The Gauguin Connection Page 25

  “Aw, Jen-girl, have mercy.” Vinnie’s plea stopped me mid-sentence.

  “What?”

  “I can’t take all this information anymore. Can’t you please just give us the highlights?”

  “But then you lose the context.”

  “Screw the context. My brain is on fire.” Vinnie dropped his head in his hands. I would never have thought of him as melodramatic. Maybe he really didn’t want to hear the finer and immensely exciting details of my discoveries.

  “Just the highlights?” I asked disappointed. I loved the details. And these were exhilarating details.

  “It might be quicker, Jenny,” Colin said.

  “Fine.” I turned away from the computer. On the screen was a wonderfully laid out list. What a waste. “The first list that Francine accessed didn’t bring me any closer to finding out who Piros is or who had been killing the artists.”

  “Oh god, I need coffee.” Vinnie went to the kitchen. I could also do with anther cup of coffee. It had been a long morning comparing all the lists I had on my computer. When I had woken up Vinnie hadn’t been in the apartment. He had returned less than an hour ago, carrying bags of groceries and curious about my discoveries. Until I started laying it all out.

  “I found so many exciting connections. I’ve been trying this whole week to find out who owns Kozlevich.”

  “You’re still looking into the company who owns all the shipping companies?”

  I took exception to Colin’s tone. “You might consider it a waste of time. I do not. It is an oddity that the owner of Kozlevich isn’t listed anywhere. That makes me suspicious. Especially when, after a week, I couldn’t find anything.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Jenny.” He was genuinely contrite.

  I accepted his apology with a nod. “I know who owns Kozlevich.”

  “What? Who?” Colin leaned forward.

  “Francine found the owners.” I consciously chose not to ponder too much on her how she had obtained this information. “Three entities own Kozlevich. A Simon Brun owns thirty-three percent, P&S owns thirty-three percent and a private holder owns thirty-four percent.”

  Vinnie stared at me with a slack jaw. Colin shook his head disbelievingly. “P&S? The bastards that also own La Maison Russie? Judas Priest.”

  “Who’s Simon Brun?” Vinnie asked.

  “I have no idea. Francine emailed me and said she tried to find out who he is, but hasn’t been able to get anything yet. She’s busy with the decoding of the flash drives, but she promised to find out about Brun and also the mysterious private holder.” I thought of my earlier clock analogy with all the parts. I whispered to myself, “Wheels within wheels.”

  “You can say that again,” Vinnie said.

  “Wheels within wheels,” I repeated and was rewarded with broad smiles from both men.

  “Did you get anything else from the list?” Colin asked.

  “Which one?” I asked.

  “Let’s start with the list of companies.”

  “Francine did an amazing job. There are companies that I had not uncovered. I now have quite an extensive list of shipping companies and other companies working for or with the Foundation. Not all of them are still active, but all of them at one time were connected.” I was itching to show them the details. With difficulty I resisted the urge. “I took Vinnie’s idea and looked for the first of these companies to register in Volosovo. I think it is not one hundred percent correct to deduce that it would be the very first company. I mean, I can only work with what I have. Maybe there are more companies.”

  “Jenny,” Colin interrupted me gently.

  “Oh. I’m rambling. Sorry.” I inhaled deeply. “Just for the record, this is a calculated assumption.”

  “Noted.” Colin smiled.

  “The first company that I have here is P&S.” They looked as shocked as I had been when I first saw this. “Posiet and Somov seems to play quite an important role in this mystery.”

  “Dude, we are so going tomorrow evening.” Vinnie looked at Colin with excitement flushing his cheeks.

  “Vin,” Colin warned.

  “Don’t worry, Colin. I know you are planning to go there tomorrow evening,” I said.

  Vinnie leaned forward, closer to me. “Jen-girl, isn’t it difficult to always know everything people are thinking?”

  “No.” What a silly notion that it might be difficult. “It makes my life easier. That way I don’t have to guess at people’s intentions, meanings and try to read between the lines. And in case you were wondering, I don’t mind that you will be there tomorrow evening.”

  “Why haven’t you told Millard?” Colin asked. Curious.

  “Because I’ll feel safer if both of you are there too.”

  Colin smiled. “Do we know who owns P&S?”

  “No. I have all the information on P&S, but can’t find the name of the owner of this company anywhere.”

  “I’ll ask Francine to look into that.”

  “Okay.” It was becoming easier to accept help from people functioning on the fringes. “Um... could you also ask her if she could find out who the private holder is?”

  “Sure. She’ll enjoy that challenge. What did you find with the other list?”

  “I compared all the names of the cruise guests with the lists I have of Eurocorps employees, EDA employees, those fictional private investigators and the dead artists. All the artists were on the guest list of the cruises. I was also not surprised to find Crenshaw there. As well as Mark Smith. Other interesting people are Chief Frederique Dutoit and a lot of the VIP’s that we saw on the footage of last year’s gala event. And the enigmatic Tomasz Kubanóv was also a frequent guest.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” Colin said. “He’s the founder of the Foundation and on the receiving end of a lot of donations from these cruises. Not to mention the millions they get from the European Union.”

  “I simply can’t reconcile myself to the notion that he is not involved in this. It is after all his charity organisation. A charity organisation with close ties to a lot of dead artists, forged artworks and apparently money laundering. He must be somehow involved.”

  “But look at all the good things the Foundation has done.” Colin pointed towards the computers. “Everything I’ve read points to him only being the face of the Foundation. I agree with you that he is shady, but we have nothing connecting him personally to this. It only implicates the Foundation. And of course Piros.”

  “Manny needs to tell us more. He promised a week ago already to find out more about Kubanóv. Until we know more, it is only speculation.”

  “Millard will just tell you all the official stuff.”

  “And that is bad?” I asked.

  “Not bad. Incomplete,” Colin answered.

  “Yeah,” Vinnie said. “They don’t even know my surname. Not very efficient investigators, are they?”

  “Don’t underestimate Millard.” There was a strong warning in Colin’s voice. “He’s sharper than most people think.”

  I refrained from insisting on an explanation. Hopefully, when Colin was ready, he would tell me about him and Manny. We were lost in our own contemplation for a few minutes until Colin asked, “Did you have time to look at the stuff Francine emailed you this morning?”

  “Yes. She apologised for crashing my party yesterday. What does that mean?”

  “It means that she came here uninvited.”

  “But I didn’t have a party here.”

  “If there are more than three people, Francine sees it as a party.”

  “Or a conspiracy,” Vinnie said.

  I thought for a second. “So, you will be crashing the gala event tomorrow evening?”

  Vinnie laughed. “No, Jen-girl. We won’t be crashing.”

  “We have invitations,” Colin said when he noticed my frown. “Just don’t ask where and how we got them.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. I turned back to the computers. “Francine managed to decode
the second flash drive. It has a list of all the young artists and the works we can assume they had forged. At first all the names and artworks next to it didn’t make sense. Then I recognised names.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Francine tell me?”

  For an uncanny second I had the desire to put my hand on Colin’s arm to calm him. I didn’t. “Maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew you would be this upset. You really care about these artists.”

  “Of course I do. Jesus, at last count, sixteen have lost their lives because they were good at what they did.”

  “It’s thirty-seven,” I said.

  “Thirty-seven what?”

  “The list I have here has thirty-seven young artists on it and all the works that they’ve reproduced. Eleven names were the same as our list of sixteen murdered artists. Francine poses this is a list of all the murdered artists.”

  “Thirty-seven?” Colin’s lips disappeared and he swallowed hard. I hated being the one to give bad news. “Thirty-seven gifted people. The bastard had a list of all the murdered artists? Were they all students?”

  “Most of them, yes. It seems to be a pattern. Find an extraordinarily gifted young person, get them to forge a few masterpieces, then kill them. I just don’t understand why they would all be murdered. It’s really sad.” I shook my head. “To use impressionable young people like that.”

  “Were most of them killed with handguns?” Vinnie asked.

  “I don’t have access to police reports of their deaths, so I can’t say. From what I got on the internet, some of them were killed with handguns. Others apparently committed suicide. It’s not difficult to believe that artists suffer from depression and commit suicide. Some of the other artists jumped from buildings and bridges.”

  “Or were pushed,” Vinnie added.

  “I wouldn’t know. But those who didn’t jump, killed themselves with handguns.”

  “Same calibre–”

  “As the stolen guns, yes,” I finished Vinnie’s sentence. “Not that it can be used as concrete evidence.”

  “Thirty-seven,” Colin said softly and shook his head. It was quiet while we thought about this. The doorbell, followed by Manny’s demanding voice broke the silence. Three minutes later he was seated at the table. The tension in the room had risen to uncomfortable levels. I ignored the resentment on all three faces and told Manny everything about the companies.

  “So, it all started with P&S?”

  “This is only an assumption,” I said. “A fact, however, is the names of the three owners of Kozlevich. P&S owns thirty-three percent, Simon Brun owns thirty-three percent and an unknown entity owns the remaining thirty-four percent.”

  Manny frowned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Simon Brun?”

  “Yes. We don’t know who he is. This is the first time his name has come up.”

  “I know that name from somewhere.” Manny pointed at the EDA computer. “Hand me that thing. I have to check something.”

  I took a bracing breath before I moved the computer from its careful placement. We sat in silence for a few minutes while Manny grumbled at the computer. He surprised me with fast fingers and a comfort with technology I would not easily have attributed to the image he portrayed.

  “I knew it!” He jabbed at the screen. “Simon Brun is one of the two aliases for Piros that our guy gave to Interpol.”

  “Simon Brun is Piros?” I was breathless. All the lists, all the cross-checking and we had a name. Vinnie’s bottom jaw had gone slack and Colin’s eyes were wide. We were all in shock. “But who is this Simon Brun?”

  Manny did something on the computer before he turned it to us. On the screen was an enlargement of a driver’s licence. “He’s an eighty two year old retired teacher, living in the Belgian city of Turnhout.”

  “This can’t be right.” Colin said. “This must be a forged identity.”

  I clenched my teeth to not say a thing about Professor John Dryden, the professor who took me to Danielle’s apartment. Colin would know all about forging identity documents.

  “That much we knew, Frey,” Manny said. “Nobody has been able to track Simon Brun down to verify his age and identity though.”

  “Francine will find him,” I said and quickly continued. “No, don’t fight with me, Manny. She’s the one who gave us the three owners of P&S. And she offered to find out who Simon Brun and the private holder are.”

  Manny’s lips disappeared, but he nodded.

  Colin turned to me. “I have a question for you.”

  Why did people say that? Why didn’t they just ask the question? I didn’t encourage Colin to ask his question. After some time I did lift my eyebrows, though. It would seem that he needed permission to ask.

  “It’s hypothetical, so don’t focus too much on facts. I’m wondering about the many people, prominent people who bought art at these auctions. Only to discover that they had bought forgeries. Would they ever report it?”

  I thought of people like my parents. “Knowing the importance these people attach to never looking foolish, I can’t imagine that anyone would admit to buying a forgery at an auction on a ship.”

  “There would also be the speculation whether these people preferred to buy art at sea because of its legal gray area,” Colin added.

  “And that would not be acceptable to anyone in a prominent position. Just the speculation could destroy careers, reputations and social standing.”

  “Especially since quite a few of the names that we saw on those lists are people in high political positions in the EU.” Colin grinned. “This is delicious.”

  “What is?” I asked

  “This scandal.” His smiled widened. “If this ever comes out, it will rock the European high flying world and destroy years of building EU relations and PR.”

  Manny rolled his head on his shoulders as if to ease the tension in his neck muscles. “So, I’ve discovered a few things about Tomasz Kubanóv. He started three charity organisations before he founded the Foundation for Development of Sustainable Education. The theory is that it took him three tries before he got it right.

  “The Foundation to date is the largest of his charities and also the most active. The second biggest is an education fund. Fifteen years ago Kubanóv lent his personal support and that of the Foundation to a trust fund for artists. The limited information I’ve been able to get tells me that the trust fund is there to give talented young people opportunities to become masters.”

  I jerked. My brain felt like it had received a lighting bolt’s energy. Something Manny had just told us was fitting in perfectly with something I had seen, read or heard previously. The overwhelming compulsion to know what that something was had my heart palpitating and my hands shaking. I closed my eyes and in my head I switched on Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A major.

  “Jenny?” Colin touched my arm lightly.

  I opened my eyes to notice that the light in my apartment had changed. Once again time had floated away while I was in my head. A glance at my watch confirmed that thirty minutes had gone by. I turned to Colin. “Give me a moment.”

  “Okay.” He leaned back in his chair and nodded at Manny as if he had just won an argument. Vinnie wasn’t at the table.

  It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. It was so exciting that I was bouncing in my chair.

  “Jenny, you have to tell us what has you so excited.” Colin sounded pained.

  “Connections.”

  “What connections, Doc?” Manny’s silence while I had been working impressed me. As did the lack of hostility around the table. Vinnie had returned and was lounging in his chair. I wondered how long the patience and peace would last.

  “What do these artists have in common?” I asked.

  “They’re all dead, and they were all on the cruise ships owned by companies whose major shareholder is another company,” Colin answered.

  “Right. There is one more connection. Look
.” I pointed at the computer screen. “I came across this when I was researching art students. A scholar wrote this academic article about scholarships. His focus was on the arts and here are a few students he interviewed. Seven of these names are on Francine’s list.”

  “Bloody holy hell,” Manny said.

  “The name of the institution giving the scholarships is not mentioned in this article,” I continued. “But it is mentioned that the students were awarded a holiday on a cruise ship as a reward when they excelled in their studies.”

  We stared at the article in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. I turned to Manny. “Did Kubanóv start the trust fund or is he only a patron of it?

  “He’s only a patron,” Manny said.

  “Then who started this trust fund?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have the name of this trust fund?”

  “The Michaelangelo fund. That is unfortunately all I got. Since I was focussing on the event, I left this line of inquiry for later.” He sounded regretful. “After this event, I’ll definitely be looking at Kubanóv more closely.”

  Colin leaned back in his chair and started tapping on the screen of his smartphone. I frowned at his rudeness and focussed on Manny again. “What we found on Kubanóv was only positive. He has really helped a lot of people. From the many articles adulating him, it would be impossible to think anything bad about him. If it weren’t for the evidence accumulating against him, I would never have suspected him. It is such a dichotomy. The funding and the true purpose for his charity organisations have been at the expense of many lives. Yet he has given an unbelievable number of people aid. Through the Foundation alone, two villages have homes for around nine hundred people, including children that he gave better lives to.

  “His personal residence in Russia is quite modest for a man of his means. That endears him only more to the masses. He’s not like many politicians talking about coming from poverty, understanding their constituents, but living in mansions. He is in public view, but always comes across as modest and humble. Nowhere on the internet could I find any direct connection between him and a remotely negative situation or a singular scandal.”

  “But we already have so much evidence,” Vinnie said. “Isn’t it enough to get rid of him, his Foundation and Piros?”

  “There is no doubt in my mind that Kubanóv and Piros are connected,” Manny said. “I can take this to an EU court, but with the right lawyers, Kubanóv could still get away. We need indisputable, concrete evidence.”

  “Like what?” Vinnie sounded like a five year old.

  “Bank accounts, anything on paper connecting him to Piros, to the Eurocorps weapons, to the artists, to anything. People aren’t guilty by association.” Manny’s eyes locked on Vinnie. “Just because your dad was a governor who got his housekeeper pregnant, doesn’t mean that you’re also going to go into politics.”

  A breath of charged silence was the only warning I got. The next moment Vinnie was in front of Manny. The large man’s body language gave every textbook indicator that Manny might not live through this. Colin jumped up and pushed himself between the two combative men. Vinnie’s fists were bunched as was his jaw. Manny was still seated. A smug, knowing smile played around his mouth.

  “What did you do?” Vinnie screamed at him and lunged forward. Colin was no match for the giant of a man and moved with him. His hands were ineffectively pushing against Vinnie’s chest.

  “Vin, dude.” Colin pushed harder, but didn’t budge Vinnie an inch. “He’s not worth it. Let it be.”

  “No.” He didn’t tone down his voice. I felt very uncomfortable with the promise of such violence in my apartment. It might make an interesting study in male behaviour, but I preferred such studies on the screens in my viewing room. A few thoughts flew through my mind, including the fact that I didn’t know how to remove bloodstains from my lovely wooden floors, so I stood up. Vinnie pushed against Colin to get to Manny. “The bastard investigated me.”

  Manny leaned forward as if he wasn’t baiting an enraged bodybuilder. “Are you really surprised that I investigated you, Carlton Venneri-Smith?”

  “No!” A tortured scream roared through my apartment. Vinnie shoved Colin out of the way, stepped forward and picked Manny up by the collar of his rumpled jacket. Something of great importance was happening and I didn’t know what to do. But I didn’t want to clean blood off my floors. Vinnie was walking Manny backwards to the kitchen, threatening him with all types of bodily harm in a voice that chilled me. He stopped in front of the long counter and bent Manny backwards. I walked to them as fast as I could. Colin tried to grab my arm, but I sidestepped him.

  I stopped next to Vinnie and put my hand on his forearm. This did not come naturally to me, but theoretically I knew what was needed. I felt powerful muscles straining against my palm. Vinnie’s strength and size were unnerving. “Vinnie, please don’t do this.”

  “Stay out of it, Jen-girl.” He didn’t even look at me.

  I put my other hand on his shoulder. Never before had I tried to calm anyone down. Nor had I ever tried to do it by touch. I didn’t know if I was doing it right. All I knew was that Colin’s dislike of Manny would make his attempts to calm Vinnie down a moot exercise. That left the job to me. I leaned closer to the large man that I had come to like and respect.

  “Vinnie, I feel very uncomfortable right now. Your behaviour is scaring me.” That got him to glance at me. I looked him straight in the eye and allowed him to see my discomfort. “I don’t know what to do and that makes me scared. Please don’t do this to me.”

  His features softened as well as the muscles under my palms. He took a few slow breaths through clenching teeth. I wondered if I should say anything else. In psychology I learned all the placating phrases, but they weren’t coming to me now. All I could do was stand there, too close for my own comfort and hope that Vinnie would let go of Manny’s collar. The older man was showing signs of pain and flashes of concern.

  Vinnie pushed Manny away like trash and turned to me. Hands that, a second ago, were ready to inflict pain, curled gently around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Jen-girl. I never want to do anything to scare you.”

  “I know.” I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t want to touch him anymore, but I knew he needed it. I awkwardly placed my hands on his chest. “You’re my friend. I trust you.”

  Only on video footage and in textbooks had I seen the expression of such deep gratitude. A simple touch, two short sentences and I had just given Vinnie a priceless gift. To my horror, tears were forming in my eyes. I pushed against his chest as I blinked rapidly. But Vinnie wouldn’t let me go. He pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me. I stood stiffly in his embrace, rueing my impulsive action. Until Vinnie whispered, “Thank you,” into my hair. It softened me. I gave him three more seconds before I stepped away.

  Colin was leaning against the counter with an expression I did not want to evaluate. Going from rational emotional safety to this overwhelmed me. Analysing the deep affection on Colin’s face might send me into hours of writing Mozart. Not only was I feeling bombarded with emotions, but this new insight into Vinnie’s past was also proving to be very distracting. So I did what I was best at when confronted with emotions. Compartmentalise. If later I wanted to analyse, I could look into it. Now I wanted to get back onto safe territory. I walked back to the dining room table and placed the EDA computer in its usual place.

  Vinnie and Colin were quietly talking in the kitchen. I heard Colin telling Vinnie that he wasn’t to be surprised that Manny had looked into his life. Manny had returned to his chair, looking as if nothing had transpired. That annoyed me. He had purposefully been provocative and it had caused an overload of emotions I would have to deal with later. This behaviour was not to happen again in my apartment and he was going to hear my thoughts on it. On my inhale, my personal computer pinged. I glanced at the screen and swallowed my diatribe. “Francine’s just sent
the third and fourth decoded flash drives.”

 

  Chapter TWENTY-SIX