Читать книгу Art and Murder - Don Easton - Страница 18

Jack turned his attention back to the crate and caught the worried look Bojan gave Anton as he slid the painting out and unwrapped it. It was an image of a clown with a white face and a teardrop under one eye. It reflected his own emotions.

He realized he’d been lost in his own thoughts when he became aware that both Anton’s and Bojan’s gazes were fixed on him. “Why are you staring at me?” he yelled. “You thinking of trying something?”

“No,” replied Anton. “I was only watching what —”

“Shut up!” Jack put the duct tape back over Anton’s mouth and then over his and Bojan’s eyes, before using his phone to photograph the painting, passports, and jewellery. He then sent the photos to Rose, along with a text telling her he’d contacted Roche and that he was expecting to hear back from him at seven-thirty.

Jack was placing the painting back into the crate when Laura called to say she had arrived at the front gate. He ripped the tape off Bojan’s mouth, then put a gun to his head, saying, “You have a choice. Give me the number for the keypad at the front gate or I’ll ram it open with you tied to the front bumper.”

Moments later, Laura entered and parked behind the workshop as Jack had directed. The first thing she saw upon entering the workshop was Clive’s body on the floor.

“Back here!” Jack called.

Laura walked into the back room and saw two men lying hog-tied on the floor. Next to them stood Jack, who gestured to a stack of cocaine, along with a cardboard box and a flat wooden crate. “Take a look,” he said.

His voice sounded hollow and Laura knew he was hurting inside. She fought the urge to tell him the French police officer’s murder wasn’t his fault. Her eyes met his and she saw the muscle in his jaw ripple. His eyes flashed anger as he put his finger to his lips.

Laura nodded. Message received.

“Got thirty-two kilos of coke and enough jewellery to keep you happy for a lot of birthdays,” said Jack, continuing to play the role he’d set out for himself.

Laura looked at the cocaine stacked on the workbench alongside several phones and a couple of passports. She then looked in the cardboard box and saw it was filled with expensive watches and cloth bags no doubt containing diamond rings and gold jewellery. She looked at the two captives again, then at Jack. A dead police officer in Paris, a dead dope dealer here … and this? She made a palms-up gesture, silently asking, What should we do?

* * *

Jack’s phone went off, and he held up a hand indicating Laura to wait while he answered the call. It was Rose. He left Laura to watch the captives as he moved to the opposite end of the building.

“What have you got?” he asked abruptly.

“Special ‘O’ located Klaus at VGH. He’s sitting with Liam in the waiting area. They said he’s rocking back and forth and holding his jaw and moaning, but the waiting room’s full. I doubt he will be clear before noon.”

“Good. What else?”

“I called Paris and told them you were talking directly to Roche in an undercover capacity. That caught their attention. I’ll be getting a copy of Kerin’s notes any minute.”

“Thank you,” Jack said.

“I haven’t had time to check into the jewellery or the painting yet, other than to ask the French about it, and they say the painting doesn’t match any of the stolen ones they know about. What did you say to Roche?”

“I let his brother explain the situation to him, although at this point I can’t let on that I know they’re brothers. I then told him I wanted compensation other than what I found and would hold the stash and the two guys as collateral. Besides the photos I sent you, I also have thirty-two kilos of coke.”

“Great. I also presume it was all in plain sight for you to see?”

“It was when I photographed everything.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Rose sternly.

“It isn’t like I had time to get a warrant,” replied Jack tersely. “I’m surprised Roche hadn’t already tossed his phone. Probably waiting for a confirmation call. I needed all the ammo I could find and to call him as quickly as possible. Besides, I don’t have any intention of charging these guys with dope trafficking or stolen property.”

Rose decided to drop the subject of a search warrant. “You also found two passports made out to the same person with different names. I asked the French about that, too, but they said the issue of fake passports has never come up before.”

“The woman on the passports is probably a courier,” Jack said. “If they’re handing out passports to dope runners, I hate to think who else might be getting them.”

“Makes the rest of what you found seem insignificant in comparison.”

“It’s all insignificant when compared to a policeman being murdered.” Again, feelings of guilt and self-doubt clouded his mind.

“I know, I know,” Rose said. She paused, uncertain of how to respond, then asked, “How did Roche react?”

“I didn’t give him time to talk. The reason I stalled for two hours was to figure out what my strategy should be. Did the French give you something?”

Rose took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She knew that today would be a long one, followed by a sleepless night. “Okay, according to the French, Roche is a high roller. Sharp dresser, expensive restaurants, high-class hookers, and he owns a villa on the outskirts of Paris.”

“Which means his boss, or the Ringmaster as they call him, will be similar or even more so. Is drugs their main thing?”

“No, from what Kerin learned, that was a venture that Roche was doing on his own. Stolen property appears to be what the Ringmaster has made a living out of. Roche had also hinted that the Ringmaster might retire and hopes he’ll become Ringmaster.”

Jack thought about that. “The Ringmaster must be busy if he’s in charge of different crime rings operating out of different countries.”

“I expect he travels a lot, but we’re talking Europe. EU nationals can hop in and out of different countries without even showing a passport.”

Sounds like a lonely life, Jack thought, recalling all the times he was away from home and missing his family. “Do we know if the Ringmaster’s married?”

“They don’t know. They said he’s like a ghost. They only know it was the Ringmaster who killed him because of what Kerin said before he was shot. They still have no idea who he is or what he looks like.”

“What about the witness who saw him run from the washroom?”

“The men’s washroom adjoins the women’s. A lady heard the shot and at first thought someone had banged a stall door really hard, but when she walked out, a man burst past her from out of the men’s side. She suspected then that it wasn’t a door banging she’d heard. So she peaked inside and saw the body.”

“Did she see the killer’s face?”

“No, he had his hand up to the side of his face when he ran past. After that she only saw him from behind. She was too rattled to remember what he was wearing. She described him as having a stocky build, collar-length black hair, and said that his hand had lots of black hair on it.”

“That describes a lot of men.”

“I know. She did add that he was agile. Apparently he jumped a waist-high stone wall without using his hands. Made her think the guy was an acrobat.”

“Some circus act,” said Jack cynically.

Rose paused, then asked, “What do you want to do?”

“The French appear to be onboard with us,” Jack noted.

“How about you give me Roche’s number and I’ll pass it on to them?” Rose suggested. “Maybe they’ll be able to triangulate the call to know where he is.”

“I’ll text it to you, but these guys are phone savvy. His number will continually change.”