The Uccello Connection (Genevieve Lenard, #10)

by Estelle Ryan

  Manny and Pink had called the bomb squad and had asked Edward Henry, their best explosives ordinance disposal technician, to join us at Fradkov’s house to ensure there were no explosives. Edward had arrived with his team and had declared the premises secure after a forty-minute inspection.

  In a rare show of stubborn resistance, Colin had refused to leave. He’d counted twenty-seven original works of art and hadn’t wanted to leave them in the house. While Vinnie and Pink had helped him load the paintings in his SUV, Francine and I had confirmed six of those paintings were on the manifest from Daniel’s flight. They were supposed to be on their way to the exhibition in Minsk.

  Thirteen of these paintings were on numerous international lists for stolen art. Colin believed that Otto had helped Fradkov acquire these artworks illegally. Only eight of the paintings had been bought legitimately.

  We now had twenty-seven authentic works of art in our team room, which meant some on the plane were forgeries. I refused to speculate how many more were forgeries. Colin estimated that the four forgers Otto and Justine mentioned could easily have forged between thirty and fifty paintings in the last seven months. It added yet another layer to this case.

  When we’d arrived at Rousseau & Rousseau, Roxy and Nikki had already been waiting for an hour and a half with our lunch. Nikki had been especially proud to have done something to help while we were looking for Daniel. From the nonverbal cues I’d observed on Roxy’s face, I’d surmised that she’d helped Nikki more for Nikki than for us. It made me like her even more.

  The bantering continued while I looked around the table. Colin was quietly watching everyone, but his eyes kept moving back to the paintings from Fradkov’s house on the other side of our spacious team room. Twelve of those paintings were arranged on easels, two of the smaller ones sharing one easel. The others were leaning against the wall. These masterpieces were awe-inspiring in their combined beauty.

  Francine kept teasing Manny in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, but she was not successful. Her wit was misplaced, her deep concern evident in the way she would bite down on her thumbnail when someone else dominated the conversation.

  I looked at Julien and put my knife and fork down loud enough on my plate to get everyone’s attention. “You told Manny earlier that none of your ‘people on the ground’ have reported any sightings of Daniel. Can these people be trusted? How do you know they’re trying hard enough to locate Daniel?”

  Julien looked at me for a few seconds. The lines around and the dark rings under his eyes were more prominent than last night. “I slept only three hours last night. Two of the four teams looking for Daniel did not sleep at all. One team is going through every single video recording they can find of ATM, shop security and city or town CCTV cameras in a hundred-kilometre radius from where the plane landed. So far they haven’t found any sign of Daniel or of the nuclear scientist Amélie Didden. But they’re not giving up. We’ve sent more of our best people to assist them.”

  “Isn’t that a bit OTT?” Roxy glanced at me. “Over the top. Daniel is important and all, but so many people looking for one man?”

  Julien studied Roxy for a long while. “What do you think it means?”

  “That he’s important in ways we don’t know about.”

  Manny slumped in his chair. “Daniel’s recent discussion with the president regarding national security issues is causing a panic that Privott here doesn’t want to talk about.”

  I hated feeling so conflicted. On the one hand, I wanted to interview Emad and find out anything he knew about Fradkov’s plans. And to determine whether Emad truly wanted to be free of Fradkov or whether it had been a ruse. To what end I didn’t know.

  On the other hand, I had an extremely strong and utterly irrational urge to leave everything else, get in my car and drive to the border of Russia and Belarus to start looking for Daniel myself. It surprised me how my concern for him overrode my dislike for changing my environment. I was even considering entering the shockingly unsanitary interior of an aeroplane to reach the border quicker.

  But there was something more to Julien’s comment about the increased intensity of the search. “This is no longer just about Daniel, is it?”

  Julien didn’t answer. He just shook his head.

  “Is the concern about Doctor Didden?” I nodded when I saw his reaction. “It is.”

  “The whole of Europe is up in arms about her disappearance. Together with Daniel, this makes for a nightmare. Not only because of the political implications, but because of the far-reaching and long-term effects any kind of nuclear action would have on global peace efforts.”

  “It would be every conspiracy theorist’s wildest dreams all rolled into one.” Francine shrugged. “Or so I imagine.”

  Vinnie snorted, but it wasn’t his rude sound that caught my attention. There was something else in his body language. I pointed at his face. “What are you hiding?”

  “I’m not hiding anything, Jen-girl.” He rolled his eyes when I lifted one eyebrow. “I’m not. Okay, okay! Stop looking at me like that. I didn’t share anything simply because there’s nothing to tell.”

  “Talk, big guy.” Manny lowered his chin and glared at Vinnie.

  Vinnie cleared his throat. “I asked Justine if she had anyone who could help us find Daniel. She did. And she phoned me when we were on our way here to say that her people haven’t found any trace or even any mention of a kidnapping attempt on Daniel and this Amélie chick. See? Nothing to tell.”

  “Hmph.” There was no censure in Manny’s response.

  “Lev Markov.” The two words came out louder than I’d intended, but this was a part of the case that I wanted to know more about, but had been too distracted by Daniel’s kidnapping to pursue.

  “Who?” Nikki asked.

  “He’s the Russian consul general’s pal who organised all these paintings for the exhibition.” Manny straightened. “Hell, Doc. I’d all but forgotten about him.”

  “Who is he?” Nikki asked again.

  Colin put his knife and fork down. “Apparently a close friend of the Belarussian President as well as that diplomat who died from polonium-210 poisoning.”

  “Aleksei Volyntsev.” Roxy leaned towards me. “Have you spoken to Lev Markov?”

  “Not yet.” I was disappointed in myself for this oversight. I looked at Manny. “We need to find out everything we can about him. I would prefer to speak to him as well. If he was indeed the person who secured most of these paintings for the exhibition, I would like to see his reaction when confronted with the news that the paintings on the plane were forgeries and that Fradkov had the originals in his home.”

  “And I would like to be the one confronting him with that.” Manny took his phone from his trouser pocket.

  “Um.” Julien leaned forward, his hands stretched towards Manny as if wanting to grab his phone. “Don’t phone anyone. Let me contact the Russian consul general and set up a meeting. Things are so delicate at the moment, I don’t want to risk the peace talks with you running your mouth and ruining the president’s hard work.”

  Manny’s lips thinned as his chin jutted in anger. He breathed a few times loudly through his nose, then shook his index finger at Julien. “You irritate me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Hellfire.” Manny slammed his phone on the table. “You better set up a meeting with that Markov guy or so help me, you’ll regret ever meeting me.”

  Julien huffed a laugh. “I regretted it five minutes after meeting you. But here we are, working together. Just let me do my job so we can all keep ours.”

  “The sooner I can speak to Lev Markov, the better.” The more I thought about it, the more questions I had.

  “I’ll see what I can do. I have some questions about that Russian company that owned the hijackers’ SUV in any case.” Julien got up and walked to the sofa in front of the window. He was speaking on his phone before he reached it.

  “What about all these paintings?” Nik
ki tried to hide her excitement, but she’d never been good at deception and now was no exception. Her eyes were wide with appreciation as she looked at the easels. “I mean, seriously? Caravaggio, Veronese and Tintoretto? All right in front of me? This is the best exhibition I’ve ever been to. It’s like a totally private show. How cool is that?”

  “I checked all of them again and have only seen one that is a forgery. A brilliant forgery. One of the paintings that were supposed to be bought legitimately. I almost didn’t see it wasn’t authentic.” Colin’s tone was hushed, his slack jaw muscles and raised eyebrows confirming the awe he was experiencing. “Twenty-six original Renaissance masterpieces. Nikki is right. This is a private show and it’s astounding.”

  Julien walked back to his chair, but stopped to look at the paintings. He turned to face Colin. “Were these all the paintings in Fradkov’s house?”

  “No.” Colin shook his head. “We left behind at least another forty paintings—”

  “Forty?” Julien sat down, his eyes wide. “How could you leave such valuable work there? Why didn’t you bring it here?”

  “Because I didn’t consider paintings done by the hand of Ivan Fradkov to be of any worth.” Colin’s voice had lost all its warmth, micro-expressions of disgust quickly disguised under a neutral expression. “I was not going to allow art created by a psychopathic murderer to be anywhere near the works of these masters.”

  Julien nodded, but didn’t apologise. He looked at me. “Couldn’t you get any information from those paintings? Tell something about his personality?”

  “I got that insight from the entire house.” And Pink had gone through it with me to record everything so I could view it again later for further analysis. I hadn’t wanted to be in the house longer than absolutely necessary. “Those paintings represent only a part of Fradkov.”

  “So what did you learn, Doc?” Manny leaned back in his chair and glanced one more time at the paintings on the easels.

  “I find it hard to believe that this is Fradkov’s primary residence. The only personal touches in the house were in the rooms he hadn’t changed. Those rooms still represent the previous owners.”

  “How do you know he didn’t change anything?” Roxy asked.

  “I found an article about the house that was published before Fradkov got the house.” Francine lifted her tablet and waved it in the air. “I love archives. This article is from an interior design magazine and there are a gajillion photos to go with it. They were going on and on and on about what an exquisite example the house was of a blend of Romantic and Victorian-era design, arranged in a manner that is both warm and elegant. Twelve pages of photos and flowery descriptions.”

  “I compared those photos with the rooms and found only four rooms unchanged.”

  “How many rooms does this house have?” Nikki asked.

  “Including the kitchen and bathroom?” Francine narrowed her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “Um, twelve?”

  “Fourteen.” I had counted them all. “One of the four rooms that were changed was the room Emad slept in. He moved the chair and the two rugs were swapped. The room with the television was the other room. The furniture was moved and the photos in the article showed no reading materials on the coffee tables at all.”

  “There were magazines and newspapers everywhere when we got there. And not the kind of magazines Genevieve reads, if you know what I mean. These were not academic journals.” Pink rolled his eyes. “Looked like my sister’s teenage son’s room.”

  “The home office where his panic room is also bears no resemblance to the room that was featured in the magazine.” The difference had been significant. “Emad’s reaction when he came into the room and stood there, combined with the décor of the room, convinced me that this was Fradkov’s space. Emad’s bedroom and the living room was untidy. It is clear that he doesn’t need the spaces he occupies to be arranged in visually pleasing lines.”

  “What did that office look like?” Roxy asked.

  “Sleek.” Colin leaned back in his chair. “Very modern, all glass and chrome, and... sleek. That’s the best word I can think of.”

  “The placement of the furniture, paintings and ornaments on the shelves reveal an organised mind. Maybe organised to the point of obsessive-compulsive behaviour.” This was something I was intimately familiar with. It took a lot of effort not to give in to compulsions.

  “What about the fourth room?” Nikki rubbed her protruding stomach on the left side and winced. Eric must be kicking again.

  “A small room on the top floor. It had only a bed and a wardrobe. No rugs, no ornaments, nothing to personalise it.”

  “Not even paintings on the walls?” Nikki asked.

  I raised my index finger. “One. Above the bed.”

  Colin pointed at the paintings on the easels. “It’s the first one on the left.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Nikki’s voice mimicked the awe visible on her face. “Is it authentic?”

  “As far as I can tell, yes.” Colin narrowed his eyes. “This is Uccello’s The Adoration of the Kings. It’s the perfect example of Uccello’s work. The visual perspective, the feeling of depth. Yes, this is undoubtedly his work. I can’t find a single brushstroke that doesn’t line up with his style.”

  Something was bothering me. Something about this painting. I got up and walked to the easel, ignoring Manny and Colin’s questions. I studied it, yet it didn’t render any insights. I allowed Mozart’s Quintet in A for Clarinet and Strings to clear my mind of all other thoughts and simply focused on the harmony and the painting in front of me. When a hand touched my forearm gently, I turned to glare at whomever had the audacity to interrupt me. It was Colin.

  “Alain is here, love.” He stared at me a bit longer, then nodded as if satisfied that I was okay. “He received another painting and is waiting for us in the conference room.”

  “With Emad?” I would be furious if Tim had put Alain with his son in a room and I hadn’t been there to observe their reactions.

  “No. He doesn’t even know we have Emad here. Speaking of which.” Colin nodded towards the elevator. “Emad finished his lunch and was demanding to talk to you.”

  “No.” I glanced one last time at the painting. “I want to talk to Alain first.”

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  I stepped into the conference room and inhaled to greet Alain, but froze. Something had caught my attention and was now much more important than being polite. I slowly turned my head towards the easel standing in the far corner of the room. The air rushed out of my lungs and I took a step forward.

  I barely registered the familiar throat-clearing when Phillip tried to catch my attention. I ignored him and walked to the easel, my eyes trained on the terrible reproduction of the painting I had just studied in the team room.

  This was undoubtedly Uccello’s The Adoration of the Kings. It had the rocky background, the people in colourful attire congregating in front of a building in ruins. Directly in front of the building was a couple, the woman dressed in blue, holding a baby. Similar to the other two paintings, this one also looked like the efforts of a child. The colours were similar, the horses and people were mostly in the same places as the originals, but it didn’t resemble the reverent scene Uccello had brought to life.

  The connection my brain made filtered through to my cerebral cortex, bringing with it a rush of adrenaline. It caused my index finger to tremble when I pointed it at a badly painted person standing by the horses. “That’s the key.”

  “What’s that, Doc?” Manny was leaning against the table to my right.

  “There’s something in that man’s beard.”

  “Frey, what is she talking about?”

  Colin stood next to me and leaned forward. “How on earth did you see that?”

  “Speak.” Manny’s tone conveyed frustration.

  Colin straightened. “There’s writing in the beard.”

  “What? This painting doesn’t have numbers?” Manny
didn’t move any closer and I was grateful.

  “I haven’t looked for numbers yet.” And I first wanted to confirm my suspicion. There was something more than just the numbers. I turned to Colin. “Did you bring your tablet?”

  He nodded at a tablet on the table next to Manny. “I brought yours.”

  “Oh.” I took the tablet and quickly found what I was looking for. Then I zoomed in. I tilted it at an angle for Manny and Colin to see.

  “Genevieve.” Phillip stood up and walked around the table. “Now might be a good time to greet our guest.”

  “No, no.” Alain Vernet waved both hands in the air as if he was wiping something away. “Don’t worry about me. Do whatever you need to do to end this.”

  “Genevieve.” Phillip’s voice was soft.

  I sighed impatiently and turned to Alain. “Good afternoon, Alain. Thank you for allowing me to do my work.”

  Phillip cleared his throat and waited until I looked at him. Then he raised one eyebrow and widened his eyes pointedly. I knew what this meant. Again I sighed, but this time in resignation. “My apologies, Phillip. Alain, I also apologise for not acknowledging the difficulty you must experience receiving all these paintings.” I looked back at Phillip. “May I continue?”

  He nodded and I tilted the tablet towards Colin and Manny again. I zoomed out of the image and with my index finger followed the spiral above Saint George and the Dragon that Emad had painted. My finger ended between the white horse’s front legs. “This is where the spiral curls in on itself. Look what happens when I zoom in.”

  With my index finger and thumb I stretched the image until only the horse’s legs filled the screen. “Look at the inside of the legs.”

  “Honestly, love. I don’t know how you saw that without first zooming in.”