Art and Murder (21 page)

Jack phoned Laura at the Hôtel du Louvre to let her know he was on his way over. It was arranged that everyone would meet in Otto's room, down the hall from Laura's. He also passed on Roche's phone number, but was not optimistic that it would generate any interesting calls.

He then walked over to the Hôtel Meurice, where Roche had made dinner reservations, ostensibly to see where it was located, but in reality he was checking to see if he was being followed. He was glad he did. A man and a woman tailed him, stopping to gaze around whenever he stopped.

After seeing where the hotel was located, Jack meandered across the street to the large Tuileries Garden, which contained the Louvre museum. The park, a major tourist attraction, was crowded.

It did not take him long to lose the couple, but it was almost noon before he was confident enough to go to the Hôtel du Louvre and knock on Otto's door.

Besides Otto, Laura was in the room, along with Maurice Leblanc and Yves Charbonneau.

Jack was introduced to Maurice and Yves and shook their hands. Maurice had a firm grip, which matched his athletic-looking body. Yves had a pot-belly and a red face, which Jack guessed was the result of high blood pressure, a fondness for alcohol, or both.

A moment of uncomfortable silence ensued before Jack said, “I cannot tell you how … I'm sorry,” he said, struggling to speak over the lump in his throat. He swallowed, then tried again. “Words are not enough to explain how I feel about Kerin's murder.” He looked at Maurice. “I know he was your partner.”

Maurice self-consciously scratched his moustache, then unexpectedly embraced Jack. Upon stepping away, he said, “We are grateful that you are here.”

Jack looked at Yves. “And I know he was your subordinate. I want you to know that I will do whatever it takes to catch whoever did this.”

Yves nodded.

“And his wife, Gabrielle?” Jack asked. “How is she doing?”

“As well as can be expected,” replied Maurice. “She has morning sickness and …” He stopped and gestured with his hands. “What else can I say? She wants her husband's killer brought to justice. There will be no peace in her heart until then.”

Jack nodded. “I understand.”

“Yes, we appreciate that you have offered to assist us,” Yves said, “but in the future, I would also appreciate it if you do not intentionally lose the team I have following you.”

“The man and woman following me work for you?”

“Yes.”

Jack took a deep, calming breath, then said, “I thought they were working for the Ringmaster.”

“No, they are my people. They were outside the hotel and saw you get into Roche's car with Wolfgang moments before, then you returned to the hotel lobby. What was that about? Why did you not tell me that you were meeting with Roche? We have been looking for him to put him under surveillance. If you had warned us, we could have arranged a team to follow him when he left your hotel. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time.”

“I met Wolfgang for breakfast and Roche unexpectedly came with him.”

“I see,” replied Yves. “Then it is my fault. I should have had people in the lobby.”

“Don't do that,” Jack said. “I spotted your team following me. What if the bad guys had also seen them? It could blow the whole investigation. I would ask that you leave Roche alone and let him bring the Ringmaster to me.”

“You are a police officer,” stated Yves, “and I presume you are trained in the art of surveillance. Our people are professionals, too. Criminals would not have noticed them.”

“Why do you think Kerin was killed?” asked Jack.

“Someone overheard him talking on the phone. Perhaps the Ringmaster was already in the washroom. I thought you would have known that.” Yves paused. “From the look on your face, it seems you don't agree with that theory.”

“If I agreed, we'd both be wrong,” said Jack. “I am positive that Kerin was being tested that day for the sole purpose of seeing if there was police surveillance. It was that surveillance that resulted in his murder.”

“You have no evidence of that,” Yves said sharply.

“I mean no offence, but I realize you are new to the concept of working undercover.”

“We are not new when it comes to dealing with informants. The secrecy involved is hardly different.” Yves's tone was the sort you might use with a child.

Again Jack took a calming breath. “Most informants have committed criminal acts and are well entrenched in the organization. It is different for undercover operatives, who, as newcomers, are automatically viewed with suspicion. My opinion that Kerin was murdered as a result of the police surveillance is based on my experience of having worked undercover for many years.”

“Is it?” Yves scowled. “Or is it that you are looking for an excuse to pin the blame elsewhere because you feel guilty that it was you who caused his death?”

“Yves,” pleaded Maurice.

“It's okay, Maurice,” said Jack solemnly. “I do feel guilty, but at the same time we need to be pragmatic. Since my life is on the line, I should have a say about how close the cover team is to me.”

“What are you thinking?” Yves asked. “That you will continually be on your phone telling them when to come close to you and when to move away?”

“Of course not. That is one of the reasons Laura is here. She's an experienced undercover operative and knows me well. When uncertainty arises, and I expect it will, I trust her judgement as to what should be done.”

“You are in France,” Yves said angrily, “and it is not you — or her — who will be calling the shots.”

“I fully understand that.” Jack gave a conciliatory smile. “Sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I was simply offering my opinion.”

Yves nodded. “Tell me what happened this morning,” he said coldly. “Why did you go to Roche's car?”

“They wanted to know how I would dispose of a car,” Jack answered. “I told them I would drain the oil and have it towed away.”

“Seems sort of silly,” Yves said. “What else?”

“There was mention that Wolfgang would go back to Germany today, so with that, I suspect I will not be meeting the Ringmaster or the other jugglers anytime soon.”

Yves swung his gaze to Otto. “Then you should return to Germany, as well.”

“I would ask that Otto stay,” interjected Jack. “He can identify the man who was in the car with Roche in Frankfurt. If it was the Ringmaster, he may be around here.”

Maurice looked at Yves and said, “Otto and Laura could ride in the surveillance van with me. We never spotted the Ringmaster in the park with Kerin.”

Yves gazed blandly at Maurice for a moment, then said, “Okay.”

Otto and Jack caught each other's eye. Both had the same opinion of Yves.

“I gave Yves the phone number you gave me for Roche,” Laura said.

Yves briefly appeared lost in his own thoughts, then returned to the moment. “Yes, that is excellent. We will have it monitored before the day is over.”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Jack suggested. “I'm not trusted yet, so I doubt he'll be using it.”

Yves scowled again. “So what is planned this afternoon? How do you intend to gain his trust?”

“Roche told me to relax today to recover from my flight and said he would either call me or drop by my room tomorrow,” replied Jack.

Yves glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting I must get to. So, what
are
your plans for the rest of the day?”

“To go back to my room and use the Internet to brush up on my knowledge of art.” Jack gave a quick smile and added, “No pun intended.”

“Good. We will use this room as a base of operations,” Yves declared.

“You're welcome,” said Otto facetiously.

Yves ignored the comment and looked at Jack. “Call us tomorrow once you know.”

“You bet.” Jack paused as if thinking about the situation, then asked, “If he comes to my room, do you want me to call you from the bathroom?”

“No, don't do that,” Yves responded, not realizing that Jack was being less than genuine. “Wait until he leaves.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

Laura stared at Jack.
Oh, man, what are you up to?

At eight o'clock, Jack entered the Hôtel Meurice dining room through a large arched doorway. He was wearing a navy-blue suit, a red tie, and a white shirt with French cuffs and gold cufflinks. The dining room was opulent, complete with crystal chandeliers and a mosaic floor. On the walls, rich damask drapes were pulled back to reveal arched windows.

He saw a large oval-shaped portrait over a marble stone fireplace and felt nervous.
The picture — early Renaissance? Medieval? I'm supposed to be an art collector. What if I'm asked?

“Jack!”

Roche rose from his seat and gestured to him. He was at a four-person circular table with two women who looked to be in their early twenties.

Roche beamed with pride as he introduced Jack to Suzette and Dominique, who both rose to shake his hand.

Both women were stunningly beautiful and spoke English with only a slight French accent. Suzette, who had red hair down to her shoulders, was wearing a green dress cut low enough to expose cleavage. An emerald on a gold chain hung around her neck.

Dominique had wavy black hair that hung half-way down her back and was wearing a high-necked white blouse composed of a sheer fabric that revealed she was not wearing a bra, although a frilled panel down the front added a touch of modesty. Her skirt was black and ankle-length, with a black sash wrapped around the waist and tied in front.

Jack took a seat. “So, how do you know Roche?” he asked, looking first at Suzette, seated on his left, then at Dominique, on his right.

The question seemed to catch both women off guard, but Roche chuckled and said, “In France we say that they are my nieces.”

Jack nodded.
In Canada we say that they are prostitutes.

Roche ordered for everyone, and under different circumstances, Jack would have enjoyed the meal. It consisted of eight courses, with different wine pairings with each course. In part, it included duck
foie gras,
fish, fillet of beef, roasted partridge, and chocolate mousse cake with bourbon-flavoured ice cream.

Following dessert, Suzette and Dominique went to the washroom, at which point Roche leaned across the table and said to Jack, “So?”

“The meal was fantastic,” was his reply.

“No, the women,” Roche said. “Which one do you want? For myself, I will be happy with either.”

“They are both young enough to be my daughters,” Jack said.

Roche smiled broadly and his chest puffed with pride as he glanced around the restaurant. “Yes, I'm sure every man in here is jealous.”

Jack met his gaze. “Perhaps it is a cultural issue, but neither one appeals to me.”

Roche's eyes widened and his mouth briefly dropped open in surprise. “You do not mean that! Don't you think they —”

“Yes, they are beautiful,” Jack acknowledged. “Perhaps it is only me, but I find it embarrassing to be seen with such young women. It makes me feel like I am incapable of attracting someone worthy of my own maturity and sophistication. These girls make it look like I have to resort to buying a prostitute or taking advantage of some young girl who, were she not a prostitute or after me for my money, must have a serious daddy complex.”

“You do not want either one of them?” Roche was talking more to himself than to Jack.

“I would prefer to leave before they return,” said Jack, getting to his feet. “At least that would save me the embarrassment of walking out with them. Call me tomorrow.”

“I … I am sorry. I will call you and we will go for lunch.” Roche had the grace to look faintly embarrassed.

“Tomorrow I want to discuss business,” Jack said. “I did not come all this way to hang out with call girls.”

“Yes … I understand.”

* * *

It was ten the next morning when the Ringmaster met with Roche and learned of Jack's response to last night's entertainment.

“So I take it that afterwards you ended up having a little
ménage à trois,
” said the Ringmaster coldly.

“Well, they were already paid for,” Roche explained.

“What were you hoping to find out about him? The size of his penis?”

“No, but I thought you wanted him to like us and to gain his trust.”

“And do you trust
him?
” The Ringmaster looked deep into Roche's eyes.

Roche swallowed. Hard. “Yes, and I believe our organization could benefit from his expertise. He is intelligent. That being said, I don't know how long it will be before he takes the painting out of storage.”

“Wolfgang also seems impressed with his ability,” noted the Ringmaster.

Roche nodded.

“You were also impressed with Kerin Bastion, and he turned out to be a police officer.”

“Yes, but with Jack Smith, he has done much more,” Roche insisted. “Kerin only pretended to rob a jewellery store. Jack handled Klaus like he was no more than a pesky fly, beating him senseless on three occasions. He has disposed of bodies through a crematorium and turned a car into a paper weight. Feats which to him seem trivial.”

“Perhaps you are right, but there is one thing about him that has not been assessed. He would have us believe that he is an art collector. Is he?”

“Well, he sounds like he is.”

“
Sounds like
isn't good enough.” The Ringmaster's tone was sharp. “I want to find out for certain. His alleged love for my Pierrot could be a ruse to get more money … or perhaps even a more devious motive.”

“I know little about art,” admitted Roche.

“I realize that. For Jack Smith, we need someone far more sophisticated than the ladies you procured for him last night.”

“You have someone in mind?” asked Roche.

“Yes, a woman who is his age, fluent in six languages, and an art expert.”