The Malhoa Connection Page 11

  “What?” Paulo carefully placed an oil painting leaning against a crate and turned to Manny. “Do you have something to say instead of just standing there?”

  There was a moment of silence. Vinnie tapped the screen and we were now looking at the view from both cameras. My eyebrows raised when I saw the mirth on Manny’s face. He didn’t often smile.

  “Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time with Fre... the poet.” Manny glanced at Daniel’s camera and shook his head. Then he turned his attention back to the paintings in the container. “You see, he’s always blabbing on and on and on about brushstroke this and era that. Usually, I just ignore him, but something must have stuck.” He took a step closer to the largest painting. Colin inhaled sharply next to me, then chuckled as Manny pointed at the oil painting depicting a seventeenth-century dinner party in an ornate dining hall. “That’s the only reason why I recognise that clown.”

  “He literally means ‘clown’.” Colin laughed softly and shook his head. “I wondered if he ever heard anything when I talked about art.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Paulo pushed Manny away from the painting and stared at it. Then he jerked when Manny burst out laughing again.

  “Oh, hell.” Manny sighed a happy sigh, still chuckling. He was looking at a different painting, then moved to another one. “This is too bloody poetic.”

  Paulo grabbed Manny by the collar, the view on Vinnie’s tablet jostling violently. “Are you calling me a clown?”

  “Look at the paintings, you idiot.” Manny pushed Paulo off him and pointed at one painting, then the next. “They all have the same clown.”

  “Auguste Renoir’s The Clown,” Colin said softly.

  I narrowed my eyes. The view from the bodycams were small, but enough to see that each of the professionally framed paintings in view had one thing in common. Somewhere in the background, someone had included a clown in a dark costume with large embroidered butterflies and puffy red sleeves, holding a violin.

  “What does this mean?” Jake’s voice was shaking, his eyes wide.

  “It means the Collector is screwing with you.” Manny looked at Paulo. “He knew you were coming, so he got someone to paint a lot of pretty pictures with clowns in them just for you.”

  Paulo kicked an empty crate and walked out of the container, his fists on his hips. He swung around. “How did he know? We’ve been careful to keep everything analogue. There is no way he knew that we knew about this shipment.” His nostrils flared and his jaw jutted. “Unless you were careless and let it slip.”

  “You might want to think twice about your accusation.” Daniel’s expression conveyed his incredulity. “We only decided to come to Portugal last night. And it was less than thirty minutes ago that we found out about this container. Unless the Collector is a clairvoyant, there is no way he knew we would be here. He was setting you guys up.”

  Paulo let off a string of expletives so crude even Vinnie blinked. Daniel looked at Manny’s camera, then back at the paintings. “Let’s take inventory. We’ll make sure that there aren’t some authentic paintings hidden in plain sight here. The others are busy going through the stuff at the church. They’ll stay busy for a while.”

  “Thank you, Dan.” Colin smiled at the tablet, then looked at Armando. “They’re giving us time to get stuff done without Paulo and Jake here.”

  This time Armando’s smile lifted both corners of his mouth. “And what do you suggest we do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Colin widened his eyes in an obvious fake expression as he winked at Inge. “Maybe visit a certain fine art gallery?”

  Chapter ELEVEN

  “THERE WE GO.” INGE stepped back from the large electronic whiteboard. She handed Vinnie a cable, her smile shy, almost convincing. “This will connect your tablet and we can watch the shipyard as well as Colin and Armando here.”

  Vinnie stared at the cable, not moving to take it. “Is this thing connected to the internet?”

  “Nope.” Inge waved around. “We’ve been keeping everything offline, so the Collector can’t access what we know. Jake of all people brought this whiteboard in so we can have something electronic to save our brainstorming sessions.”

  “Hmm.” Vinnie took the cable, connected it to his tablet and tapped the screen. “And you haven’t taken any photos of these notes, right?”

  “Of course not!” Her outrage was negated by her mischievous smile. She winked at him. “I also have not been planning to accidentally take this whiteboard home with me.”

  My eyes widened when the large monitor flickered once before displaying the video footage from Vinnie’s tablet. Francine had shown me a similar model, but I’d rejected the idea of buying yet another device.

  Before Vinnie had connected the tablet, I’d had a mere glimpse at notes scrawled all over the monitor. Those had been handwritten notes with annotations made in different colours. A pen tipped with soft plastic was magnetically attached to the frame. The possibilities of this device made me reconsider my initial opinion.

  The video quality was not as good as the top-of-the-range monitors in my viewing room, but the images were clear as I watched Manny and Daniel opening more crates to reveal even more paintings with clowns added in the background.

  I had a limited view from Colin’s body camera. He was driving and the camera was pointed slightly above the steering wheel. They were currently stuck in traffic. At seventeen minutes past five in the afternoon, it was to be expected.

  Inge turned to me. “I know you have many questions. But I would like to say something before you ask.”

  I frowned when she paused, looking at me expectantly. “So, say what you want to say.”

  “Oh. Yes.” The corners of her eyes crinkled with humour when Vinnie chuckled. She pulled two chairs closer, sat down on one and pointed at the other. “Please sit.”

  I didn’t want to. I had far too much nervous energy, worrying about Manny and Daniel with Paulo. And worrying about Colin. Yet I sat down. I needed to hear what Inge had to say.

  “Okay, so... um...” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and blurted, “I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I fell for this. Armando told you that Jake has a source who’s been giving us all kinds of things from the Collector’s garbage, right? Well, I naïvely thought those magazines, newspapers and other junk Jake’s source gave us were giving us more intel on the Collector. But you guys really rained on my parade.” Her shoulders sagged. “And when I think about this, I’m more and more convinced that we’re being duped.”

  “Explain.”

  “It didn’t smell right.” She gave Vinnie a rude look when he snorted. “I’m serious here. Rubbish has a specific smell. The magazines, newspapers and envelopes Jake brought here didn’t smell like rubbish. Sure, it was dirty, but it was clean dirty.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “To me it does. But to give a clearer explanation, I’m totally guessing here, but it was as if someone smeared ketchup and mayonnaise here and there on the stuff and tossed a few candy wrappers in there for good measure. It didn’t smell... off.” She laughed softly as if to herself. “And that is why it smelled... off.”

  Vinnie chuckled. “Good one.”

  I didn’t waste my time trying to interpret her neurotypical wordplay. Her nonverbal cues were much more intriguing. She wasn’t shielding her true emotions like Armando did all the time. I wondered if it was because she was feeling safe with us and didn’t realise she was lowering her defensive mechanisms. I saw more than just glimpses of her intellect, her deep concern and her curiosity.

  I took a moment to consider what she’d told us. The profile I’d created on the Collector would support her theory that the Collector was possibly the one feeding them this so-called intel. The games the Collector played were more complex and calculated than Armando’s attempts at diverting our attention or his struggle with sharing what he knew.

  It was possible that the Collector h
ad sent the garbage. It was also possible that the Collector had manipulated somebody into a compromising position and that person was desperate to escape the Collector’s hold over them. The intel they’d garnered from the garbage could be important. Or not.

  I studied Inge for a few more seconds. She was confused. And worried.

  She smiled at Vinnie and turned to me. “I know who you are. I know you can see right through me. Ask me anything. I will be as honest as possible.”

  “Wow.” Vinnie raised both eyebrows. “Is she telling the truth, Jen-girl?”

  I nodded, still looking at Inge. “But I also see your dismay at this situation. And your determination.”

  Her smile was wide. “I like you so much. So very, very much.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to it, so I focused on the many questions I had. “Tell me everything you know about Oizys.”

  “Well, there’s not much. I already told you they’re an insurance company that has insured a few shipments that we traced back to Conhecedor.” She winced. “But that’s really all I know. Should I ask my hacker friends to check them out?”

  “No.” I didn’t want someone less skilled than Francine to work on this and possibly alert the Collector we had this intel. I thought about everything Inge had told us earlier. “You mentioned that Conhecedor invested in a company. Is it Oizys?”

  “No. That is...” She got up and walked to the whiteboard. “Vinnie, I’m going to steal this from you for a second.” She tapped the screen and the video feeds disappeared.

  I inhaled sharply.

  “I’ll keep an eye on our guys, Jen-girl,” Vinnie said. “The moment something happens, I’ll let you know.”

  “And I’ll put the feed back on the whiteboard once I show you this.” Inge tapped the screen a few more times, then stepped to the side. “This is one of the emails from the Conhecedor email address. Damn. You know what? Now I don’t even know if I trust this anymore. What if the Collector gave this to Jake’s source to give to Jake just to screw with us?”

  “That is probable.” It was disappointing that the information Armando had used to convince us to come to Portugal was proving to be doubtful. “But there is also the possibility that there might be intel of worth buried in everything you’ve received.”

  “Well, in that case, then maybe this email might have worth.” She sighed. “I hope. You remember I told you that I have a hacker friend? Well, he told me that the first place one should look”—she held up one finger, her lips twitching in mischief—“if one were to accidentally find oneself in another person’s email account, was the bin. People often delete their emails, but don’t empty the bins. Most email servers keep those emails for a month or even longer before they’re deleted.”

  I was growing impatient with her long explanation. “And that’s where you found this email of worth. What is the content?”

  “This is where I found the mention of Conhecedor investing in another company.” She pointed to the screen. “Almada. See, this is a short email sent to Conhecedor, just mentioning that the transfer to Almada is completed.”

  Something about this name sounded familiar. I knew I’d come across it in our investigation, but was sure ‘Almada’ didn’t come up as the name of a company connected to Conhecedor, but couldn’t place it immediately.

  This email was raising more questions, not offering many answers. I turned my attention from the whiteboard screen to Inge and what I’d observed about her. “What did you find out about Almada?”

  She smiled. “This time I didn’t ask my hacker friend. I did my own little online search. All I found is that Almada is a venture capital company. Their website is bare-bones. It looks very pretty, but doesn’t have any real information about the company. It’s the kind of website created only to make a place look legit.”

  I got up and stepped closer to the screen. The email address that had sent this email caught my eye. It took all my control not to react. The first part of the email address was a string of numbers, but what was significant was the server: whiteelephant.tor. This email had originated from the forum Francine had heard the muggers mention. The forum where the Collector had put out the contract on my best friend.

  I took three slow breaths and returned to my chair. “What else do you know?”

  “Well, Almada was registered in St Kitts and Nevis, but with a bank account here in Portugal as well.” She held up one finger and waved it at Vinnie. “Don’t ask how I know. But I can guarantee you, I found this information in a way the Collector can’t trace. I also learned that the owner of Almada is registered as an E.I. Dolon. And that is all I know about Almada.”

  Vinnie held his thumb and index finger together with only a three-millimetre space between them. He shook his fingers at me. “I’m this close to being confused between all these frigging companies.”

  “Why?” I didn’t see the reason for his confusion. “There are only three companies we’ve uncovered so far. Conhecedor has direct links to the shipments of numerous artworks we’ve connected to the Collector. Conhecedor invested in Almada, which as you’ve heard is a venture capital company based in a tax haven. Oizys—an insurance company that insured the shipment of art at the fine art gallery— is the third company also connected to Conhecedor. How can you be confused about this?”

  “When you put it like that, it’s much less confusing than it was in my mind a few minutes ago.” He smiled when Inge giggled.

  “I want full access to this email address.” I pointed at the whiteboard.

  “I’ll give you everything we have. I’ve taken photos of everything here.” She waved her arm to include all the papers against the crates and boxes as well as the tables. “Those photos are in a very safe cloud account. The screenshots of the emails that you can see here are also in the cloud account. I’ll share access to the cloud account with you.”

  And I would immediately give it to Francine and Pink. They could work their way through there without alerting anyone to their online snooping and maybe trace the account back to something more substantial. Something that would lead us directly to the Collector.

  “Jen-girl.” Vinnie held up his tablet. “They’re at the gallery.”

  Inge tapped the screen a few times and the video feed once again filled the electronic whiteboard. She walked back to her chair next to me and sat down. Vinnie pulled a chair closer and sank down in it. The only evidence of his tension was the way he was clutching his tablet.

  On screen, Colin and Armando were walking to a four-storey building. The ground floor hosted shops, only three visible on the view I had from Colin’s bodycam. One was completely shuttered and the other looked like an upmarket children’s toy store. It was the store to the right Colin and Armando were aiming for. Two large windows to the left of the entrance displayed colourful artworks. The single large window to the right displayed a hand-painted dinner service on a wooden table.

  Armando was walking next to Colin, his hand coming into view whenever he was gesturing. They were talking about new security measures museums were implementing. A different tension flooded my system when they walked closer to the two large glass doors of the gallery and I saw their reflections.

  Colin was wearing a disguise. He looked twenty years older, three sizes bigger and his long, grey hair was tied in a messy ponytail.

  Armando was wearing glasses, his hair covered in a floppy hat, his athletic physique hidden under an oversized, wrinkled and outdated pinstripe suit. Work boots completed the outrageous outfit. With Colin’s glasses and puffier cheeks and Armando’s full beard, it would be hard for any facial recognition system to identify them.

  That was the only reason I accepted this. It kept Colin safe. But I still hated it.

  They reached the doors and Armando pulled on one door, but it didn’t budge.

  “They’re closed.” Colin’s index finger came into view as he pointed at business hours sandblasted on the glass in an elegant font. “It’s Thursday, so they closed
at three. They’ve been gone for more than two hours already.”

  “Hmm.” Armando turned to Colin, his half-smile lifting his cheek. “Maybe we are needed at the back of the building? Maybe we should see if anyone needs our help there?”

  Colin huffed a laugh and waved his hand. “After you.”

  Armando nodded and walked to the side of the building. Now that Colin was following him, I could see the scrappy backpack resting against Armando’s back. I wondered what was in there that it was important enough to bring with him.

  They entered a small alley the length of the block, buildings on both sides blocking the last daylight, making the video shadowy and grainy. I took comfort that it gave them better cover. At this moment, Colin’s safety was causing me great distress.

  “This is it,” Armando said and pointed to their left.

  Colin followed Armando into a small courtyard. I leaned away from the whiteboard and crossed my arms tightly over my chest. The courtyard was more cluttered than my mind could process. Furnishings, wooden pallets, rubbish bags and a few large canvas cloths used during renovations were scattered all over the small area.

  They made their way to the back door, neither of the men speaking, their footsteps inaudible. Both men were thieves and clearly excelled in stealth.

  “Hmm.” Armando turned slightly, his voice a mere whisper. “The door.”

  Colin didn’t respond verbally. He was still facing the thin strip of light coming through the open door. Had the courtyard not been covered in shade at the end of the day, that glow might not have been visible. It was more like a living room lamp used for ambience rather than illumination.

  Colin gestured towards the side of the courtyard and Armando nodded. They gingerly stepped over the litter and made their way to a large signboard resting against the wall. There was enough space under it for both men to disappear from view, but Armando didn’t go in.

  He waved Colin in, then leaned closer, his voice low. “Stay here and watch the door. I have a plan.”