Art of Murder

Bosch laughed soundlessly, simply opening his mouth and tilting back his head.

'Paul, you need intravenous injections of that tea substitute of yours.'

'I don't like Austrians. They're too twisted. That swindler Sigmund Freud was Austrian. I swear that…' There was a noise at the door and Miss Wood burst in.

'Did that policeman we talked to yesterday get in touch with you?' she asked Bosch directly. 'Felix Braun? No. Why?'

'I left a message on his answering machine demanding he call us at once. His men found the van early this morning, but they didn't tell us a thing. I only found out because a little bird told me so. Oh, hello there, Paul. I'm glad you came. We can all have a good laugh together.' 'The van?' Benoit said. 'What about Diaz?' 'Not a trace.'

The two men looked concerned at the news. For a moment all that could be heard was the dialogue between De Baas and the purple Flower. An assistant brought up a chair. Miss Wood's slight frame collapsed into it. She crossed her legs, revealing a pair of jodphurs and a pair of pointed leather boots. Her slender neck rose high above her shoulders, where she was wearing a purple-coloured silk scarf. The badge in her lapel matched the scarf. She looked like a pretty adolescent, an effeminate daddy's boy who had just been expelled from university for the third or fourth time. There was something dispiriting about her: it was not the way she sat, nor the ironic smile on her lips, not even the way she looked at people – although Bosch preferred seeing her in profile to having her stare at him – or the striking clothes she wore. Taken one by one, each of the components that made up Miss Wood was attractive: it was when they were all put together that they became somehow disagreeable.

'Would you like some tea substitute?' Benoit said, pointing to the Trolley.

'No thanks, Paul. You have it, you're going to need it. Because I still haven't told you the best bit.' Bosch and Benoit looked at her.

'The van was found hidden in trees forty kilometres north of the area where they discovered the work of art. As we suspected, the tracking device had been disconnected. In the back was a bloody sheet of plastic. Perhaps he used it to wrap the work in after he had cut her to pieces, so he could drag her across the grass without getting stains on him. And by the side of the road there were other tyre tracks, apparently from a saloon car. He had another car waiting for him. Our Mr Fixit planned it all very thoroughly.'

It hurts, Mr De Bans. It really hurts. I can bear it, but it does hurt.'

It was the voice of Imaginary Orchid. She was in the gym for canvases in the MuseumsQuartier and had adopted a classic stretching pose: standing with her head between her feet with her hands clasping her calves. In order to film her face, the camera was behind her back almost at ground level. And the Orchid's face appeared upside down on the screen.

'Does it only hurt when you adopt the pose, Shirley?' De Baas wanted to know.

Benoit was looking not at the screens but at Wood. He seemed suddenly irritated.

'April, for the love of God, where has Diaz got to? He is only a guard. He can't have dreamed up a plan as sophisticated as this! Where is he?'

'Spin a globe and stick your finger in it, Paul. You might get lucky.' 'I warn you, I'm not in the mood for jokes just now.'

'It's not a joke. Several hours went by between the moment he destroyed the canvas and when we started to look for him. If we bear in mind that he had another car, and calculate he also had false papers, by now he could be anywhere in the world.'

'Now for example, the pain is… owl'

'Don't keep it in, Shirley. Don't try to suppress it, because that way we won't know how much it is hurting you… I can see the effort you're making… let yourself go. Express the pain you're feeling…'

'We have to find that Colombian girl,' Benoit said between clenched teeth.

'That seems easier,' Miss Wood said. 'Thea has just called me from Paris. Our dear Briseida Canchares is with Roger Levin, Gaston's eldest son.'

'The marchand?' Benoit drew his hand across his face. 'Everything is getting more and more complicated…'

'I have to get through it… Mi… ster De Ba… aas… I am a work ofa… art, M… ister DeBa…a… aaaaas'

'No, no Shirley, that's a mistake. You can't get beyond your pain. I want you to express it… Come on, Shirley, don't hold it in, you can scream if you need to…'

'Roger and the girl are going to one of those surprise parties the Roquentins organise to attract clients and deal in illegal works. But the real surprise will be when they get home.' Wood glanced at her watch. Thea is going to call me at any minute.'

'Shout, Shirley. As hard as you can. I want to hear how much your back hurts…'

'N-n-n-n-… N-n-n-n-n-n-n-nnnnnn…'

Bosch was observing the screens. The canvas' forehead was racked with dry sobs – she was primed and had no tears to cry. Her knees, on a level with her face, were trembling. Benoit and Wood were the only people in the room paying absolutely no attention to what was happening on the televisions. The Trolley was not looking either, but then she was only an ornament.

'April, scare her as much as is necessary,' Benoit said. 'Her and that idiot Levin boy, if need be.' Wood nodded.

'We plan to scare them so much they'll piss themselves, Paul.' 'Is Romberg in Vienna?'

'No, Romberg is in Czechoslovakia looking into that fake copies business. Last week we found a false sketch of one of the figures from Couple. We convinced him he didn't want to have anything to do with fakes any more. I don't think he'll blab, but it's still a delicate matter.'

'Can't you see, Shirley? It hurts too much. I'll count to three, then you shout as loud as you like, OK?' 'April, forget the fakes for a moment. This has priority.' 'Since when have you also been Head of Security, Paul?' 'It's not that, April, it's not that…' 'As hard as you can!… A real howl, Shirley.'

The Austrian police are searching for Diaz even under the Minister of Interior's carpet,' said Wood. 'I don't think there's any need to invest more men or money in a job they can do for us. The fact that the dogs bring us our prey doesn't make them the hunters, Paul.' Two…'

'OK, let's do it your way, April. All I want is…' 'Three!'

'AaaaaaaaaAAAAAHHHH…!'

It was strangely fascinating to see a face shouting upside down: at the top, beneath the tiny pyramid of a forehead, a huge blind eye with a pink tentacle; at the bottom, two slits sunk into furrows. Except for the Trolley, everyone raised their hands to their ears.

'Shit, Willy!' Benoit shouted. 'Can't you put a gag on that idiot? It's impossible to talk!'

Willy De Baas moved away from the microphone and turned down the loudspeakers.

I'm sorry, Paul. It's Shirley Carloni. In April she came apart and we had to operate, do you remember? But she's still not right.'

Bosch remembered that the expression 'came apart' had become popular among the Conservation staff for 'Flowers'. It described the worst problem the works of art faced: damage to their spines.

'Pull her out for a week, suspend the flexibility drugs, give her more painkillers and call the surgeons,' said Benoit. 'That's exactly what I had in mind.'

'Well do it then, and keep the volume of your wonderful speaker down, would you?… What was I saying? April, I have no wish to supervise your work, far from it. You know how much we all trust you. But this problem is… let's just say… a bit special. This bastard has destroyed not merely an adolescent, but part of the world's heritage.'

'I'll take the responsibility, Paul,' said Miss Wood with a smile.

'You'll take the responsibility, fine. I do as well, and so does everyone else in this artistic enterprise, April. That's what we can tell the insurance companies, if you like: "We take the responsibility." We can also say the same to our investors and private clients: "Don't worry, we take the responsibility." Then we organise a dinner in a salon with ten Rayback nudes in it, and fifty wonderful ornaments as tables, vases and chairs a la Stein, we leave them all open-mouthed in astonishment, and then ask them for more money. But they will reply, quite correctly: "You put on a wonderful display, but if a guard from your own security team can destroy such an expensive work of art and get away with it, who on earth will want to insure any of the works in future? And who will pay to have them?"