The Uccello Connection (Genevieve Lenard, #10) Page 2

  I watched as she first toyed with her dessert spoon and then started drawing circles on her smartphone with her manicured nail. It took me two seconds to realise she had activated the recording device on her phone while keeping the stranger off balance with her outrageous flirting.

  The man leaned away from her. “If you’re not HotFrandeur88, please tell me. I need to find her. Pasquier told me she could help me. I need help. Are you HotFrandeur88?”

  Francine’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know Joe?”

  “He helped me a few times with a... project.”

  I pointed at his face. “Your blinking increased and you clasped your hands. You’re lying.”

  He looked at me for the first time. “I’m not. I swear I’m not. I’m just... they’re going to kill me and if HotFrandeur88 doesn’t help me, they will also kill my family.”

  “Whoa, bucko.” Francine dropped all sensual pretence and glanced at me. “This woman here is the best body language expert in the world. She will know the moment you are bullshitting me. That being said, tell me exactly how you know Pasquier.”

  I wondered who this person was, but didn’t want to interrupt what appeared to be something very important. The stranger swallowed a few times and rubbed his hands on his thighs. Typical self-comforting behaviour. He looked at me, then turned to face me completely. “My name is Otto Coulaux. I fence stolen artworks and Joe Pasquier became a friend after many years of collaboration. A few times he helped me get into digital places I didn’t have legal access to. And a few times I helped him sell things he got access to illegally.”

  “You’re telling the truth.” I studied every muscle in his face. “Whoever you are running away from is a much bigger threat than the possibility of being incarcerated for the crimes you’ve just confessed to.”

  “I’m not just scared for my life. They know everything about me, including where my ex and my two daughters live.” His lips trembled. “The things they threatened to do to my little kids...”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Francine asked.

  He turned back to her. “You are HotFrandeur88, right?”

  “I will wipe any and all digital evidence of your entire existence if you ever tell anyone.”

  His shoulders dropped as he exhaled in relief. “Joe told me that you’re the only one he would ever trust to do something good.”

  “So Joe is still as funny as he was when I almost sent him to jail five years ago.” Her small smile was genuine. “A pity he’s still working for the bad guys.”

  “He’s a good guy in my opinion. He’s the reason I know my life is in danger.”

  “What kind of danger?” I asked.

  “Two days ago Joe phoned me.” Otto lowered his voice even more and glanced around the restaurant. He looked around a second time before he was satisfied that the other patrons had no interest in our conversation. None of the three men were looking at our table. Otto leaned closer to Francine. “He told me my name was on a kill list.”

  “What kill list? Who else is on this list?” Was this literal or figurative?

  “He didn’t say. He just told me that I should find HotFrandeur88 and that she would be able to help me.”

  Francine frowned. “How would I be able to stop someone from killing you?”

  “By getting my name off that list and then helping us disappear.”

  “You’re going to have to give me a lot more than this, Otto.” Francine shook her head. “If you’re involved with Joe and if someone wants to kill you, you’re already on the wrong side of the law. So why would I help you?”

  “Look, I know I break the law.” Otto took a deep breath. “I facilitate the sale of stolen art, but I’ve always made a point of choosing clients who don’t pay me with blood money.”

  “Ah, another criminal with a strong moral code.” Francine’s lips thinned. “Hon, if I research your client list, I can guarantee you that every single one of them has paid you with blood money.”

  “You can’t make a guarantee like that.” There was no way she could anticipate the results of such a search.

  “Maybe not, but I hope to hell he’s getting the point I’m trying to make.”

  “You’re digressing.” I turned to Otto. “Who’s going to kill you?”

  “Not just me. My family too.” His voice broke. “Joe told me their names were on the list as well. He’s going to kill us all.”

  I frowned. “Are you using the word ‘kill’ figuratively?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know!” He slumped in his chair. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if you can help me. Maybe it’s already too late.” He turned to Francine, his expression pleading. “Just make sure my girls are safe.”

  “Okay. Take a deep breath.” Francine waited until Otto inhaled and let the air rush out. “Send me the email Joe sent you and I’ll do everything I can to see who’s behind this list.”

  “I don’t need your help to find out who’s behind it. I know who’s behind it. The sick fuck has everything in place to execute his psycho plan.” His voice was now a barely audible whisper. “Seven months ago, he ordered me to get the best forgers money could buy. He gave me a list of names and told me to find out who were the top four forgers. He got them working fulltime to forge I don’t know how many paintings. I was told in no uncertain terms that I was never to make contact with them again, but Lucy phoned me last week. Joe reckons that’s what got me onto that kill list.”

  “Who’s Lucy?” I had so many other questions, but this was the first that came out.

  “A brilliant artist. Her forgeries are perfect, undetectable.” He shook his head. “And now she’s dead. The police found her body in a small park in Paris.”

  “What did she tell you?” Francine asked.

  “That she’d been in contact with the other forgers. I have no idea how they found out about each other, but when they did, they compared notes. They realised that they were busy forging artworks that were all from one exhibition. One of them found out that these forgeries were going to be used in a wider strategy to cause a frigging world war.” His eyes were wide with fear when he looked at me. “He’s going to succeed, you know. He’s going to blow up cities, kill thousands and start a war that we’ll never come back from. I just want to be in a safe place when he does that.”

  I put both hands on the table. “Who’s behind this? Who’s going to start this war?”

  He blinked a few times, then lowered his chin, his voice quiet. “Ivan Fradkov.”

  My breath left me and my heart rate sped up to a point where I felt lightheaded. Francine hid her shock much better, only raising both eyebrows and leaning slightly away from Otto as if trying to escape the mention of Fradkov’s name.

  “How do you know Fradkov?” Her voice was raspy from tension tightening her throat muscles.

  “He’s owned me for the last seven years of my life.”

  “You’re his slave? Slavery is illegal in France.” And I couldn’t imagine a slave master allowing Otto to go to a restaurant alone.

  “Not literally, but I might as well have been.” He closed his eyes. When he opened them, fresh fear filled his face. “Once. It was only that once and he had me in his claws. I sold an Uccello painting to him. He really got it for a steal, but still insisted on having it independently authenticated. He didn’t care about the money I’d spent on the art historian who’d given the painting a thumbs up. No. He wanted his own Professor So-and-So to make sure he bought an original Uccello for a measly hundred thousand euros. I could easily have sold it for double that price, but I needed the cash.”

  He swallowed a few times, but continued his story. “This Professor Whatever said the painting was a forgery and that was the end of my freedom. I have no idea how Fradkov found out every last detail of my life, but nothing connected to me or mine was secret any more. The worst is that he knows about Jordyn and Grace, my two daughters. Those girls have nothing to do with my life. They don’t even know I exist. I told my e
x that it was the best way. If she wanted to keep them safe and in good schools, clothes and a comfortable house, no one could ever know where I was or that the girls are mine. And now they’re on that list.”

  “I can’t decide whether you’re an arsehole or a hero.” Francine crossed her arms.

  “Oh, I’m an arsehole. There’s not a heroic bone in my body. That’s why I need you to help me. I need my name off that list. I need to keep my twins safe.” He straightened. “If you do this for me, I’ll give you Emad Vernet. I know he and Fradkov have it in for some team trying to stop them from setting the world on fire. Emad is a little wuss. I have no patience for that jackass. But I really don’t want to be part of their plan.”

  “What plan?” My question came out harsher than I’d intended, but I didn’t apologise. This might be the key evidence we needed to stop Fradkov and Emad forever.

  “Oh, they’re talking about putting the hurt on everyone on every level—economic, social, even emergency services. That just pissed me off. I have great respect for firefighters. They are heroes.”

  “Do you know any specifics about this big plan?” Francine’s sceptical tone caught my attention and I looked at her. She didn’t trust Otto. “Anything that will make me believe that you’re not just here to get some free ride or to set me up for something?”

  “I know Emad is hiding in plain sight, closer than you think, and living in a frigging antique collection.” He straightened even more in his chair. “I also know where Fradkov is holing up.”

  “Give me an addre...” Francine’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at something behind me. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and her hands shot up in a defensive gesture.

  As I started to turn around to see what had caused Francine such instant fear, I caught a glimpse of a slim man dressed all in black. His right arm rose and I wondered why he had a coat draped over it. In this elegant restaurant, all the patrons left their coats or jackets at the door.

  The deafening report of a gun sent adrenaline flooding my system. Francine screamed, joined by other patrons in the restaurant, but I barely heard it. My entire being was focused on Otto slumped over onto the table, blood pouring from a hole in the back of his head, his face turned away from me. An even larger bloodstain forming on that side had to be from the exit wound. That was what Francine was looking as she slapped both hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming again.

  The familiar paralysis of a shutdown took over my body. I forced my eyes towards the door to watch the black-clad figure disappear into the street. It took a herculean effort to turn my attention back to Francine. She had left her state of shock and had her phone to her ear, furiously shouting into it. Anger pulled at all the muscles in her face. She was unharmed.

  I slowly lowered my gaze to my hands resting on the table. It wasn’t the dead man’s head lying an arm’s length from me that was my final undoing. It was the spray of blood on my hands that brought the darkness rushing towards me. I didn’t fight it. Not this time. I simply couldn’t cope with the innumerable tiny drops of blood on the back of my hands and even between my fingers.

  I allowed the darkness to take me.

  Chapter TWO

  “Jenny?” A warm hand rubbed my forearm. Another warm hand was holding one of mine. “Come back to us, love.”

  I took a shuddering breath and tried to open my eyes. The message from my brain wasn’t reaching my eyelids. Instead of becoming panicked, I focused on the familiar voice talking to me.

  Colin. His was the only touch I’d ever tolerated while my mind shut down from being overstimulated. From the first day he’d broken into my apartment and sent me into a shutdown, there had been a calmness about him that my non-neurotypical brain had found appealing and acceptable.

  Bit by bit, I became aware of my body. I was hugging my knees to my chest and rocking slightly. It took a few relaxing breaths and deep concentration to stop the rocking. At least I wasn’t keening. Not now. As far as my shutdowns went, keening and rocking were the two most common traits.

  I wiggled my toes and was glad when they responded to the message my brain sent. Now Colin was telling me about a book he was reading. He had bought it a few days ago and had been excited to learn more lesser-known facts about Vikings.

  “I was really surprised when I read last night that the Vikings’ horned helmets were at first worn for ceremonial purposes. Then it became trendy for the men to wear them when they were at sea. Did you know this? I meant to tell you, but then we”—he chuckled softly—“well, you know what we did last night.”

  His hand tightened around mine, the contact comforting. I opened my eyes. I was still at the table in the restaurant, on the same chair. Colin was sitting on a chair facing mine, concern embedded in every muscle on his face. All the tension disappeared when he saw my eyes were open. A genuine smile lifted his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Hey there.”

  “How long have I been in a shutdown?” I lifted one finger to stop his response. “Hey.”

  My delayed politeness intensified his smile. “Welcome back. You’ve been out for almost three hours.”

  This did not please me. Years of training my mind had helped in preventing and delaying shutdowns, but I had never been able to control the length of them. When my brain became overwhelmed with any form of stimuli, it shut down for as long as it needed to. Francine had once jokingly said that my brain was an entity on its own, working separately from me. Of course, I’d scoffed at that unscientific notion, but there had been plenty of times where I’d felt separated from my brain.

  “Jenny.” Colin shook my hand gently. “Don’t go away again.”

  “I’m here.” I inhaled deeply and lowered my legs to the floor. The next few minutes were undoubtedly going to be uncomfortable while blood circulation returned to my lower extremities.

  Blood. The word rushed through my mind and I remembered the reason I’d gone into the shutdown. My eyes jerked down to my hands and my shoulders slumped with relief.

  “I cleaned them.” He took both my hands in his and looked pointedly at a bottle of disinfectant and a plastic bag filled with cotton swabs. “I am of the opinion that your hands have never been this clean. Heck, my hands have never been this clean.”

  I blinked a few times and managed to stop myself from asking him why he would do such a thing. We had been together for three years, but Colin still surprised me with the utter selflessness and patience he exhibited with my non-neurotypical behaviour. “I love you.”

  “Wow.” His eyes widened with pleasure, his smile soft. “I love you too.”

  “Oh, for the love of all that is holy.” Manny pulled a chair closer and sat down hard. “Stop staring into each other’s eyes and tell me you’re okay, Doc.”

  “I’m unharmed.” I turned back to Colin. “Vikings never wore horned helmets. That was fabricated by painters towards the end of the nineteenth century. You are too intelligent to... you baited me.”

  Colin leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “It worked.”

  Manny shifted in his chair. “Stop snogging, Frey. We have a murder to solve.”

  “Did the medical examiner take the body?” I was glad that I’d missed the gruesome task of Otto’s body being loaded onto a gurney and zipped closed in a black body bag. As much as I loathed shutdowns, they did protect my mind from being even more overwhelmed.

  “Yes.” Manny waved at the table. “The crime scene guys have also been here and took all the evidence.”

  “Where’s Francine?” I wondered how she was dealing with having been so close to an assassination.

  “She’s gone back to the team room.” Manny grunted. “I’ve never seen her so pissed off. Despite my dire warnings that I will arrest her, I’m sure she’s hacking everything and everybody to find out what that Pasquier person sent Ollie.”

  “Otto.” I knew Manny purposely got names wrong, yet I couldn’t help myself correcting him. “Did Francine find the killer on the city st
reet cameras?”

  “We did.” Pink, the IT specialist for GIPN—the equivalent of the United States’ SWAT teams or Germany’s SEK teams—took a chair from a nearby table and sat down next to Manny. He looked me over. “How’re you feeling?”

  “I haven’t spent any time analysing my feelings yet. I would rather use that time productively by getting as much information as I can about what happened.”

  Pink smiled. “Okey-dokey. What do you want to know?”

  “Has the killer been arrested? Did he say why he killed Otto? And who sent him?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Pink’s platysma muscles pulled his mouth into a grimace. “After Francine phoned Manny, she immediately got into the city’s CCTV system and searched for the killer. It didn’t take her long to find footage of him leaving the restaurant, but she lost him when he went into a street not covered by cameras. He must’ve known that and planned his exit from there. By the time she’d gone through all the cameras of surrounding shops and ATMs, I got here with the team.”

  “Where’s Daniel?” I frowned and looked around the restaurant. Daniel Cassel was the leader of the GIPN team and had proven himself to be not only astute in reading people and situations, but also a great operational leader of his team. I respected him.

  “Dan’s out of town. He’s running a course at some international exchange for emergency response teams.” Pink shrugged. “I’m second in command, so I’m wearing the leader hat at the moment.”

  I looked at his uncovered head. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  “That hat?” I narrowed my eyes. “Daniel has never worn any head covering that indicated he was the leader.”

  Pink laughed. “My bad. Sorry, Genevieve. I was speaking metaphorically. Daniel really is better at this than I am, so please be patient when I say something that’s not clear.”

  He was right. From our first meeting, Daniel had shown uncommon sensitivity towards my non-neurotypical behaviour and had made an effort to eliminate metaphors from his speech. My intellect allowed me to learn and understand metaphors and colloquialisms, but my first inclination was always to interpret someone’s words literally. Trying to interpret a person’s true meaning by analysing the many nuances and hidden meanings required such immense effort that I often missed the rest of that person’s communication.