47
ANNA FELT HER lunch with Ken Wheatley could have gone better. The deputy chairman of Christie’s had made it clear that the unfortunate incident that had caused her to resign from Sotheby’s was not yet considered by her colleagues in the art world to be a thing of the past. And it didn’t help that Bryce Fenston was telling anyone who cared to listen that she had been fired for conduct unworthy of an officer of the bank. Wheatley admitted that no one much cared for Fenston. However, they felt unable to offend such a valuable customer, which meant that her reentry into the auction house arena wasn’t going to prove that easy.
Wheatley’s words only made Anna more determined to help Jack secure a conviction against Fenston, who didn’t seem to care whose life he ruined.
There wasn’t anything suitable at the moment for someone with her qualifications and experience, was how Ken had euphemistically put it, but he promised to keep in touch.
When Anna left the restaurant, she hailed a cab. Perhaps her second meeting would prove more worthwhile. “Twenty-six Federal Plaza,” she told the driver.
__________
Jack was standing in the lobby of the New York field office waiting for Anna some time before she was due to arrive. He was not surprised to see her appear a couple of minutes early. Three guards watched Anna carefully as she descended the dozen steps that led to the entrance of 26 Federal Plaza. She gave her name to one of the guards, who requested proof of identity. She passed over her driver’s license, which he checked before ticking off her name on his clipboard.
Jack opened the door for her.
“Not my idea of a first date,” said Anna, as she stepped inside.
“Nor mine,” Jack tried to reassure her, “but my boss wanted you to be in no doubt how important he considers this meeting.”
“Why, is it my turn to be arrested?” asked Anna.
“No, but he is hoping that you will be willing to assist us.”
“Then let’s go and bell the cat.”
“One of your father’s favorite expressions,” said Jack.
“How did you know that?” asked Anna. “Have you got a file on him as well?”
“No,” said Jack, laughing, as they stepped into the elevator. “It was just one of the things you told me on the plane during our first night together.”
Jack whisked Anna to the nineteenth floor, where Dick Macy was waiting in the corridor to greet her.
“How kind of you to come in, Dr. Petrescu,” he said, as if she’d had a choice. Anna didn’t comment. Macy led her through to his office and ushered her into a comfortable chair on the other side of his desk.
“Although this is an off-the-record meeting,” began Macy, “I cannot stress how important we at the Bureau consider your assistance.”
“Why do you need my assistance?” asked Anna. “I thought you had arrested Leapman and he was safely under lock and key.”
“We released him this morning,” said Macy.
“Released him?” said Anna. “Wasn’t two million enough?”
“More than enough,” admitted Macy, “which is why I became involved. My specialty is plea bargaining, and just after nine o’clock this morning, Leapman signed an agreement with the Southern District federal prosecutor to ensure that if he fully cooperates with our investigation, he’ll end up with only a five-year sentence.”
“But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve released him,” said Anna.
“Because Leapman claims he can show a direct financial link between Fenston and Krantz, but he needs to return to their Wall Street office so he can get his hands on all the relevant documents, including numbered accounts, and several illegal payments into different bank accounts around the world.”
“He could be double-crossing you,” said Anna. “After all, most of the documents that would implicate Fenston were destroyed when the North Tower collapsed.”
“True,” said Macy, “but if he is, I’ve made it clear he can look forward to spending the rest of his life in Sing Sing.”
“That’s quite an incentive,” admitted Anna.
“Leapman’s also agreed to appear as a government witness,” said Jack, “should the case come to trial.”
“Then let’s be thankful that Krantz is safely locked up, otherwise your star witness wouldn’t even make it to the courthouse.”
Macy looked across at Jack, unable to mask his surprise. “You haven’t read today’s final edition of The New York Times?” he asked, turning to face Anna.
“No,” said Anna, having no idea what they were talking about.
Macy opened the file, extracted an article, and passed the clipping across to Anna.
Olga Krantz, known as the “kitchen knife killer” because of the role she played as an executioner in Ceauşescu’s brutal regime, disappeared from a high-security hospital in Bucharest last night. Krantz is thought to have escaped down a waste-disposal shaft dressed in the clothes of a hospital porter. One of the policemen who had been guarding her was later discovered with his . . .
“I’m going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life,” said Anna, long before she’d reached the last paragraph.
“I don’t think so,” said Jack. “Krantz won’t be in a hurry to return to America, now that she’s joined nine men on the FBI’s most wanted list. She’ll also realize that we’ve circulated a detailed description of her to every port of entry, as well as Interpol. If she were to be stopped and searched, she’d have some trouble explaining the bullet wound in her right shoulder.”
“But that won’t stop Fenston seeking revenge.”
“Why should he bother?” asked Jack. “Now that he’s got the Van Gogh, you’re history.”
“But he hasn’t got the Van Gogh,” said Anna, bowing her head.
“What do you mean?” asked Jack.
“I had a call from Tina, just before I left to come to this meeting. She warned me that Fenston had called in an expert from Christie’s so that he could have the painting valued for insurance. Something he’s never done before.”
“But why should that cause any problems?” asked Jack.
Anna raised her head. “Because it’s a fake.”
“A fake?” both men said in unison.
“Yes, that’s why I had to fly to Bucharest. I was having a copy made by an old friend who’s a brilliant portrait artist.”
“Which would explain the drawing in your apartment,” said Jack.
“You’ve been in my apartment?” said Anna.
“Only when I believed that your life was in danger,” said Jack quietly.
“But—,” began Anna.
“And that also explains,” jumped in Macy, “why you sent the red box back to London, even allowing it to be intercepted by Art Locations and delivered on to Fenston in New York.”
Anna nodded.
“But you must have realized that you’d be found out in time?” queried Jack.
“In time, yes,” repeated Anna. “That’s the point. All I needed was enough time to sell the original, before Fenston discovered what I was up to.”
“So while your friend Anton was working on the fake, you flew on to Tokyo to try and sell the original to Nakamura.”
Anna nodded.
“But did you succeed?” asked Macy.
“Yes,” said Anna. “Nakamura agreed to purchase the original Self-Portrait for fifty million dollars, which was more than enough for Arabella to clear her sister’s debts with Fenston Finance while still holding on to the rest of the estate.”
“But now that Fenston knows that he’s in possession of a fake, he’s bound to get in touch with Nakamura and tell him what you’ve been up to,” said Jack.
“He already has,” said Anna.
“So you’re back to square one,” suggested Macy.
“No,” said Anna with a smile. “Nakamura has already deposited five million dollars with his London solicitors and has agreed to pay the balance once he’s inspected the original.”
/> “Have you got enough time?” asked Macy.
“I’m flying to London this evening,” said Anna, “and Nakamura plans to join us at Wentworth Hall tomorrow night.”
“It’s going to be a close-run thing,” said Jack.
“Not if Leapman delivers the goods,” said Macy. “Don’t forget what he has planned for tonight.”
“Am I allowed to know what you’re up to?” asked Anna.
“No, you are not,” said Jack firmly. “You catch your plane to England and close the deal, while we get on with our job.”
“Does your job include keeping an eye on Tina?” asked Anna quietly.
“Why would we need to do that?” asked Jack.
“She was fired this morning.”
“For what reason?” inquired Macy.
“Because Fenston found out that she was keeping me informed of everything he was up to while I was chasing halfway around the world, so I fear that I’ve ended up putting her life in danger as well.”
“I was wrong about Tina,” admitted Jack, and looking across at Anna added, “and I apologize. But I still can’t make out why she ever agreed to work for Fenston in the first place.”
“I have a feeling I’ll find out this evening,” said Anna. “We’re meeting up for a drink just before I leave for the airport.”
“If you have any time before takeoff, give me a call. I’d be fascinated to know the answer to that particular mystery.”
Anna nodded.
“There’s another mystery I’d like to clear up before you leave, Dr. Petrescu,” said Macy.
Anna turned to face Jack’s boss.
“If Fenston is in possession of a fake, where’s the original?” he demanded.
“At Wentworth Hall,” Anna replied. “Once I’d retrieved the painting from Sotheby’s, I grabbed a cab and took it straight back to Arabella. The only thing I came away with was the red box and the painting’s original frame.”
“Which you took on to Bucharest so that your friend Anton could put his fake into the original frame, which you hoped would be enough to convince Fenston that he’d got his hands on the real McCoy.”
“And it would have stayed that way if he hadn’t decided to have the painting insured.”
No one spoke for some time, until Macy said, “And you carried out the whole deception right in front of Jack’s eyes.”
“Sure did,” said Anna with a smile.
“So let me finally ask you, Dr. Petrescu,” continued Macy, “where was the Van Gogh while two of my most experienced agents were having breakfast with you and Lady Arabella at Wentworth Hall?”
“Plead the Fifth Amendment,” begged Jack.
“In the Van Gogh bedroom,” replied Anna, “just above them on the first floor.”
“That close,” said Macy.
Krantz waited until the tenth ring, before she heard a click and a voice inquired, “Where are you?”
“Over the Russian border,” she replied.
“Good, because you can’t come back to America while you’re still regularly appearing in The New York Times.”
“Not to mention on the FBI’s Most Wanted list,” added Krantz.
“Fifteen minutes of fame,” said Fenston. “But I do have another assignment for you.”
“Where?” asked Krantz.
“Wentworth Hall.”
“I couldn’t risk going back there a second time—”
“Even if I doubled your fee?”
“It’s still too much of a risk.”
“You may not think so when I tell you whose throat I want you to cut.”
“I’m listening,” she said, and when Fenston revealed the name of his next victim, all she said was, “You’ll pay me two million dollars for that?”
“Three, if you manage to kill Petrescu at the same time—she’ll be staying there overnight.”
Krantz hesitated.
“And four, if she’s a witness to the first throat being cut.”
A long silence followed, before Krantz said, “I’ll need two million in advance.”
“The usual place?”
“No,” she replied, and gave him a numbered account in Moscow.
Fenston put the phone down and buzzed through to Leapman.
“I need to see you—now.”
While he waited for Leapman to join him, Fenston began jotting down headings for subjects he needed to discuss: Van Gogh, money, Wentworth estate, Petrescu. He was still scribbling when there was a knock on the door.
“She’s escaped,” said Fenston, the moment Leapman closed the door.
“So The New York Times report was accurate,” said Leapman, hoping he didn’t appear anxious.
“Yes, but what they don’t know is that she’s on her way to Moscow.”
“Is she planning to return to New York?”
“Not for the moment,” said Fenston. “She can’t risk it while security remains on such high alert.”
“That makes sense,” agreed Leapman, trying not to sound relieved.
“Meanwhile, I’ve given her another assignment,” said Fenston.
“Who is it to be this time?” asked Leapman.
Leapman listened in disbelief as Fenston revealed who he had selected as Krantz’s next victim, and why it would be impossible for her to cut off their left ear.
“And has the impostor been dispatched back to Wentworth Hall?” asked Fenston, as Leapman stared up at the blown-up photograph of the chairman shaking hands with George W. Bush following his recent visit to Ground Zero, which had been returned to its place of honor on the wall behind Fenston’s desk.
“Yes. Art Locations picked the canvas up this afternoon,” replied Leapman, “and will be returning the fake to Wentworth Hall sometime tomorrow. I also had a word with our lawyer in London. The sequestration order is being heard before a judge in chambers on Wednesday, so if she doesn’t return the original by then, the Wentworth estate automatically becomes yours, and then we can start selling off the rest of the collection until the debt is cleared. Mind you, it could take years.”
“If Krantz does her job properly tomorrow night, the debt will never be cleared,” said Fenston, “which is why I called you in. I want you to put the rest of the Wentworth collection up for auction at the earliest possible opportunity. Divide the pictures equally between Christie’s, Sotheby’s, Phillips, and Bonhams, and make sure you sell them all at the same time.”
“But that would flood the market and be certain to bring the prices down.”
“That’s exactly what I want to do,” said Fenston. “If I remember correctly, Petrescu valued the rest of the collection at around thirty-five million, but I’ll be happy to raise somewhere between fifteen and twenty.”
“But that would still leave you ten million short.”
“How sad,” said Fenston, smiling. “In which case I will be left with no choice but to put Wentworth Hall on the market and dispose of everything, right down to the last suit of armor.” Fenston paused. “So be sure you place the estate in the hands of the three most fashionable agents in London. Tell them they can print expensive color brochures, advertise in all the glossy magazines, and even take out the odd half-page in one or two national newspapers, which will be bound to cause further editorial comment. By the time I finish with Lady Arabella, she’ll not only be penniless but, knowing the British press, humiliated.”
“And Petrescu?”
“It’s just her bad luck that she happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Fenston, unable to hide a smirk.
“So Krantz will be able to kill two birds with one stone,” said Leapman.
“Which is why I want you to concentrate on bankrupting the Wentworth estate, so that Lady Arabella suffers an even slower death.”
“I’ll get on to it right away,” said Leapman, as he turned to leave. “Good luck with your speech, Chairman,” he added as he reached the door.
“My speech?” said Fenston.
Leapman turned
back to face the chairman. “I thought you were addressing the annual bankers’ dinner at the Sherry Netherland tonight.”
“Christ, you’re right. Where the hell did Tina put my speech?”
Leapman smiled, but not until he had closed the door behind him. He returned to his room, sat down at his desk, and considered what Fenston had just told him. Once the FBI learned the full details of where Krantz would be tomorrow night, and who her next intended victim was, he felt confident that the district attorney’s office would agree to reduce his sentence by even more. And if he was able to deliver the vital piece of evidence that linked Fenston to Krantz, they might even recommend a suspended sentence.
Leapman removed a tiny camera, supplied by the FBI, from an inside pocket. He began to calculate how many documents he would be able to photograph while Fenston was delivering his speech at the annual bankers’ dinner.
48
AT 7:16 P.M., LEAPMAN switched the light off in his office and stepped into the corridor. He closed his door but didn’t lock it. He walked toward the bank of elevators, aware that the only office light still shining was coming from under the chairman’s door. He stepped into an empty elevator and was quickly whisked to the ground floor. He walked slowly across to reception and signed out at 7:19 P.M. A woman standing behind him stepped forward to sign herself out as Leapman took a pace backward, his eyes never leaving the two guards behind the desk. One was supervising the steady flow of people exiting the building, while the other was dealing with a delivery that required a signature. Leapman kept retreating until he reached the empty elevator. He backed in and stood to one side so that the guards could no longer see him. He pressed button 31. Less than a minute later, he stepped out into another silent corridor.
He walked to the far end, opened the fire exit door, and climbed the steps to the thirty-second floor. He pushed the door slowly open, not wanting to make the slightest sound. He then tiptoed down the thickly carpeted corridor until he was back outside his own office. He checked to confirm that the only light came from under the chairman’s door. He then opened his own door, stepped inside, and locked it. He sat down in the chair behind his desk and placed the camera in his pocket, but did not turn on the light.