‘It cost Sally Egan her life.’
She ignored the comment.
‘I suppose Gaspare Reni wants you to get the Titian back for him?’
There was silence down the line.
‘OK, Mr Bergstrom, whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it. Work for me instead.’
‘I think,’ Nino replied smoothly, ‘that there isn’t enough money on earth to make that sound attractive.’
40
Ginza, Tokyo
Jobo Kido was shocked to hear about Triumph being mugged in Central Park. He made some trite comment about being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he was anxious. What had possessed his old adversary? Triumph Jones’ behaviour was totally out of character. He was taking ridiculous chances. He must have known that his reward would have drawn out every runner and gofer in the art world. Petty criminals, forgers and failed artists would leap at the chance of relieving Triumph of some of his wealth. Why invite such lunacy? And why, thought Jobo for the hundredth time, would he be walking in Central Park after dark?
Perhaps his rival had a death wish? His actions were certainly provocative, courting danger … Jobo looked over to the window. The heatwave had finally broken, the temperature falling, the rain at its curdling best … Was it all to do with the Titian? he wondered. After all, Triumph’s change in behaviour had started after the Vespucci portrait had been found. Was there some connection? Some reckless impetus which was driving him?
Giving the computer a sidelong glance, Jobo wondered if the American had also been in touch with angelicovespucci.1555.com. Had Triumph been communicating with the site’s creator too? Was that the reason for the sudden and brutal attack? Unnerved, he stared at the dead screen. Was he taking a terrible risk? Was he walking into something he might come to regret? Perhaps Triumph’s mugging should act as a warning?
But as he thought it, Jobo knew he wouldn’t – couldn’t – stop. The contact had promised him the Titian. All he had to do was to discover how the victims were connected to Vespucci. After that, the painting would belong to him. Not Triumph Jones or Farina Ahmadi, not even Gaspare Reni. He would have it. The pride of his collection.
After all, Jobo consoled himself, high achievers always took risks. He had to prove that he was special enough to own the work. This was no time to be timid. He glanced back at the screen, swallowing drily. It was late – he should have left for home an hour ago. The walls seemed oppressive, the car park outside aggressively silent. Then, suddenly, he heard footsteps.
But the gallery was closed, he thought, panicked. It should be empty.
Hurriedly Jobo locked the doors, flicking the lamps off. The footsteps crunched on the gravel outside, near the window, as Jobo held his breath and pressed himself against the wall. Reflected in the mirror opposite, he could see the outline of someone looking in, the dark shape hovering for a moment, then moving on.
Hardly breathing, Jobo waited. Immobile, he listened.
Then he heard the entrance door open and saw the handle of his office door rattling hard against the lock.
41
London, December
‘I’m going to Tokyo to talk to Jobo Kido and see where Harriet Forbes was killed,’ Nino said, waiting for Gaspare to protest.
But he just stared at him. ‘You need money?’
‘I’ve still got plenty left over from Ravenscourt, the bastard. He owes me.’
‘No news from him?’
‘Nothing. And the police haven’t been in touch again. Much as I’d like it, I don’t think anything’s happened to Ravenscourt – I think he’s just backed off.’ Nino paused. ‘Well, go on. Aren’t you going to ask me?’
‘About going to Japan? No, I know why you’re going.’ The dealer shrugged. ‘I can’t say don’t go, Nino – you will anyway. But I can tell you to be careful.’
‘I know it’s a long shot, but what else can I do? Farina Ahmadi’s a dead end, Triumph Jones is in hospital in New York—’
‘What?’
‘He was mugged yesterday,’ Nino explained. ‘But what did he expect, putting out a reward for the Titian? I don’t know why he just didn’t paint a target on his forehead – it would have been quicker.’
‘Who mugged him?’
‘Take your pick. It could have been anyone out of a cast of thousands. Or it could have been the killer.’
Gaspare frowned. ‘In New York?’
‘He’s been in Venice and Tokyo already, why not New York? Triumph Jones was never going to find the portrait that way. He must have been desperate.’
‘He was lucky he wasn’t killed.’
‘Maybe that’s what he wanted. Apparently he expected the police to swallow some story about falling down a flight of stairs.’ Nino changed the subject. ‘I’ve only got two weeks left to find the last victim. Some woman’s being stalked now. At this very moment she’s being watched. Hand-picked to be murdered on the first of January … I can’t let him kill her.’
‘But you don’t know who she is.’
‘Not yet.’
‘Nino,’ Gaspare said carefully, ‘how can you possibly track her down?’
‘I can’t, unless I find out her connection to The Skin Hunter. There is one. Every victim has had some connection to Vespucci. This woman will be the same.’
‘But—’
‘Seraphina’s relative knew him, and she found the portrait; Sally Egan copied it; Harriet Forbes wrote an article on The Skin Hunter.’ Nino was emphatic. ‘The next woman he picks will have a connection too. I just have to find it.’
‘And you think you’ll find it in Tokyo?’
‘Maybe. Harriet Forbes was killed there. Jobo Kido lives and works there.’
‘Yes, and he might be a suspect.’
Nino shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. He’s too obvious, Gaspare. He’d be the first person everyone would suspect. It’s not Kido. But he might know something. Or there might be something about the place where Harriet was killed. I have to go.’
‘What you’re trying to do is impossible. You can’t prevent a death when you don’t know who the victim is—’
‘She knows Vespucci,’ Nino snapped. ‘She’s heard of him, read about him, painted him or studied him. But there is a link. And I do have one clue to her identity.’
‘What?’
‘In the killer’s eyes, she’ll be immoral. Sexually reprehensible. Just like Vespucci’s victims. And she’ll also be young and good-looking, like the others.’ He paused, catching Gaspare’s expression. ‘What is it?’
‘You’re chasing a phantom.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Nino corrected him. ‘The killer admires Angelico Vespucci. He worships him, otherwise why would he want to be him? Why would he copy everything he did? The killer didn’t just pick his victims out of thin air, he chose them because of their link to Vespucci. It makes sense to him. A twisted logic. Like it’s meant to be, a sign for him to pick that particular woman.’
Gaspare sighed.
‘All right, say all of that’s true. But how did he find out about them? How did he know about the copy of the portrait and the article? He could easily discover Seraphina’s link to Vespucci. Her ancestor was his mistress, after all. But the other two – that’s more difficult.’
‘Not if you’d studied him for years,’ Nino said, sitting down and leaning towards the old man. ‘You’re an art dealer, Gaspare. You’ve spent decades reading, researching details most people could never discover. Or even know how to find. Look at that Bellini portrait, what you uncovered about that.’
‘But I read books that had been written on Bellini,’ Gaspare replied practically. ‘Where’s the killer getting his information on Angelico Vespucci?’
‘He was famous in his time. I know that all the evidence about him was supposed to have been destroyed and forgotten, but I don’t believe that. He’s part of Venetian folklore – whether people talk about him or not, he existed. Somewhere there will be records about Vespucci. There must be—’