The Gauguin Connection Page 15

  “She’s what?” Manny’s outraged voice greeted me as I entered the empty pub. I sighed and walked deeper into the badly lit room. Even though these places were usually rife with interesting subjects to study for non-verbal communication, I very seldom ventured into pubs. There were simply too many places I couldn’t bear to touch. Too many unnamed and unthinkable germs.

  I slowed my steps and looked around. At least this place didn’t look too shabby. Booths lined the back and side walls, and worn wooden tables and chairs filled the remaining space. The bar ran the along the entire wall to my right. Unsurprisingly, the pub was devoid of customers at this early hour in the morning. A young man was scrubbing the tiled floor leading to the back with suspicious enthusiasm. A slight sniff informed my olfactory senses that a lot of cleaning products were used this morning. It marginally eased my germ phobia.

  The knowledge of what I was about to walk into made me stop next to a stained table. Generally, I preferred to avoid confrontations at all costs. Since Manny had exploded into my life, every day had been filled with confrontation. I swallowed hard and tried to gather the calm needed to face the men waiting for me. Phillip had phoned me earlier and told me that Leon wanted to meet with us, but not at anyone’s office. He was very wary of somebody seeing us enter his office or him entering our building. It made sense.

  Rock music blared through the speakers overhead and I sighed. An hour in this place and I was going to have a headache. Another reason I didn’t frequent these types of establishments. I supposed that it was a good place to have a covert meeting. No one could eavesdrop on a conversation without looking obvious doing it. Not that there was anyone here to eavesdrop. Only one booth against the back wall was occupied. I could only see the top of Phillip’s head. I assumed Manny was slumped in the seat across from him. I could still hear Manny complaining about something.

  Vinnie had driven me to the pub, grumbling about it being like a bad spy movie. It took the threat of introducing him to Leon and all the other law enforcement people I knew to make him wait outside for me. I frowned at myself. Standing here was only avoiding the inevitable. I pulled my shoulders back and walked to the booth against the back wall.

  “Good morning.” I placed my computer bag with both the EDA and my work computer on the bench next to Phillip. Manny was indeed slumped on the opposite bench. I glared at the plastic covered seats before I carefully lowered myself onto it. Phillip looked his crisp professional self. In contrast Manny looked like a pile of dirty laundry. As usual.

  “Haven’t you just been the busy bee,” grumbled Manny.

  “I beg your pardon?” I took out my work computer with my latest report on it and wondered what bees had to do with me. I opened the computer and switched it on. If I focussed on work, I could maybe avoid thinking of the sticky substance under my shoe.

  “I’ve been updating Manny on some of your findings, Genevieve.” Phillip smiled at me. “Good morning.”

  I returned his smile, but my facial muscles lost their friendliness when I looked at Manny. He was oozing animosity.

  “Why does Phillip not want to tell me all the details about your attack, Miss Lenard?”

  “Doctor Lenard or Genevieve,” I said pointedly and waited for Manny to acknowledge. The frumpy man wanted to bring me down a peg or two, but I was not going to let him reduce me to a ‘Miss’. We stared at each other for a good minute. It gave me time to do a more accurate reading of the agent’s face and I came to a startling realisation.

  “You’re worried about me.” The words rushed out of my mouth unchecked.

  He ignored my declaration and ordered, “Tell me everything about your attack and your attackers.”

  I looked at Phillip only to see amusement. I shrugged mentally and told Manny everything except for Colin and Vinnie’s involvement. I stated that friends helped me. Of course he noticed something was amiss. “You are being just as cagey about the story as Phillip. What are you not telling me?”

  “Something that I don’t want you to know.”

  He sneered at my obvious answer and went straight to the heart of it. “Who are these friends of yours who came to your rescue?”

  I swallowed nervously and looked at Phillip for help. He wasn’t in a haste to be my buffer. I wondered why.

  “No, missy, Phillip is not going to help you out here today. It’s just you and me, and I want to know who these people are. Is one of them the outsider that Phillip just told me about?”

  I sucked in both my lips and bit down on them. I did not want to talk. The whole truth about Colin and Vinnie was pushing against my teeth, desperate to be uttered. I simultaneously fought my urge to confess while searching for the right way to answer. I hoped I was handling this correctly.

  “Can you please just accept that my friends are completely trustworthy and that I would never dream of jeopardising the case?” My carefully phrased answer did nothing to change Manny’s unhappy expression. I rushed on, hoping to distract him. “How much has Phillip told you? Do you know about the dead artists?”

  “What dead artists?” He was quiet for a second and I could see the moment his curiosity overcame his concerns. “Don’t think that I don’t know what you’re doing. We will talk about this sooner or later.”

  My first word of a lengthy explanation was interrupted by a tall gentleman stopping at our booth. I immediately recognised Manny’s friend from the photo of the Foundation’s gala event. Major General Leon Hofmann. He was taller than the impression I had from the photo, but had the same close-cropped gray hair, light brown eyes and thin lips. What was different was the worried expression pulling at his face. Introductions were made all around and Leon sat down next to Manny. A waiter took our coffee orders and we settled.

  “Genevieve, explain about the dead artists.” Manny’s order did not sit well with me. Nor did the new guest’s presence. I hadn’t had time to read and to come to my own conclusions about the Eurocorps man. At this moment I only had Manny’s trusted friendship with Phillip to go by. That was by no means enough for me.

  Leon must have sensed my hesitance. “I appreciate your reluctance to trust a stranger, Doctor Lenard. But I was the one after all who asked Manny to find someone trustworthy to help us figure this whole thing out. It was on my insistence that he asked Phillip. You can therefore rest assured that my only interest is in figuring out who took those weapons, where they are and what they are being used for.”

  His respectful manner, in such severe contrast to Manny’s annoying attitude, went a long way to convince me. But it was his short monologue that gave me some time to start forming a baseline from which I could read him. What I read was deep concern, bordering on desperation. There were no alarms being set off by his non-verbal and verbal cues.

  My decision made about Leon’s sincerity, I told them about Danielle, her art, the miraculously recovered artworks, the cruises, the ships, the companies owning those ships and the art auctions. I stopped only for a few seconds to allow the waiter to place our coffees on the table. Both men listened with an intensity uncommon to me. Manny even more so. There wasn’t much that he missed. Three times he interrupted me to ask a question for clarification.

  My throat was scratchy from talking so much by the time I was ready to confront Manny about the charity foundation. After a quick sip of lukewarm coffee, I pulled my work computer closer and brought up the photo of the gala event. I turned the computer so that the screen was facing Manny and Leon. “What is your connection to the Foundation for Development of Sustainable Education?”

  He gave me a searching look before he turned his attention to the computer screen. “This shindig? This was what? Two, three years ago?”

  “Two years,” I answered.

  “This was some charity evening that I had no choice in attending. Chief Dutoit virtually ordered me to be there. This is neither my interest nor my department, but it was good for PR. Or so the Chief said. I suppose there is a reason you are showing me this?” />
  “Ten cruise ships have connections to the Foundation. All of those ships have hosted art auctions with suspected forgeries. It is widely publicised that the auctions donate three percent of all money changing hands to the Foundation.”

  Manny looked back at the photo. I wondered what was going on in his mind. “Isn’t it also strange how many important figures are in this photo?”

  “Who are these actors and this philanthropist?” I pointed to the man who was hidden by the supermodel’s expensive hairdo.

  “The stars are just there for the celebrity pull,” Manny said. “But Tomasz Kubanóv? He’s something else. I met him for the first time that night. He’s some Russian bigwig. He’s also the one who founded this charity.”

  “He is?” I did not expect this. “Why did I not see this information anywhere? I did extensive research on the Foundation.”

  “I don’t know,” Manny said in his sarcastic voice. “Maybe he’s one of those private, behind-the-scenes guys.”

  “You don’t like him. Why not?”

  “He was too smooth for my liking.”

  “What do you mean by smooth?”

  “He was a real charmer. Never forceful, making everyone feel comfortable and good about themselves. Hell, I even liked the guy while he was chatting to us. It was only after he had moved away that I realised how he was playing everyone like a violin. I’m sure that he could bend anyone to his will just with a smile.”

  I doubted that, but was too surprised by the detailed impression Manny had shared to express my opinion. Instead I turned to Leon who was leaning over to look at the computer screen. “Does he have a connection to you, Leon?”

  “Apart from that evening and another charity function last year, I had never spoken to or had any other contact with this man.” He was shaking his head throughout his sentence. “Why are you so curious about him?”

  “Genevieve will never, ever say it is a gut feeling, but I suspect that is what is driving her.” Phillip spoke for the first time since we started and I was not pleased with his observation.

  “It is not a gut feeling.” I knew I sounded defensive and didn’t care.

  Manny narrowed his eyes. “What are you thinking, Doc?”

  “I don’t know. If Mister Kubanóv founded the Foundation and the Foundation has these strong ties to the ships, maybe he is behind all this.”

  “It’s bothering Genevieve that she can’t figure out who’s behind the murders.” Phillip scowled. “And behind her attack.”

  “I’d be happy to blame a Russian, especially this smooth Russian,” Manny grumbled.

  “What is everyone’s problem with Russia?” My question was fast and unchecked.

  “Who else doesn’t trust Russia?”

  Answering Manny would require bringing Colin into the conversation. I reached for a creative way to avoid that. Deception was uncommonly hard work. “There are corrupt individuals everywhere. Just because a few Russians are abusing their power doesn’t mean the whole country is bad.”

  “There are unfortunately more than just a few abusing their power,” Leon interjected softly and I sighed. An argument about Russia’s positive points was forming in my head and I felt a diatribe coming on.

  “Let’s not digress.” Phillip mercifully intervened. “What’s our next step?”

  “I’ll get the Foundation’s financials and I’ll also look into this Kubanóv character,” Manny said. “I, for one, would like to see if that three percent made it to the Foundation’s bank account.”

  He massaged his neck and puffed a slow breath out. Was his distress about the added elements to the case or about something else?

  I narrowed my eyes and plunged. “What’s the problem, Manny?”

  Immediately a sneering dimple appeared in his left cheek. I deeply disliked this man. “What do you think is the problem, Miss Face-reader?”

  “Are you being sarcastic again?” My question caused Leon to cover his chuckle with a cough and Phillip to inhale sharply. Manny just glared his disdain at me. “I take that as a yes. That means that you are angry, but I doubt that you are angry with me. I’m just an easy target. What is really causing you such concern?”

  Manny started to speak, but I interrupted him. “And it’s Doctor Face-reader to you.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence before all three men laughed. This case must have changed me into a comedienne. The laughter died down, but it seemed to have broken the tension around the table. Manny had the decency to look contrite.

  “I apologise, Doc. Since Monday I’ve been getting a lot of flack from the Chief. He’s giving me hell about this case, demanding reports, telling me that I’m wasting time and resources on something that is of no concern to the EDA.”

  “Could you please explain the exact position of the Chief in the EDA’s organisation?” I asked.

  “Right at the top of the EDA’s organigram is the Steering Board, chaired by the Head.” Manny lowered his voice. “I trust her. The man giving me such a hard time is directly under the Head. Frederique Dutoit is the Chief Executive. Under him is myself as the Deputy Chief Executive of Strategy and another deputy.”

  “But why is the Chief on your case? Aren’t you sending him any reports?” Leon sounded very concerned.

  “I’ve been able to avoid him for the best part of this week, but he’s ordered me in for a full report on Friday.”

  “What are you going to tell him?” Leon asked.

  In classic blocking behaviour, he closed his eyes in order to distance himself from the unpleasantness awaiting him. On a sigh, he opened his eyes, stress lines visible all over his face. “I don’t know.”

  “Has anyone else shown an interest in this case?” Leon looked intently at Manny.

  “No. Why?”

  “Well, I’ve had a few unpleasant conversations with Brigadier General Nick Crenshaw about the missing weapons. Apart from the Commanding General, he’s the only one who knows about the true extent of the loss of our weapons. It’s been kept under strict confidentiality. Since Brigadier General Crenshaw was in charge of the weapons, he’s been excluded from the investigation. Merely asking about it is breaking protocol.”

  “Do you think he’s involved?”

  “A month ago, I would never have suspected him, but now I don’t know. I’m suspecting just about everyone.”

  “I know the feeling.” Manny sounded tired. “Apart from the Head, I don’t trust anyone. Hell, sometimes I don’t even know if I should trust the Head.”

  I decided to visit Eurocorps’ website again to familiarise myself with this Brigadier General Crenshaw. By now I had formed a good baseline to read Leon and could clearly see his discomfort at having to suspect everyone.

  “I have the Head asking for discretion,” Manny continued, “but it is Chief Dutoit who’s been chewing my ass for the lack of progress. Not that we haven’t made any progress. I’ve just not informed him about it. I don’t know if I should. And this is not making it any easier.” He tossed the photo of Danielle’s boyfriend on the table as if it were a live snake.

  Leon leaned in. “What’s this? Who’s this?”

  “This is Piotr Chulkov, the murdered girl’s boyfriend.” Apparently Manny hadn’t wasted any time identifying Danielle’s boyfriend.

  “Chulkov.” I scanned my memory of all the discoveries in the case for the appearance of that surname. “I’ve heard that name before.”

  “He’s the brother of the thug who killed Danielle,” Manny answered just as I remembered who also had that surname.

  “This man killed his brother’s girlfriend and then himself?” I was aghast. “Why?”

  “That is the million dollar question,” Manny said as if to himself. “His name did, however, set off a few red lights. That is why it was so easy to ID him. Piotr has been on several international law enforcement agencies’ radars.”

  “For what?” Phillip sat up in his chair, looking very concerned.

  “Every c
rime you can imagine. It is his connection to a private Russian army that caught my attention though.”

  “Private Russian army?” Phillip sounded like a parrot, repeating everything Manny revealed. I was riveted. I didn’t think it possible for this case to have become more complex and thus more interesting, but it just had.

  “Communism had barely ended when numerous secret military organisations popped up everywhere. Most dissolved within the first year. They were mostly started by discontented communists with strong military influence, hoping to maintain the strength of communism.” Manny’s top lip lifted as if he smelled something bad. “Unfortunately there were quite a few very rich people who managed to form their own personal armies.”

  “To what end?” Why would anyone want their own army? I might need one to keep the influx of criminals from my front door. And windows.

  “To protect their illegal activities.” Manny’s strong dislike for everything Russian was evident in his harsh tone. “The arms dealers, drug dealers, mafia bosses and human traffickers all have their own protection. Some are amateurish, but most are former military, trained and skilled.”

  Immediately I thought of the four men in my apartment. Only two of them were Russian though. Could there be a connection? It was just too much of a coincidence that the men who attacked me were scared of Red when the Russian murderer promised, ‘Red will end all twenty-seven.’ And what was the significance of the ‘twenty-seven daffodils’?

  “What is it, Genevieve?” As usual Phillip managed to see that my mind was working on something.

  “I was thinking about the men who attacked me.” I wasn’t yet ready to share my theories on Piros.

  “Men attacked her?” Leon’s outraged question was aimed at Manny. “Is that where the bruises came from?”

  I thought that I had hidden them well with my make-up, but the way they were now staring at my face proved my skills were not quite up to par. “Yes, she was attacked in her apartment. And she hasn’t told me everything.”

  “I’ve told you all the important parts.” I was sure he would disagree with me if he were ever to find out about Colin and Vinnie. “I also told you about the insignia on two of the men’s uniforms.”

  “They wore uniforms?” This was the first time since Leon entered the room that he seemed less than composed.

  “You’d better tell him the whole story.” Manny emphasised the two last words, but I ignored it. I told Leon about the attack, aware of Manny’s scrutiny. He was no doubt hoping to catch me in a lie or inconsistency. Since my memory is faultless, I told Leon exactly what I had told Manny. Including the part about the insignias.

  “Do any of these private armies have logos or insignias?” I asked.

  “Some of them view themselves as legitimate armies and therefore have everything an army would have.”

  “Including insignias.”

  “Including insignias. Can you remember what it looked like?” Leon asked.

  “If I was any good at drawing, I would’ve drawn it for you.” This was not a skill I had managed to excel in. “But if you show me pictures of insignias, I’ll be able to point out the one without any doubt.”

  “I’ll email you the gallery that we have.” Leon looked at Manny. “She’s still using the EDA computer, right?”

  “Yes, and it’s totally secure.” Manny would surely contemplate throwing me in prison if he knew that Colin had seen and worked on the EDA computer.

  “Leon, you said these armies have everything a legitimate army would have. Would that include weapons?” I had all three men’s undivided attention. Manny and Leon shared a look heavy with concern.

  “Genevieve.” Defeat weighed heavily on Leon’s voice. “I pray to God that you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting.”

  “I’m suggesting that your stolen weapons might have gone to one of these Russian pseudo-armies. There are too many connections now to not consider it a possibility. I don’t know if Manny told you, but there are five unsolved murders in the last five years in Europe with SIG 226 nine millimetre pistols.”

  “That’s nothing strange. SIG 226’s are very common weapons.”

  “In my search, I’ve discovered that there might be thirteen suspicious deaths of artists.”

  “I told Manny about this on Monday.” Phillip turned to Manny. “Have you found any ballistic evidence?”

  Leon leaned forward with a sigh. “I’ve requested the ballistic reports from the five cases you gave Manny and we’re currently looking into all open cases in the EU where the calibre weapons from our list of stolen weapons were used. Unfortunately, I can’t give you any indication how long it might take before we get results.”

  “What complicates this process even more is the SIG’s popularity,” Manny said. He exhibited no enthusiasm for this line of investigation.

  “Do you at least agree that it is strange that all five murder victims were artists?” I saw the moment all the separate incidences started connecting in Leon’s mind. His pupils constricted in high focus and his jaw muscles tightened. A negative conclusion must have been reached in his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking out those thoughts. “This is a nightmare. An abhorrent nightmare.”

  “Please bear in mind that even though too many things connect to be coincidence, we still don’t have solid physical proof.” I needed to find irrefutable paper trails to support all this. “That is why the financials for the Foundation and any information on Kubanóv would be a good start to prove any connection.”

  “I’ll get on that ASAP.” Manny sighed. A subtle change in Leon’s body language drew my attention. His torso shifted ever so slightly to the door and I was sure that had I looked under the table, his feet would have been pointing in that direction as well.

  “You have to go,” I stated.

  “Unfortunately, you’re right. I do have to go.” Leon got up. We all promised to stay in touch. Not a minute later I was alone with Manny and Phillip.

  “There’s more about Piotr Chulkov.” Manny took a sheet of paper out of a thick folder in front of him and laid it on the table. It was an organigram. With a lot of empty spaces.

  “What’s this?” Phillip asked the obvious question.

  “The RNT, the Russian Ninja Turtles.” Manny held up his hand when I inhaled to question such a ridiculous name. “This is the name that Interpol gave this group when they first started their activities.”

  “What activities?”

  “Patience, Doc. Give me time to inhale while I talk.”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded.

  “Their name comes from the stealth with which they move, their black outfits and the characteristic flat, rounded backpacks they carry when they’re on a mission.”

  “The Spaniard who attacked me had a backpack like the one you’re describing.”

  Both men stared at me, but it was Manny who spoke with genuine worry in his voice. “These guys are cold blooded, Genevieve. They are not to be trifled with. They operate all over the globe. They’ve eliminated well protected individuals. There have also been sightings of them during riots, suggesting that they were the instigators. They are mostly known for their violent solutions to a person posing a problem, be it political, corporate or personal.”

  “And Piotr Chulkov is involved with the Russian Ninja Turtles?” I could barely say this silly name given to a group of mercenaries.

  Manny pointed to a box in the middle of the organisational chart. “It’s been guessed that this is where he fits in this organisation. He is thought of as a recruiter. Apparently, he is quite good at charming people into joining with them or working for them.”

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “Five years ago a man went to Interpol and claimed that he had been part of the RNT.” Manny opened the folder and took out a photo. A Caucasian man was sitting in a hotel room and he looked like he had been in a terrible car accident.

  “What happened to him?”


  “The RNT,” Manny said. “According to him, there had never been another person who had left the RNT alive. He was beaten to an inch of his life. And then he was shot. Five times. Nobody knows how he survived, but Interpol was very happy he did. Most of what we know about the RNT, we learned from him. He was terrified of what the RNT would do to him and his family if they discovered that he was still alive. His name isn’t even recorded on this report. After he was debriefed to exhaustion, Interpol gave him a new identity and sent him to another country. They have not been able to find him for two years now.”

  “He’s dead?” Phillip asked.

  “Maybe. Or he decided to take his safety into his own hands and changed identities again to completely disappear.”

  “It seems to be so easy to do that.” I was thinking of Colin and his poets. Never would I have thought that becoming another person could be possible and yet it was apparently very easy. I realised my mistake when Phillip frowned at me and Manny looked at me with renewed suspicion. I frantically searched my mind for an escape. “All I mean is that Nikolay had other identities as well.”

  “You really are a terrible liar, Doc.”

  “What else do you know about the RNT?” Phillip jumped in and brought us back on topic.

  Manny narrowed his eyes at me in warning before he relented. “He told them about the RNT’s training facility, but didn’t know where it was. Apparently, they were all blindfolded before they were taken there by plane, two helicopter rides and finally an eight hour trip in the back of a darkened truck. He said that by the time he and the other two recruits had arrived at the compound, they were totally disoriented. All he could say was that it was in the northern hemisphere, since it was still autumn when they arrived. Interpol’s guys were able to ascertain from this man’s descriptions that he had been in Hungary.”

  “Yet another tie that binds Hungary to this case,” I said. “Where did they find him?”

  “They didn’t. He found them. There wasn’t much he was able to remember from his beating. When he came to he was in a hospital in Zagreb. How he got to Croatia, he couldn’t remember. He spent three months in a Catholic hospital before he was released.”

  “Why was he beaten up?”

  “The RNT did a job somewhere and a lot of innocent people got killed. He said that it was the last straw for him. He mentioned to one of his team members, his best friend, that he was thinking about getting out. His memory was still intact for the few hours after he had told his mate, but then he said he couldn’t remember much. According to him, the loyalty that these guys had towards the RNT bordered on that of a cult. They would do anything to protect the secrecy of this organisation.”

  “So why didn’t they kill him?” Phillip asked.

  “They thought they had. He had five bullets removed from his body. Each one had narrowly missed vital organs. He was told by the hospital that a farmer had found him on the outskirts of the city. He had lost so much blood, that no one thought he was going to make it. But that’s not the important part. Lying in the hospital had given him time to think. The betrayal of his best friend and the death of all those innocents were weighing heavily on him. That’s when he decided to contact Interpol.

  “According to him, the compound trained private armies mostly for rich and important Russians. These are elite armies and only three armies a year have the chance of a six-week training session. For some, it is a refresher course; for others it is full training. All of the soldiers come from a military or law enforcement background. But he said that the six-week training the RNT received every year was the most brutal of them all. They were in the employ of the people who ran the compound. Their jobs were not to protect somebody. No, they were sent to eliminate a politician’s opposition or to start a revolt in a country that was developing too well.”

  “They were being used to manipulate the political arena?” This was amazing. It reminded me of a master chess player thinking seven moves ahead.

  “Yes,” Manny answered. “These were countries like Georgia, Armenia, Moldova.”

  “All countries of the old USSR.” I shook my head in disbelief. “Wow.”

  “This ex-RNT soldier said after his first job that he regretted ever joining them. I had to read this twice last night before I believed my eyes.” Manny paused. People usually did this for dramatic effect or what they were about to say was of extreme importance. “His first assignment was an assassination. Of an artist. This guy is a sniper, he kills for a living, but killing an innocent artist didn’t sit right with him. Especially not after he had seen the beautiful works that this young girl produced. From his descriptions, she was painting Monets.”

  “Most likely a forger, killed after her skill was exploited.” I thought about what Manny had just told us. “Hold on. I deduced that these RNT guys are selected very carefully. How could they not have seen his sentimental side?”

  “Aha.” Manny leaned forward. “This is also interesting. Apparently they all had to go through a comprehensive psychological evaluation before they were accepted. The recruiter never told them what their work would be. Only that they would be working in one of the most elite, secret armies of the world. On further questioning, Interpol realised that the psych eval was almost exactly the same as the one they use for their recruits.”

  “Almost exactly is an oxymoron,” I said. “Either it is almost or it is exactly.”

  “Genevieve,” Phillip said in a low voice.

  “You want numbers, Doc? Interpol estimated it to be roughly ninety percent the same as theirs. And the Interpol evaluation was custom designed.”

  “Which means that the trainer had access to Interpol. Who is their trainer?” I asked.

  “Interpol is investigating him.” For the first time since he started telling us about the RNT, Manny was not forthcoming. Before I could give it too much thought, he rambled forth. “Given their history, I would like to know what their true purpose was in your apartment, why they attacked you.”

  “What do you mean?” Phillip asked.

  “From what this guy told Interpol,” Manny pointed at the folder, “they never warned anyone. They just killed.”

  “And you want to know why they didn’t kill me?” My chest tightened. I mentally wrote two bars of Mozart to calm down.

  “Yes, and I’ll add some more questions.” Manny rubbed the back of his neck. This pacifying behaviour showed his growing concern and the need to calm himself. “Why is it that so many weapons could disappear over such an extended period of time without raising any alarms? Why is it that no one has made any connections in almost twenty years? Or that the RNT have not been prosecuted? Leon told me that Eurocorps had in the past looked into them quite a few times, yet no arrests, no incarceration. Why is that?”

  “There has to be some connection to higher officials. Someone who could cover up any suspicion reported on RNT activities.” I hated myself for sounding just like Colin. He was so going to revel in being right.

  “This is sadly the conclusion that I have come to. I suspect that the RNT or whomever they’re working for has some kind of hold on one or more officials. How far it reaches I don’t know. I also don’t know whether they’re blackmailing, threatening or intimidating these suckers.” Manny might look like an absentminded pile of laundry, but once again he had just proven his mental acuity. I watched his mind working and wasn’t surprised when he spoke again.

  “And you,” he pointed accusingly at me, “you’re holding out too much on me. I want to know who this person is who is helping you. Finding Danielle’s identity could not have been easy. Not without breaking a law or two. I will not have my name, my reputation tainted by some illegal activity. Who is helping you?”

  I stared at Manny in horror. For the second time today, the truth was desperately fighting to pass my lips.

  “Don’t say a word, Genevieve.” Phillip’s order came fast and strong. He turned to Manny. “I know who she’s working with and it’s under control. Can�
�t you just accept the progress that we’ve made and that we are finding enough evidence to put an end to this?”

  The two men stared at each other for a full minute before Manny relented. “For now, Phillip. I will back off, but only for now.”

  I slowly exhaled a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. Manny grumbled for another five minutes about honesty and openness in this case. As usual, Phillip calmed him with promises that from now on we would have daily meetings to report back with whatever discoveries we made. I started packing up my computer. It seemed like our meeting was finished, and a longing to be in my viewing room, isolated from the rest of the world, overwhelmed me.

  Abruptly I stood up and announced, “I’m going to work.”

  Without waiting for a reaction, I picked up my bags and headed to the door. No sooner had I opened the door to a sunlit street, than Vinnie appeared at my side.

  “Where to, Jen-girl?”

  “The office, please.”

  We walked to his SUV and got in without saying another word. I really liked that about Vinnie. He knew when not to talk. And if he did and I wasn’t listening, he never took offence. It made it easier to tolerate having him around all the time. We left the seedier side of town behind, slowly making our way through the quaint streets of the historic part of town. The trees lined most of the streets and the ornate streetlamps added a unique charm to the pedestrian-friendly sidewalks.

  Vinnie turned into the street housing Rousseau & Rousseau. It was time to get my head back into this case. I had a lot of loose pieces that needed connecting and had no idea where to start. It was beginning to feel like I was running in circles. It was not a comfortable feeling and I hoped that I was going to change that today.

  Chapter SIXTEEN