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“WHY DO THAT TO HIS fingers? That’s just sick, man.” The disgust in Vinnie’s voice brought back the horror I’d experienced when I’d seen Doctor Novotný’s hand. I reached for the antibacterial gel in my handbag and vigorously rubbed it on my hands for the fourth time since we’d entered the SUV. We’d only been on the road for ten minutes.
“It prolongs the pain, Vin.” Colin’s quiet answer stopped Vinnie’s grumbling. “I’m willing to bet the ME will find Novotný’s torture had been stretched over days, even weeks.”
“Damn. Sorry, dude.” Vinnie sighed deeply. “Man, this sucks.”
“I’m okay, Vin.” Colin had suffered six months of tremendous torture at the hands of Russian criminals six years ago. He cleared his throat. “This finger thing takes torture to a new and crazy psychological level. But the pain—”
“Bloody hell! Enough, Frey. This is making me sick to my stomach.” The slight tremor in Manny’s voice indicated anger more intense than usual. “We need to find and stop this bastard.”
No one responded.
The rest of our journey following Ivan’s SUV to the police station was in morbid silence. I spent the time mentally writing the last movement of Mozart’s flute concerto while pondering the significant differences in victimology when I compared Jan Novotný to Shahab’s other victims in Strasbourg.
I allowed myself less than a minute to question the validity of our assumption that this was indeed the work of Shahab Hatami. But there were simply too many factors lining up to his previous crimes to dismiss it. So I moved back to analysing victimology.
The first victim in Strasbourg we’d found had been Jace—Jason Connelly, a young autistic man whose death had disturbed us all greatly. Another victim, Adèle Martin, had died from a pre-existing heart condition soon after Shahab had started torturing her, her heart unable to handle the strain.
The deaths of Camille Vastine and Martin Gayot had not been that fast. Shahab had broken every bone in Martin’s face and stabbed Camille in the chest before he’d dumped them in another forest on the outskirts of Strasbourg.
Jace, Camille and Martin had been members of the same geocaching club. Adèle had been a successful drug dealer whose connection to the others had been accidental, but had led to all their deaths. The lawyer had been executed and the other two victims had been low-level drug dealers who had tried to steal from Shahab.
Unlike those victims, Doctor Jan Novotný was an internationally renowned scientist and much older than any of the victims we knew about. What made him different? Important enough to warrant extended torture?
Colin parked next to Ivan and turned around to face the back. “Hey, sexy. You okay?”
“Hmm?” Francine sounded distracted. I pulled down the visor and aimed the mirror so I could see her behind me. She blinked a few times, then smiled at Colin. “You think I’m sexy?”
“I don’t think it, I know it.” Colin’s smile was genuine, but also filled with concern. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m wading through tons of boring academic shit.” She looked at me in the mirror. “You should be reading this. You or Roxy. You guys will make more sense of all Doctor Jan’s genomics mutant evolutionary revolutionary uprising.”
“There is no such thing.” I closed my eyes when she smiled. “You knew that.”
“That’s just about the only thing I know.” She turned to Vinnie. “We need your chica here.”
“She’s busy.”
“Well, ain’t we all?”
Manny swore under his breath, pushed open the door and got out. Then turned back and leaned into the interior of the SUV. He glared at Francine. “Stop faffing about and get us real intel.”
I winced when he slammed the door. Francine snorted. “I’m staying here for now. My trusty tablet and I will get you the data Mister Moody is moaning and groaning about.”
I stared at her in the mirror. Colin would not have asked about her wellbeing if he hadn’t had reason. Her gaze was unfocused, her breathing shallow and she swallowed compulsively as if something was stuck in her throat. I turned around and pointed at her face. “Why are you scared?”
She blinked. “I don’t know. Really, girlfriend. I’ve seen some awful stuff before, but for some reason Shahab is pushing my fear buttons. I’m really terrified of this man and what he’s doing to people.”
I didn’t experience the fear Francine was exhibiting, but Shahab’s level of ruthless cruelty was equal to only a select few criminals. What concerned me more was his motivation. We didn’t know what drove him to torture his victims and what his end goal was. I considered my response until I knew it to be true. “We will do everything in our power to find and stop Shahab.”
“I know.” Her answer was as serious as mine. She took a shaky breath, then winked at me. “Go and find out if Tommy the thief will get us closer to Shahab.”
I nodded and opened my door to find Colin already waiting for me. His smile was gentle. “Vin will keep Francine company. And I’ll keep you company.”
I was glad Vinnie was staying with Francine. Her fear was not familiar and I found it distressing. Anything that negatively affected the people I cared for deeply troubled me.
I shook my head as if I could physically remove the distracting thoughts and followed Ivan, Daniel and Manny to the seven-story building. It took up the whole block and, in contrast to the more historic-looking buildings across the street, the architecture was uninspiring. Square and painted a dark beige, its only interesting feature was the architectural sculptures flanking the glass doors leading into the building.
Ivan held the door open for us to enter. The interior was clean, although not modern. The walls appeared to have been recently painted—the light cream paint still without scuffmarks or handprints. Despite all this, the smell of unwashed bodies, smoke and scents I didn’t want to identify reminded me of the few other police stations I’d been to. The five people sitting on the plastic chairs bore similar nonverbal cues to the people in those police stations as well. Two of the three men sat with their legs spread wide, their faces drawn in disrespectful expressions, their disinterest practiced. The other man sat with his head in both hands, his shoulders slumped. Defeated.
Two women sat as far away from the three men as they could, their bodies turned away. One was comforting the other, her eyes roving the reception area as if looking for possible danger.
Manny and Daniel were with Ivan, talking to the officer behind a large wooden reception counter. Manny stated our credentials, his tone impatient.
My eyes were drawn to one of the three doors leading to the area behind the reception desk. A petite woman closed the door behind her as she exited the restricted area and walked towards the front entrance.
She wore a draped knitted beige cardigan over a white shirt half-tucked into khaki-olive trousers. A large leopard-print scarf covered her neck and a khaki bandana held back her long messy braid hanging halfway down her back. I noticed her outfit because Francine had taken it upon herself to educate me about hipster fashion. Francine would approve of this woman’s flat double-buckled boots. That and her natural beauty.
But there was more that drew my attention. I thought back to the moment she had closed the door and turned to the exit. She had noticed me. No, she hadn’t only noticed me. She had recognised me.
I frowned and watched her as she walked away from us. Her back was straight, her posture confident. Yet her arms were held too tightly to her torso. People did that when they didn’t want to be noticed. This nonverbal cue was often seen in shoplifters as they moved through the store they had robbed.
My frown intensified when she straightened her shoulders and pushed the glass doors open. She was tense. Nervous. Was it because of the reason for her visit to the police station or because she had recognised me? The widening of her eyes had been unmistakable before she had hastily turned away from me.
I’d investigated crimes for long enough to adhere to the paranoia that was currently pushing at me. I closed my eyes and recalled her face when she’d looked at me. Her darker colouring made me suspect that she came from a mixed-race union, the stark contrast of her light blue eyes framed with long lashes confirming that. Her cheekbones were prominent and her nose straight. That symmetrical perfection brought the question of whether she’d had cosmetic surgery.
But she did carry herself with an unselfconsciousness not found in women who were overly concerned with their looks. If her full, deep red lips had not gone from slightly agape to thin, Francine would’ve called her the perfect model for lipsticks.
“Jenny, love?” Colin squeezed my forearm, his tone the one he used when he’d been unsuccessful in getting my attention. “What’s wrong?”
I opened my eyes in time to see the woman cross the street and disappear out of sight. “I don’t think anything is wrong.”
“Sure?”
I thought about this. I might not have outstanding social skills, but I remembered the people I’d interacted with. And I knew that I’d not met that woman before. She might have recognised me from an article I’d written or a guest lecture I’d given. There was no logical reason to worry. Yet. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Millard is ready.” He nodded towards the reception area where Manny stood with his hands pushed in his trouser pockets, his lips thin in annoyance. “He’s been ready for a while.”
Manny widened his eyes and nodded to the door the woman had used. “Whenever you two feel like joining us.”
“Oh, my.” Colin grabbed his chest in contrived shock. “You want me to come as well?”
“Shut up, Frey.” Manny followed us as we walked through the door. “You know that I want you in there with your illegal art knowledge.”
“Illegal?” Ivan stopped and looked from Manny to Colin to Daniel.
Daniel shook his head. “Colin is an expert in art history and crimes.”
Manny snorted and Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “Dan?”
“We’re on the up and up, Ivan.” Daniel put his hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “You won’t face any fallout from this.”
“Famous last words.” Ivan exhaled loudly and continued walking down the long corridor.
I wondered about these famous words, but decided to dismiss this nonsensical phrase. A familiar ringtone sounded and Manny took his phone from his jacket pocket. He glanced at the screen and swiped it. “Phillip?”
I could only hear the slight fluctuations in Phillip’s voice, but wasn’t able to distinguish any words. Manny made a few agreeing sounds before he disconnected the call.
“So?” Colin asked when Manny didn’t say anything.
“Phillip will join us later at the hotel. He arrived in Prague, but has gone to a colleague to find out if they know anything about the Sirani and Tomas Broz.”
Daniel raised his hand and smiled at Ivan. “Before you even ask, Phillip knows how to ask without asking. We will not jeopardise your case.”
“You don’t trust us.” I narrowed my eyes when Ivan turned to me. “No, it’s something else.”
“I trust you because I know and trust Daniel.” He glanced towards the ceiling, then looked at us. “Look, my job is on the line here. I was the one who suggested getting in outside help when Broz was captured. I had and still have a feeling that something is off about him and the Sirani theft. But my boss outright refused.”
“Oh, Ivan.” Daniel made a soft sound of sympathy. “You went over your boss’ head?”
Ivan nodded. “The police chief was my team leader when I first joined URNA. He knows me. He also knows my reputation. I never let go of a case if I suspect something is off and I’ve been right every single time. So he pushed it through. He’s the one who made contact with your president.”
“If I were your boss, I would also be pissed,” Manny said.
“That’s why I’m trying to keep everything as quiet and by-the-book as possible. On the way here, I had to convince my boss again that having you here is a good idea. That you guys are the best for this job and will make us look good. He wants to close the case because we have the painting and the thief. It’s only because of the police chief and my success rate that he’s allowing this.”
“And you’re thinking you might be collateral damage if something goes south.” Manny lifted his palm towards me when I inhaled and shook his head. “Don’t bother, Doc. This is just childish political stuff.” He looked back at Ivan. “We don’t do politics, we don’t do games. The only thing we’re interested in is solving our case and putting an evil bastard away.”
Ivan’s facial muscles relaxed. “Good. That’s my agenda as well.”
“Then let’s do this.”
Ivan pointed at a door down the corridor. “Tomas Broz is in there. We’ve had our best guys interview him, but he’s not giving us anything.”
“You’ve spoken to him.” I saw this on his face.
“Yes.” He winced. “I’m not too bad when it comes to getting the truth from someone, but this guy is not budging. My feeling is that he is scared of someone or something.”
“Don’t worry.” Manny slumped. “Doc will get intel from him.”
I looked at the door Ivan had pointed out. “I need the interview to be recorded. I will need that recording as well as any other recordings you have of him.”
Ivan opened the door closest to us and waved us inside. “This is the observation room.” He stepped in after us and pointed at the five monitors on a long, curved desk. Three monitors were at the bottom, two on top. “Every interview or even casual conversation in these rooms is recorded here. We observe the interviews here as well.”
“Good.” Studying Tomas Broz’s behaviour with the other policemen would give me more data to use in analysing him.
“Is that him?” Manny pointed at the top two monitors. One camera was placed in front of an elegantly dressed man in his early thirties to give us a full view of his face. The second was in the corner of the room, giving us a view of the left side of his face. It was placed in such a manner that I was able to see most of his body above and below the table. I approved.
“That’s Tomas Broz.” Ivan sat down on the only chair in the room, facing the monitors.
“Holy hell.” Manny stepped closer and shook his index finger at the monitor. “His watch is worth more than my car.”
Colin snorted. “Nikki’s pink rubber watch is worth more than your car. You didn’t quite make your point, but I agree. This man has money and he likes to show it off.”
“He also likes to flirt.” Ivan shook his head. “We had one female detective in there and Broz used his good looks like a weapon.”
I tilted my head and studied Tomas Broz. He was indeed good-looking. My frame of reference came purely from conversations with Francine. She would sit with a fashion magazine and list all the features needed for a man to become a supermodel.
Tomas Broz had all of those. High cheekbones, strong jawline, soft lips that were not too feminine, green eyes and laughter lines that made him look approachable. His modern hairstyle and expensive outfit would have Francine in raptures. Even his day-old beard appeared to be a style choice and not because of a lack of shaving equipment in jail.
“And?” Colin looked from the monitor to Ivan. “Did his flirting work?”
“It had the opposite effect. Our detective took great offence that a man would think she would so easily be swayed.” Ivan looked from Colin to Manny. “But Broz is smart. He knew it would shorten that interview. And he’s also smart in an intellectual way. So far he’s spoken to our investigators in three languages. Fluently. He’s laughing at us.”
“He’s not laughing.” I focused on Tomas Broz’s eyes. His upper eyelids were raised, but the lower lids tense and drawn up. “He’s scared.”
Ivan looked back at the monitors. “Yeah, I got that feeling when I spoke to him. His blustering is just to hide his fear.”
Colin stiffened next to me. Manny was staring at him. Colin stared back. “The last time you looked at me like that, I landed up in handcuffs.”
“Excuse me?” Ivan straightened in his chair.
Manny waved his hand half-heartedly at both men. “I’m thinking about the interview.”
“I recommend only two people interviewing Tomas, but since I didn’t get much from him doing it this way, feel free to do it in your own way.” Ivan took a deep breath and held it for three seconds while he visibly tried to relax. “Just don’t talk about your own criminal histories. I don’t need that stress.”
“Wuss.” Manny turned his back on Ivan and looked at Colin. “Frey? You in?”
“What? You want me to go in there with you?” The shock on Colin’s face was real. Almost comedic.
“No, you daft bugger. You and Doc.” Manny turned to me. “Doc?”
I thought about it. “Colin can build rapport with him about art and I will observe.”
“Then that’s how we’ll do it.”
Ivan looked at me. “If you don’t mind me asking, why would you rather have Colin speak to him?”
“Look at Tomas Broz’s nonverbal communication.” I turned to the monitors. “It’s clear.”
“Um, not really.” Ivan smiled. “Indulge me?”
I took a moment to think how to explain in layman’s terms. Being with the team had given me practice. “See the position of his head, his tall posture even though he’s sitting down? He’s making a point to convey his confidence. His raised top lip and the way he’s raised his chin and is looking down at his surroundings shows his disdain for being here. Displaying his linguistic skills was most likely to amuse himself, but also to intimidate. He will need someone who can meet him on his level.”
“Colin.” Ivan nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Just don’t let this get to your fat head.” Manny pushed his hands in his trouser pockets when Colin smiled at him. “Go in there and do your bloody job.”
“Your trust in me is touching, Millard.” Colin pretended to wipe a tear from his cheek. “Touching.”
“Get lost, Frey.”
I ignored them and turned back to study the monitors. When I’d seen enough, I looked up to find Colin standing at the door, waiting for me. I blinked a few times and walked to him.
“Doc.” Manny waited until I stopped and looked at him. “I want to know who he worked for. Who he was going to sell the painting to. If he was going to sell that painting. Why the bleeding hell he had it on his own wall. And if he has any connection to Shahab.”
I nodded and joined Colin. Fifteen seconds later we entered the interview room.
Tomas Broz sighed when he saw us. “More of you? Really?”
“M-mister Broz, m-my name is John D-dryden.” Colin’s stutter and strong Irish accent took me aback. I wished he’d warned me. I always hated when he took on the name of a seventeenth-century British poet as an alias. It was distracting.
But it caught Tomas’ attention. His eyes widened as recognition set in. “The John Dryden? As in the hermit art critic feared by many?”
“Indeed.” Colin walked to the chairs opposite Tomas, his gait different as if he had problems with his left knee. He lowered himself slowly onto the chair, his movements ageing him at least ten years. His slightly rounded shoulders and the now-constant grimace on his face completed the ageing.
Tomas straightened in his seat, his eyes not moving from Colin. I sat in the other seat across from Tomas, content with not being noticed. That gave me more freedom to observe and learn.
“It truly is a great honour to meet you, sir.” He took a deep breath, a clear attempt to gather himself. Then he tilted his head. “Aren’t you on a self-imposed lockdown in Sweden?”
“I was.” Colin’s reluctance to answer conveyed both his annoyance at being forced out of his pretend lockdown as well as his unwillingness to engage in personal revelations.
Tomas leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. “Hmm. So it begs the question how the authorities managed to get you here.”
Colin waved his one hand weakly. “D-doesn’t m-matter. What m-matters is that you were caught.”
It was fleeting, but I saw it. People only jutted their tongues—sticking out their tongues, usually slightly clutched between the teeth—when they were caught in a faux pas or felt like they were getting away with something. Interesting.
Tomas sighed deeply, his discontent almost convincing. “I forgot the cardinal rule.”
“D-don’t become comfortable.”
His smile was genuine. “You understand.”
“No, I d-don’t.” Colin’s depressor anguli oris muscles turned the corners of his mouth down. “You’ve been in this business for nineteen years. Oh, come on. D-don’t look surprised. I know all about you, son.”
“No one knows anything about me.”
Colin raised one eyebrow and lifted a shaking hand to count on his fingers. “Born into an extremely wealthy family, you were a spoiled brat who had everything he wanted. Yet you couldn’t keep your hands off other people’s valuables. The first item you stole was a tennis bracelet worth around thirty-seven thousand euros.”
Tomas’ eyes widened fractionally, his lips parting for a second before he controlled his features.
Colin continued. “The embarrassing detail in that bit of history is that you took it from your girlfriend’s m-mother. And you were only fourteen. Nineteen years later, your name has been associated with numerous high-end jewellery and art heists and you’ve only been caught once. Two days ago. Why?”
Tomas sat quietly for a long time. His expression went from controlled to panicked to calculating and back to panicked. “How do you know this about me?”
“Not important.” Colin leaned forward, wincing as if in pain. “Who commissioned the theft of the Elisabetta Sirani?”
“I took it for myself.”
Colin uttered a derisive sound. “Hmm. I d-don’t know if I believe you. Not if I take into account your reputation for m-moving stolen m-masterpieces as fast as possible. M-mind you, if I had that Sirani, I would also want to look at it every day. The d-dynamic and colourful composition, that painting is both intimate and full of playful joy. How can you not look at that and marvel?”
“And be reminded of the high cost of that acquisition.” Tomas’ words came out as an anguished whisper, the fear evident in his thin lips and his brows raised and drawn together.
“The high cost?” Colin stared at Tomas for a few seconds. “Let me guess. You d-didn’t know who commissioned the theft of the painting. Not until you already had it. Then you realised how d-deep you were in and d-decided to d-disappear off the planet.”
I bumped Colin’s leg with my knee. Tomas’ reaction had confirmed everything Colin had said. Colin nodded. “Who’s your d-dealer?”
Tomas’ internal debate took mere seconds before he exhaled, relief stamped on his face. “I’ve been working with Ant for years. Many years. Hell, if I have to be accurate, it started... yes, I did my first job for him the year before I went to university. I was still in school.
“He proved to be incredibly reliable. His commissions were carefully selected. Not only did he exclusively do business with people who would not betray him, he also chose works that would never be traced back to him, his clients or me. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the best in his field.”
I saw the recognition on Colin’s face and wasn’t surprised. He knew anyone of worth in the art industry. Whether artists, legitimate dealers or thieves and their fences, Colin knew them. I didn’t.
“D-did he know who he was d-doing business with when he agreed to the acquisition of the Sirani?”
Tomas huffed a humourless laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know. But he was the one who hinted at who was to receive the painting. I did more homework and when I confronted him, he said nothing. That has always been his ‘yes’ when he didn’t want to commit to a verbal answer.”
I narrowed my eyes. He was not being completely deceptive, but also not completely truthful.
“Who was the client?”
Tomas’ inhale was sharp, his fear real. “No. Just no. Look, I love being able to talk to a living legend like you and would tell you everything I know, but not that. No. That... No. And tell them”—he pointed at the door—“that I’m done talking. They can send in Van Gogh for all I care. No number of sexy female detectives will get me to talk.”
“Sexy female d-detectives?” Colin’s smile was conspiratorial. “I’m sure you wouldn’t m-mind speaking to another one, right? Even if you d-don’t tell her anything.”
Tomas’ facial muscles relaxed slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah, man. That last woman they sent in here was much hotter than the first one. Cute little thing.”
I narrowed my eyes. Ivan had told us only one female detective had been in here. I wondered if my suspicion was correct. “Are you talking about the detective with the bandana and leopard-print scarf? The one with the beige cardigan?”
Tomas looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. He crossed his arms. “Yes, that’s the one. She tried really hard and I almost told her what I told you. I mean, it was hard to resist those pretty blue eyes and sexy voice.” Tomas looked back at Colin. “But she didn’t have my respect. So I only gave her some tourist tips. This is a beautiful city to sightsee.”
“Hmm.” Colin looked at Tomas for a few seconds then pushed himself up with a pained groan. “We won’t take up any m-more of your time, M-mister Broz. I d-do wish you luck. You’re going to need it if you’re going to get through this legal m-mess you landed yourself in.”
