15
Swiss side
It took twenty minutes to walk it, across the Middle Bridge and straight up Clarastrasse. The Basel Trade Fair Tower was the city’s tallest and highest-priced corporate redoubt. VigiTec headquarters were in a suite on the 27th floor. The blue-tinted glass filtered the light, creating an ambience of silent, shining purpose. VigiTec VP Resource Allocations Dieter Taub was a doleful Buddha, motionless in his sumptuous chair, shiny head and hairless face offset by heavily lidded cornflower-coloured eyes. The inspector wanted to ask if they’d met before, but the Buddha look is nothing if not monolithic and she dreaded the wrong words. Instead she thanked him. Herr Taub was kind to receive her at such short notice at this late hour.
His English was impeccable. So was his French.
Yes, Josephina Perella had informed him of Martin Bettelman’s cause of death — he had heard but assumed suicide — and about Bettelman’s gun when she’d called before heading off to her own ‘very tragic’ end. ‘We worked with Josephina often.’ When the inspector added the fact of the role of Bettelman’s gun in the killing of Justin Aebischer, Taub said, ‘It is quite against the rules for our staff to carry their sidearms when off-duty, and especially so for our French staff to take them across the frontier.’ Yes, he’d met Justin Aebischer a few times — ‘he was affiliated with the Kunst Technical Department,’ but their paths had not crossed for ‘at least a year.’ No, he hadn’t been to the murder scene — not his business, but he was aware of the museum’s efforts to help locate the client. ‘As our list is fairly widespread, they thought I might be able to suggest a name or two. Problem is, they won’t divulge the artist he was working on.’ And, he added, dry and laconic, giving out client names willy-nilly was never a good business move.
The inspector was not going to divulge Hans Grinnell’s facts and suppositions regarding Perella’s role in Wednesday’s events in and around Biel. Nor about a secret apartment where upwards of fifty pieces of very likely stolen art had been stored, then disappeared with the murder of Martin Bettelman. What she wanted was information situating the slain art cop close to events in Basel. Close to Bettelman. Something to take back to France. Aliette placed the list of gallery owners Josephina Perella had given Franck Woerli in front of Dieter Taub. ‘She thought one of them might provide information as to Justin Aebischer’s latest contracts.’
Taub bowed, a quick dip of his bullet-like head. ‘Yes. All my clients. I called them to smooth the way for Josephina’s colleague. In theory, a logical place to start. Very logical. But — ’
‘But he gets nothing, she’s murdered. Any sense of what’s going on here, Herr?’
Taub morosely signalled negative. ‘I don’t know the first thing about Josephina’s purposes and I would never ask. It’s a tragedy. I can only assume she tumbled onto some kind of conspiracy and made a very wrong turn, but…’ leaning forward a fraction of a millimetre, ‘I can tell you that she had to know her colleague would get exactly nowhere trying to pry business information out of the likes of Rutger Mettler. Josephina knew these people. It’s business, Inspector.’ Big business. The private galleries open to the public were the tip of the art business iceberg. Vaults in basements were overflowing with art for sale. Files were bursting with notes regarding paintings on offer, paintings sought. Money was made by being in the middle and inventory information was proprietary. It was a fantasy to expect cooperation without the heaviest judicial pressure, which, on the spur of the moment, a FedPol agent did not have. May as well casually ask a banker for details of his currency transfers. The laws were made for the benefit of private business, not the Federal Police. That was the bottom-line reality in Switzerland.
‘Meaning it’s a one-way street.’
Dieter Taub caught her drift. ‘Meaning it’s difficult. Privacy and discretion? Oftentimes, when a problem arises there’s only so much my client will permit me to share. Other times they’ll ask us to sort it out without the police, regardless of FedPol’s needs or networks. Or they write it off.’ A shrug. ‘I work for my client, Inspector. Josephina knew that.’
‘But she would know markets? I mean black markets.’
‘It was her job to know things like that.’
A pause. And very difficult to get the measure of Dieter Taub.
She asked, ‘How well did you know her?’
He looked into her eyes for an instant, slightly askance. But he understood. ‘I knew her professionally. Same with poor Martin, as far as that goes. I have been in the same room with both of them on occasion, always for professional reasons.’
‘Meaning the theft of a piece of art.’
‘That’s all that would ever bring us together, Inspector. I mean all three of us. Martin would describe what he saw or, more usually, didn’t see. Josephina would bring gathered intelligence as to whom or where said piece might be headed. I suppose I should add that I consulted with Josephina countless times on issues related to my clients.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as stolen art or forged art or missing art that has surfaced on foreign territory.’
‘And she helped you?’
‘If she could. As far as it went.’
‘At these places?’ Referring to the list.
‘Sometimes. Usually at the Kunst. I’m in and out of there all the time. Biggest client. Always some issue or other to be settled. Josephina spent a good deal of her time there as well.’
‘And Martin Bettelman was assigned there lately.’ A nod. ‘How difficult would it be for Martin Bettelman to remove paintings in the course of his duties as a security guard?’
Another nod. ‘Yes, Josephina mentioned that you’d also recovered a painting.’
When she did not respond to that, he bowed again in the slightest way — an odd tick, it was like a headwaiter, or a circumspect psychiatrist — and opened the file that lay waiting at his right hand. Martin Bettelman had an unblemished history as a VigiTec employee going back almost fifteen years. He’d started off working the range of VigiTec clients, from banks to football stadiums to private homes, gradually settling into a rotation through the firm’s cultural contracts. He had worked in every gallery and museum around Basel but was eventually more or less permanently posted at the Kunst, the venerable Basel Museum of Fine Art. ‘They like it there,’ Taub noted.’ Lots of people, lots of variety… Involves more than just standing around, mind you. Our staff are trained in how to hang art securely, pack and transport, store at proper climate. It’s a value-added service we provide.’ Not cheap was clearly intimated. And, closing the file with a corporate sigh, ‘no complaints about Martin… None.’
‘But that’s not what I asked, Herr.’
‘Just so.’ Dieter Taub bowed. ‘We do try for perfection, Inspector,’ now taking a ring-binder from a stack by his left hand and handing it across the table. ‘We have to. Ours is a very competitive industry.’ Aliette began flipping through laminated pages featuring photos and schematics of the latest security technology while her host explained. ‘We’re constantly upgrading our methods, and of course, that involves constant retraining of our personnel. But we are constrained by our clients’ budgetary constraints. And, to be frank, by their sense of urgency in these matters. The mindset of the culture industry is not that of the security industry. What I mean is, it attracts a different kind of person. We do our best to push them forward. Case studies. General awareness. Each time a major art crime is reported anywhere in the world, we prepare press packages and forward copies to each of our clients. Public relations? Perhaps your people do the same sort of thing. Maybe it’s effective… But we cannot force them to spend more money protecting their treasures. Lots of paintings go missing, both the great and the lesser. As I say, often they’ll just live with the loss — which isn’t really a loss if it’s a piece that’s no longer admired or even known. At least that’s how they think when putting it against the size of the collections in their vaults and the cost to their reputation.’
‘At the museum? …You say Bettelman was on duty during some thefts?’
Taub reached for yet another binder, found a page. ‘A dozen times. Small pieces, mid-range value. Off the wall and out the front door. No discernable pattern. Or market, for that matter — not according to people like Inspector Perella. We reviewed it in each instance and found nothing to hold him at fault. The client will confirm this.’ The client being the Museum. ‘They know they have a problem. They’ve got their own security department, of course, but…well, Frau Zeidler…’ Dieter Taub’s smooth face cracked a rueful smile, ‘that’s why they need us.’ He re-opened the Human Resources file on Martin Bettelman. ‘So long as our personnel are cleared through the entry screening and all goes well, we are not inclined to look. Martin knew his job. All enquiries said he was honest. I do find this very odd.’
She passed him the police photo of the battered shoemaker. ‘Found in the river with your employee. We’re having it restored. We’ll go public, if need be. Someone will come forward.’
Dieter Taub perused it. He had no idea who had made it or who might own it. Handing it back, he said, ‘I’d be very grateful if you’d keep me informed.’
It seemed the meeting was concluded. She again thanked him for his time.
Dieter Taub leaned forward with an offer. Would she like to view the museum surveillance tapes? The Kunst was a public institution, not so problematic where it came to disclosure rules, and he would personally arrange it. ‘With Della. You’ll like Della.’
Aliette accepted. Not sure what she’d see, but it was something.
His agent would meet her at the Kunst reception at nine sharp next morning. Beyond that, Herr Taub was sorry but they had different priorities here and a man in his position sometimes had to split himself down the middle where it came to responsibilities.
‘This is not France, Inspector.’