and smiled at Eric. “He doesn’t understand what’s happening.”

  “Of course he doesn’t.” I sat down and allowed Eric to wiggle around on my lap until he was comfortable. “At thirty-three months and seventeen days, his brain doesn’t allow for processing complex matter such as this.”

  “Well, my very old brain doesn’t understand this either.” Manny slumped into his chair and took a sip of his milky tea. He nodded his thanks to Vinnie and looked at Francine. “We’re all waiting for you, princess.”