Lying Eyes

by Robert Winter

  “Great work,” Randy jeered. “It’s a poorly executed painting in a nice frame. That’s why I bought it.”

  “Ha! The provenance is impeccably assembled.” Gates shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it myself.”

  “You sell shoddy hand-me-downs and castoffs in a tiny shop,” Randy sneered. If he could make Gates angry enough to try to hit him, that would bring him in reach of Randy’s handcuffed arms. “No wonder you’re unable to see how ridiculous this idea is.”

  The little man kept himself at a distance but Randy had obviously found a sore spot because his face flushed a bright red. “Shoddy. Exactly,” Gates fumed. “I’ve made errors. Poor choices over the years. Items I bought, items I let pass by. After thirty-four years, I’m on the brink of losing everything.” His brow furrowed. “Everything. But this Brousseau, the Sunrise at the Abbey of Chaalis. This is the one I’ve waited for all my life.”

  “To hear you tell it, it’s just another bad idea in a lifetime of bad ideas,” Randy taunted. “How could you possibly prove the provenance? Even if it existed.”

  Gates stilled, then smiled at him. “Oh, it exists. In fact, I have it in my possession.” He lifted the slicker and retrieved a thick leather portfolio from the chair underneath. “It’s all in here, Mr. Vaughan. The original appraisal. A photo of the location where Brousseau painted the sunrise and the abbey. The correspondence. I have it all.”

  That folder. There was only one person who had been able to assemble the information Gates was itemizing. But…No. Jack wouldn’t share that information with anyone. It was vital to everything he hoped to accomplish professionally. No way in hell would he give that to a pissant like Bernard Gates.

  “Where did you get that?” Randy asked hoarsely, nodding to the leather folder.

  Gates’s smile stretched wider and grew more manic. “My associate provided it to me. I’m delighted you admit that you know what this is. We can stop playing your little game.” He carefully replaced the folder on the chair. “If you know about these materials, then Mr. Fraser must have shared it with you, which means you already know the painting is authentic.”

  Clearly someone had helped Gates move him while he was unconscious, as the little aged man would never have been able to handle Randy’s heavy body. If Torres did find him, if the police raided, he needed to be able to warn them to take into account two people at least. “What associate?” Randy asked.

  Please don’t be Jack. Please let me be wrong.

  Gates rocked back and forth, so obviously pleased with himself that he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “There’s nothing to be gained by further delay, I suppose. You’ll find out anyway as part of the negotiation we need to undertake about Sunrise.” He turned his head and called out, “Mr. Winiarski? Please come meet Mr. Vaughan properly.”

  Randy’s blood ran cold, his gut clenching painfully. Winiarski? That name was etched in his memory with acid, but it wasn’t possible…

  Then Danny stepped into the light.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Oh no,” Randy moaned. He couldn’t help it. “Danny?”

  He sank to his knees and leaned his forehead against the metal railing to which he was cuffed. All that time together, and he had never seen this coming. Just like with Trevor. Randy clenched his eyes shut as waves of grief and fury crashed together and drowned his heart. He had believed in Danny, and it had all been another lie.

  The cold seeped into his knees and wrists to remind him of the danger, so he forced his eyes open again. He pushed aside the pain for another time and focused on Danny, who was standing rigidly with his hands flexing at his sides nervously. Emotions as strong as those tearing up Randy raced across Danny’s face, his big eyes tormented. Randy saw shame, fear, anger. Maybe regret?

  If there was regret, there was hope. Cuffed as he was, with no way of knowing if Torres could track him, Danny might still be his way out of this.

  Gates rested a hand on Danny’s shoulder as he smirked at Randy. “Danny has been a big help to me. His acting skills are top notch, wouldn’t you say? It was his idea to wait in the chair and look tied up to draw your attention. And I certainly couldn’t have gotten that bulk of yours onto the motorized cart without his help.”

  Danny seemed to shy away at the touch of Gates’s hand, but he didn’t disengage completely. Randy tried to draw his attention.

  “Danny? Why are you working with him?” Randy asked sadly. Danny met his eyes then, and Randy understood for the first time why he looked so familiar when they met. He sighed. “Winiarski. You’re related to Henry.”

  Henry Winiarski. The man who’d killed Kevin in a PCP-induced mania. The man who took apart Randy’s life, and who made Luc a widower.

  “He’s my dad,” Danny blurted. “He’s been in prison my entire life because you keep him there.”

  Randy shook his head. “I didn’t put him in prison. He did that to himself when he killed a police officer.”

  Desperation temporarily won the battle on Danny’s face and he hollered, “He paid for what he did. Long ago! But every time he came up for resentencing, you were there to make sure he didn’t get out.” He scrubbed his hands against his jeans. “I saw you there once. I went to the hearing two years ago. You didn’t even notice me, but I remember you. So big and imposing. All clean cut in a black suit. I listened while you told the sentencing judge about how great your uncle Kevin was and how you tried to do good in the Secret Service to honor him.” His eyes filled. “The lawyer wouldn’t even let me talk and the judge was all ‘Agent Vaughan’ and ‘the court is so grateful for your service’ and ‘thank you for flying to Portland for this civic duty.’ My father never had a chance.”

  It was true—Randy didn’t remember seeing Danny. He didn’t even really look at Henry there in the courtroom. He never had. “Danny, he had a chance before he took those drugs.”

  Danny was practically crying. “He was a kid! Nineteen then, not much older than me. He made a mistake and he’s been paying in prison for decades.”

  Randy frowned at that. “You’re right. It’s been more than thirty years. I don’t understand how Henry could have a son your age.”

  “He met my mom when he was in prison. She was a librarian there, part time, and they got married after a year of visits and writing back and forth. A case worker bent the rules to get him furlough once, and that’s where I came from. Man, my mom really loved him, but all they ever had was a monthly visit. He had to watch my birth on a recording his sister made when Mom went into labor.”

  Guilt bloomed in Randy. He hated Henry Winiarski with a passion, yes. Had for thirty years. He did everything in his power to make sure the son of a bitch never got out. And yet, it had never crossed his mind to wonder about Henry’s family. Whether there was someone waiting at home. Whether he had a child who might hunger for his dad.

  “I didn’t know about this, Danny. That Henry had a son.”

  Gates spoke up. “And would you have done anything differently, Mr. Vaughan? If you had met Danny Winiarski and seen a young man desperate for his father to be free, would you have relented?”

  “I don’t know,” Randy admitted.

  “You’ve come to trust Danny. You know him now. You let him into your home and into your business establishment.” Gates’s tone was wheedling, and it made Randy narrow his eyes. What was he up to?

  “It’s what I promised,” Gates said to Danny. “Didn’t I keep my word?”

  Danny glared back at Gates sullenly. “He hasn’t agreed to anything.”

  “Oh, but I think he will.” Gates looked again at Randy. “When I found Danny, his mother had just died. That’s absolutely true. People in his community knew about the father, and were unwilling to take a chance on the son. The few relatives he had were either dead or had moved away. Danny was on the edge of starvation and his choices were grim. Sell drugs? Prostitute himself? Rob a convenience store? When I approached him, he thought he was going to have to suck my todger
.”

  Danny turned his head away. Randy snarled at Gates despite himself. “You better not have touched him or I’ll break your arm when I get out of these cuffs.”

  Gates laughed. “I assure you, my tastes lie elsewhere. But I offered Danny a better path. Didn’t I, young man?”

  Danny looked directly at Randy. “I didn’t have sex with him.” His voice was softer when he spoke again, and the flare of anger and despair seemed to have died away to be replaced by shame. “I would have with you,” he confessed.

  Randy frowned as he tried to piece the mess together. “And if I had slept with you, you were, what? Going to blackmail me?”

  Gates said, “Well, that was certainly among the possibilities we discussed, though I was reasonably confident we wouldn’t have to go there.” He patted Danny’s back solicitously. “We knew about your savior complex, you see. The news coverage of your aid to Zachary Hall, combined with the testimony you gave over the years to the court to keep Henry behind bars, was highly revealing. You seem to have a pathologic need to save any stray kitten or wounded puppy in your path, so we decided to put Danny in peril and let your nature run its course.”

  Randy exhaled his disgust. “The mugging in front of Mata Hari. It was all a setup.” God damn but he was a fool. He was so easy to manipulate. Trevor had known how to do it. That prick Gates too. All it took was to show Randy someone weak, and his ego dragged him to the rescue. It made his stomach churn to think about.

  Was Jack in on this too? Randy burned to know, but wasn’t about to give Gates the satisfaction of asking.

  Danny couldn’t look at him, but Gates bobbed his head up and down in gleeful agreement, seemingly unaware of the pain he had inflicted. “Good, wasn’t it? We watched the bar for a week to learn your rhythms, paid a few lads to make it look good, and next thing you know, Danny was safely ensconced in your house.”

  The last traces of drug in Randy’s system must have cleared, because he finally understood many things. The sense he’d had of being watched. The items mislaid in his house. “This has nothing to do with Henry. You had Danny go through my house and studio to look for the painting so you could steal it. When it wasn’t there, you had him search at Mata Hari.” His eyes narrowed again. “Wait though. Danny was with me when the break-in happened so that must have been you in the bar Sunday night. It’s all about the painting.”

  Danny shot a panicked look at Gates, but he patted Danny’s shoulder. “Not exactly. True, I was looking for the painting but Henry is part of the negotiation.”

  “You’ve said that already,” Randy snarled. “What negotiation?”

  “The negotiation we are about to undertake. Do you know the hallmark of a successful businessman, Mr. Vaughan?”

  Randy didn’t try to conceal the scorn that curled his lip. “I’m sorry, are you calling yourself a successful businessman? You run a tiny, failing shop and you let a valuable painting pass right under your nose.”

  Gates turned red. “I have a highly reputable gallery and an enviable client list. And everyone missed the truth about that painting. Everyone.” He turned away, breathing heavily. Randy caught Danny looking intently at him, and read concern and fear in his eyes. Danny seemed to be trying to give him a message of some kind. Before Randy could figure out what to do with that, Gates turned back around.

  He was more in control of himself. “Well done, Mr. Vaughan. You managed to set me on the wrong foot. I’ll have to be more alert to your tricks.” He drew another deep breath, then let it out. “As I was saying, the key to a successful negotiation is knowing the other side in intimate detail. When you responded to my overture with an exorbitant price, I realized I would have to make a study of you. So I hired a private detective who unearthed a great deal of useful background.” He smiled. “Frankly, it’s shocking how much information is available for one with the motivation to look. That’s how I learned about Henry Winiarski. Your submissions to the court in Maine were public records. It was in reviewing those submissions and the other court documents that I learned of the existence of Danny here.”

  “And you decided to use a young boy to do your dirty work?” Randy heaped disgust on Gates. His voice had always been his best tool. “Got him beat up by thugs? Yeah, what a great businessman you are.”

  Danny turned defensive. “Don’t, Randy. If I got a split lip out of it, so what? I’ve had a lot worse. Bernard said he would get the painting he wants and you’d…” He choked off what he was going to say, though he was trembling with the effort.

  “I’d what, Danny?” Randy prompted as the kid rocked on his heels. Tension built in every line of Danny’s body and he gnawed on his lower lip. “Tell me. He’d get a painting worth millions of dollars, and what would you get?”

  Danny finally erupted. “You’d help me get my dad out of prison!”

  “What?” Randy was stunned, and Danny stepped closer.

  “Please, Randy. I need him to get out.” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from begging. “I need…”

  “Enough, Danny.” Gates patted his back. “Let the adults talk now, and I’ll keep my promise to you.” He turned back to face Randy. “So. Allow me to make the opening bid in our negotiation. I will undertake the effort to authenticate the Sunrise at the Abbey of Chaalis as an original work of art by Brousseau and to achieve the very highest possible price for it. You will persuade the Maine judge that your opposition to Henry Winiarski’s release has been withdrawn. In exchange, you will receive twenty-five percent of the sale proceeds. I think that is exceedingly generous, since your investment is no more than a few thousand dollars. What do you say?”

  Randy blinked. “Are you serious? You fucking moron.”

  Gates flushed. “You Yanks are always rude with no cause. Let’s discuss this like reasonable men without the name calling.”

  “Reasonable?” Randy barked out. He rattled his cuffs and was gratified when Gates took a step backward. “You endangered Danny. You committed a felony when you broke into my bar. You kidnapped me and are holding me captive.” He was all but roaring by that point. “And how did you get the provenance records from Jack?”

  Gates faltered under his rage, but Randy saw Danny flick a fearful glance at the metal door opposite. Another piece clicked into place. What Danny had been trying to tell him with his eyes. Why he could smell Jack’s distinctive cologne. How Gates had obtained Jack’s research. Oh no, no, no.

  To Danny, he said in a strangled voice, “What did you do to him?”

  “Nothing. I mean, he’s okay,” Danny choked out. He held his hands wide as if trying to convince Randy of his sincerity. “Bernard knocked him out, right? But it’s like with you. It’ll wear off.”

  “Oh, Danny.” Randy shook his head sadly. “You’re so young still. So foolish.”

  “What…what do you mean?”

  Gates tried to interject. “This is all off topic. We have an offer on the table and we must discuss—”

  “How do you think Gates is going to get away with selling a stolen painting based on another man’s research?” Randy continued to Danny. “Think.”

  Danny looked at Gates nervously. “Well, we can give him some of the money too.”

  Gates snarled, “Fraser gets nothing. All he did was put together a few scraps of paper.”

  “So what are you going to do? What are you going to do with Jack?” Randy asked. He let the question burn in the air for Danny’s benefit before saying, “And even if you do kill Jack, his fiancée knows about his research. His museum does as well. Too many people know for you to ever be able to pass the provenance off as your own work.”

  Danny was pale and Gates was sputtering, but Randy pressed on.

  “Jesus Christ, Gates. Did you steal your plot from an episode of CSI: London or something?” Gates flushed even more deeply and opened his mouth to respond, but Randy barreled on over his objections. “What are you going to do with me when I refuse to cooperate? Are you going to shoot me too? Let’s say you do. Y
ou don’t know where the painting is, and it will become part of my estate if I’m dead. No way to get your hands on it then.”

  Danny licked his lips, then said to Gates, “Bernard, you told me no one would really get hurt.”

  Gates started pacing back and forth. “No. I’ve thought about this. This is a negotiation. You just have to be reasonable.”

  “Are you going to kill Danny too, after you kill me and Jack?” Randy interrupted, though his eyes were on Danny and not Gates. Danny looked truly shocked. His own danger had never even occurred to him. Randy grimaced sadly at him. “Think about it. You’re the link to all Gates’s crimes.”

  Gates howled in anger and yanked Randy’s Magnum from the coat pocket where he’d left it. He brandished the pistol and yelled, “Stop muddling everything! You’re confusing the boy and making problems where there should be none. This is a negotiation, dammit. What do you want? We’ll make a deal and this will all be over.”

  Randy shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, you sad little man. There is no deal. You can’t keep your promise to Danny and you can’t get to the painting. Ever.”

  Gates froze, then looked at the pistol in his hand. His chest heaved, but then he stood straighter. Randy realized that even a dumbass like Gates could be dangerous when backed into a corner. The little man said, “The negotiation is not concluded. I have another bargaining chip.” He strode to the metal door across from Randy, turned a key in the lock, and pulled it open with a flourish.

  Jack lay on the floor on his back in just a white T-shirt, untucked from his pants. His hands were taped together and more tape covered his mouth. Someone had at least shoved a sweater under his head, but he seemed to be unconscious. He was pale and sweat shone on his face though his body was shivering.