The Netscher Connection

by Estelle Ryan

  “None of this makes sense and we are wasting time with this kind of nonsense.” And it frustrated me that I didn’t comprehend this. I planned to go and read up on this.

  “What nonsense?” Manny walked into the room, followed by Colin.

  “Nothing.” Francine winked at Manny. “Just girl talk.”

  “Ah.” Manny nodded. “Nonsense.”

  Roxy got up and moved to the chair she usually used when we all sat at the table. Colin sat down next to me and looked at Olivia. “Feeling better?”

  “Much.”

  “Did you speak to your family?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to risk phoning home. I think my phones and my husband’s are bugged. So I called my sister’s husband to tell him to let my husband and my boss know I’m fine and that I’ll contact them soon.”

  “I’ll set you up,” Francine said. “You’ll be able to chat with your family on a secure line in no time.”

  “Thank you. That would be great.” Olivia put her hand on a notebook that I hadn’t noticed before. “I’m ready to talk.”

  “Not yet.” Vinnie walked into the room, carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs. “Let’s get breakfast on the table and then we talk.”

  Seven minutes later, everyone was dishing up from the numerous hot and cold dishes Vinnie and the cook had prepared. Every morning, I had a bowl with fruit and natural yogurt. Today I might, however, also have one of the cook’s fresh croissants. They were truly delicious.

  “Do you need a special invitation or are you going to tell us why the bloody hell the first lady of France ordered us to look for you?” Manny scowled at Francine when she slapped his arm, then turned his irritated look back to Olivia. “Well?”

  Olivia closed her mouth and put her uneaten croissant back on her plate. “Wait, the first lady of France? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Francine leaned past Manny to see Olivia and nodded towards Manny. “He’ll get all huffy and puffy if you don’t start sharing.”

  Olivia lifted one eyebrow, then looked at me as if for approval or permission.

  I frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, took a sip of her coffee, then nodded. “I don’t know how much you know, so I’ll tell you everything. Five weeks ago, Nathan Donovan died from what the coroner determined was a massive heart attack. He was twice the weight a man of his height should be, didn’t walk anywhere he could drive and had a history of high blood pressure, so the heart attack didn’t come as a surprise.

  “His last will and testament also didn’t come as a surprise to me or his family. I’d helped him set it up about six years ago and had recently updated it to include new acquisitions in his art collection.” She looked at Colin. “He managed to build up quite an impressive collection of artworks over the last two decades.”

  “Your boss wasn’t able to send us Mister Donovan’s client file.” I noticed her flinch and made a mental note about her discomfort at deleting the file from her company’s server. “Tell me more about him.”

  “Um, well, honestly? There’s not much to tell.” She raised one shoulder. “Nathan inherited his father’s real-estate business. His father had a bit of a reputation during the seventies and early eighties for colluding with the Mafia in New York, but was never arrested or even investigated.

  “I’ve had no reason to look that far into his history, so I don’t know much more than this about his father and family history. What I do know is that Nathan took over the business in 1987. It was only three years after he’d graduated from some business school or something. If you need the exact university, I can get that for you.”

  “Not right now.” I didn’t know if that information would be pertinent at a later stage.

  She smiled. “Okay. Maybe later then. Well, anyway, Nathan turned the business around. By the middle of the nineties, Don Estates was given the Manhattan Business of the Year award for its transparent and honest business practices in New York. Nathan had worked hard to create and then maintain a reputation of integrity. In the real-estate industry that was not easy and even today it is not at all common for a company to be that open with their dealings and finances.”

  She took a bite from her croissant and chewed it only three times before washing it down with coffee. I wondered if she knew how unhealthy that was. Yet I didn’t say anything. I was too interested in every detail she shared.

  She tilted her coffee mug and frowned at the inside. “May I please have more coffee?”

  “I’ll get it.” Roxy jumped up and grabbed Olivia’s mug. “Back in a sec.”

  “Thanks.” She leaned back in her chair and looked up to the left—recalling information. “When Nathan’s wife phoned with the news of his death, I immediately got the ball rolling. I strive to give my clients’ loved ones closure as soon as possible after their deaths. Already they’re dealing with a traumatic event. Having to fight with their insurance companies isn’t something anyone wants and I definitely don’t want to add to the stress in their lives.”

  Roxy returned and put Olivia’s refilled coffee mug next to her plate. Olivia nodded her thanks. “But I do have an obligation to ensure that no laws are broken in the execution of a last will and testament. Hmm.” She blinked a few times and looked at Colin. “I don’t know how much you know about me, but I work white-collar crime cases and investigate iffy last wills and testaments.”

  Colin nodded. “I knew that you worked at Freeman, Scott and Associates, but the last I checked, you were working only white-collar cases.”

  “That was eight years ago, just after I started at FSA.” She narrowed her eyes. “About a year after I started, one of my clients died and I discovered laundered funds hidden in an account that he’d bequeathed to his lover. It was extremely well-hidden and had taken quite a lot of digging to find. I found it and we got the FBI involved. I fought hard to clear the family from any involvement in the laundered money. The lover had given herself away the first time I spoke to her, so I helped the FBI to get proof that she’d helped this man clean his dirty money. This caught my boss’ attention and within a year, I was spending more than half my time on investigating suspicious claims.”

  “Do you still rely on your left pinkie to tell you when people are lying?” Colin asked.

  Olivia burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. I’d forgotten about that.” She looked at me. “I used to tell Jacks... Colin that my left pinkie finger ached when he was lying to me.”

  “You were lying.” I could see it on her face.

  “Oh, totally. But I’ve always had a good sense for when people were bullshitting me.” Her smile disappeared as she returned her gaze to Colin. “Somehow, my radar never went off with you. Well, not about the important stuff. I knew when you were fibbing about my looking good when I looked crap. But I honestly never once doubted that Jackson was your name.”

  “I’m sorry.” He swallowed. I wondered how many more times Colin was going to apologise to her before he forgave himself.

  “In the past.” She took a sip of coffee and straightened her shoulders. “Back to Nathan. So, when we worked on his will, he gave me notarised copies of all the sales documents and provenance papers for every single one of his artworks. Imagine my surprise when, after his death, I went through the documents and started Googling these pieces.”

  Her narration was interrupted by two bodyguards making their way to the front door moments before the doorbell rang. Manny and Vinnie got up, their hands resting on their holstered weapons. It had made sense that Manny had gained permission to carry his weapon across borders, but I still didn’t know how he’d got that permission for Vinnie.

  Olivia’s frontalis muscle raised her brows and upper eyelids in an expression of fear that was becoming familiar. Her hand was shaking so much, she put her coffee mug on the table and tucked her fists under her crossed arms.

  “It’s just Garage!” Manny’s call from the front of the villa was an
uncommon show of consideration for a stranger. If not for Olivia, I could think of no other reason for him to announce Andor’s arrival to the rest of us. Colin, Francine, Roxy and myself exhibited nonverbal cues of interest and curiosity even though there was an alertness visible in all of us that had not been there before. It showed our trust in the protection offered by Manny and Vinnie.

  I tried to keep observing Olivia’s body language, yet I couldn’t stop myself the moment Manny walked into the dining room. “Andor’s surname is Garas.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Genevieve.” Andor followed Manny into the room. “The way my surname is pronounced in Hungarian sounds mighty close to ‘garage’. Here we say a ‘sh’ sound for an ‘s’, like in my surname.”

  Manny didn’t look pleased with this. Francine laughed and played with Manny’s collar when he sat down next to her. “And here you thought you were annoying him. In the meantime you’re the only one pronouncing his surname correctly.”

  “Put a sock in it, supermodel.”

  “Ooh.” She winked at me. “First time in months he’s called me that. He must be really annoyed.”

  I shook my head at the way she was drawing out the ‘really’ and looked at Andor.

  Colin pointed to the chair that Nikki had used while she’d been here. “Have a seat. There’s more than enough food for you.”

  “Oh, thank the stars!” Andor sat down and looked at all the dishes on the table. “I got here as fast as I could. I was already up and dressed when Colonel Millard phoned, so I just jumped in the car. I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet.”

  “I’ll fix that for you.” Roxy got up and left for the kitchen. The next ten minutes was spent briefing Andor on everything that had taken place since we’d parted ways yesterday afternoon. I took that time to savour my croissant and start a second cup of coffee. I also watched Olivia. It took her most of the briefing to relax enough to eat again. She didn’t say anything while Colin and Manny did most of the talking. Instead she studied Andor.

  I wondered what she saw. Earlier she’d mentioned that she was a keen observer and was able to determine if a person was deceitful. I wondered about her conclusions when she nodded to herself and put another croissant on her plate.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Olivia,” Andor said when Manny finished most of the retelling. “I’m just sorry that we couldn’t meet three days ago so you could’ve felt safer.”

  Olivia nodded. “Thank you. And in turn I’m sorry that I ran out on you like that. I just didn’t want to take the chance that...” She hesitated, blinked a few times, then moved her lips into a polite smile. “Well, that it wasn’t safe.”

  “Why are you lying?” I didn’t understand why she would start being untruthful now.

  She closed her eyes, groaned loudly, then laughed and looked at Colin. “Is it at all possible to hide something from her?”

  “Never.” Colin’s smile was genuine. “So you better tell us everything.”

  Roxy leaned closer and touched Olivia’s hand. “We trust Andor. You can trust him too.”

  Olivia looked at me, her micro-expressions communicating a desire for reassurance. Again. I took a calming breath. “He has not exhibited any deception cues. As a matter of fact, he’s been uncommonly forthcoming with us.”

  “Thanks, Genevieve.” Andor smiled at me, then turned to Olivia. “I don’t know how much you’ve been told about what we’ve found so far.”

  “Nothing.” The surprise on Olivia’s face was soon replaced with a grunt of acknowledgement. “Of course you guys would’ve investigated my disappearance. Oh, God. Did you find all my skeletons?”

  I gasped. “What skeletons? You’ve murdered people?”

  Everyone laughed, except Manny. He slumped deeper into his chair and narrowed his eyes. “Answer the doc. What skeletons?”

  Olivia didn’t appear concerned. She counted off on one hand. “My abnormally large collection of amber jewellery, my obsession with finding a lipstick that will stay on my lips for longer than two cups of coffee, my shameful love for buying kitchen gadgets that I never use and last, but most definitely worst, my love affair with pedicures.”

  Manny looked disgusted. I was confused. How were those skeletons? While Francine got into an inane discussion with Olivia about pedicures, I took a moment to analyse the expression. Soon it made sense and I was exasperated. They were wasting time.

  “Ooh, yes! Paraffin pedicures are the best.” Francine noticed my expression and smiled widely. “Um, I think we should shelve this conversation for later, girl.” She tapped her index finger on her lips. “Before you continue, please first tell me who you visited when you went to Erkel Street and Király Street in Budapest.”

  Olivia frowned. “How do you know I was there?”

  “We know everything about your movements since the moment you landed.” Francine gestured as if it was obvious. “We were trying to find out what happened to you.”

  “Huh. Okay. Well, I met a lawyer friend of one of my colleagues in New York. He helped me get access to national archives. I was looking for information on a painting in Nathan Donovan’s estate. I didn’t find anything there. The same when I went to Király Street. That library has microfilm of newspapers printed all the way back to before the First World War. I didn’t have enough time to go through everything. I would need at least a week. I was planning on returning there, but alas. Here I am. Here we are.”

  “What about your visit to Pál Elo?” Colin asked. “We know that he wasn’t at his gallery, but why did you want to meet with him?”

  Olivia thought about her answer. “I think it might be best if I tell everything as it unfolded.”

  “I would appreciate that.” I loathed stories being told out of chronological order.

  “Well, where was I?”

  “You talked about Googling the paintings in Nathan Donovan’s estate.”

  “Oh, yes.” She smiled at me. “That was my first clue. Ooh, wait. I suppose it’s important for you to know when I did this. Well, it was about ten days ago. All the artworks in the Donovan estate had their provenance documentation. Everything was legal. Or so I thought. For some reason, I decided to double-check. I found nothing suspicious on any of the works except A Woman Feeding a Parrot by Caspar Netscher.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Colin’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “That painting has a horrid history.”

  “Exactly.” The muscles around Olivia’s mouth tightened. “On the second page of results, I found an article that suggested that this specific work of art had been taken by the Nazis during the Second World War. The journalist then disputed that theory with documentation that the painting had been through a few legitimate sales.”

  “That was an inaccurate article. That painting was thought to be lost after the Nazis took it from the owners in 1940.” Colour crept up Colin’s neck, his muscles tense. “Did you search for more information? Better information?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “And that was when things went to pot.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It went crazy.” Colin frowned and leaned closer to Olivia. “What happened?”

  “I decided to do some more internet sleuthing and started checking into any and all names mentioned in the article. I was busy with this for about three, maybe four minutes until my computer just blinked out.” She looked at Francine. “I turned my computer back on and my really good antivirus software was screaming at me that I had a virus. I shut everything down and immediately contacted the IT guys.”

  “This was your work computer?” Francine’s eyes were wide with interest.

  “Yes.” She pulled the notebook closer to her. “The IT guys went through my computer three times and said they couldn’t find any virus of any sort.”

  “You didn’t believe them.” I could see it clearly on her face.

  “I had a feeling. A bad one.” She sighed. “The rest of that day I didn’t do anything interesting on my wor
k computer. When I got home and I turned on my laptop at home, there was an extra icon on my desktop screen. I know this because I only have five icons and they are all in a specific order. That made me wonder and I checked my smartphone. The same thing. I had a new icon.”

  “What icon?” Francine’s tone emphasised the impatience on her face.

  “The computer’s and the phone’s cameras. I have it set that I need to give permission every time the computer’s cameras are used. The same with my smartphone. I don’t want the cameras turning on for whatever reason. I checked the settings on my devices and everything was as I left it. That’s when I suspected that I’d been hacked. There and then I decided that I would have to work offline.” She lifted the notebook. “I kept two notebooks. This one and the one I suppose you found in my hotel room.”

  Colin’s zygomaticus major muscle lifted one corner of his mouth into a half-smile. “You did a really good job changing the code. I didn’t manage to find the key. Jenny did. I then started decoding it.”

  “You won’t find a lot of useful stuff there.” Her smug smile had me paying close attention. “I did that notebook as a decoy. In case someone found it, it would keep them busy for a long time and the info they would find there would be enough to make them think that was all I had.”

  “Your real notes are in that notebook.” I looked at the leather-bound journal she was now holding against her chest.

  “Yes. And I didn’t let this thing out of my sight for a second. As soon as I thought I was being cyberstalked, I moved my laptop into the kitchen so that person could only ever see me cook and eat. I also booked a lot of my meetings out of the office.”

  “Is that why you deleted Nathan Donovan’s file from the company’s servers?” Andor asked.

  “How do you know that?” She lifted her index finger and groaned. “Of course George told you.”

  “Not that he told us a lot.” Manny scowled. “Does he know about your cyber-stalker?”

  “No.” Her shoulders rose until they almost touched her ears. “I had no proof. Only a huge dose of paranoia.”