Curious, Nino took off the lid and stared at the object inside.
‘Was there a note?’
Jobo shook his head. ‘I didn’t look for one.’
Lifting the edge of the cloth on which the skin was lying, Nino glanced under it. Then he checked the lid. There was nothing written anywhere on the package.
‘I need to see what he wrote on the site, Mr Kido. Everything he wrote to you.’
Then, suddenly, there was a suspicion in the dealer’s eyes.
‘I don’t know who you are!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t know who sent you—’
‘I told you. Louisa Forbes and Gaspare Reni—’
‘So you say!’ Jobo cried, almost incoherent. ‘But you could be lying.’ He pointed to Nino’s pocket. ‘That letter could be a fake! It could all be fake. You might have been hired by Triumph Jones or Farina Ahmadi to find out what I know. You could be the man on the website—’
‘But I’m not.’
‘So you say!’ the dealer repeated. He was beginning to panic. ‘I don’t know who you are!’
‘So phone Gaspare Reni. You know him. He’ll vouch for me,’ Nino replied. ‘It’s not me you need to be afraid of, Mr Kido. I don’t want the Titian. I want to help.’
Kido shook his head. ‘No one can help me.’
‘Show me what he wrote,’ Nino said again.
‘I can’t—’
‘Show me! I can’t help unless I know what’s been going on.’
Nodding, Jobo turned on the computer, feeding in the name of the site and watching as it came up on screen. A portrait of Angelico Vespucci flashed up, followed by the words The Skin Hunter. A Tribute.
‘He’s mad,’ Jobo said, slumping into his seat.
‘He’s clever,’ Nino replied. ‘Now, go into the site. Get him online—’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
He watched as the dealer entered the forum, logging in. A moment later a message came up.
Hello, Mr Kido. How are you today?
Raising his eyebrows, Nino glanced at Jobo. ‘Satisfied? If it was me, how could I be talking to you online?’
‘You couldn’t …’ Jobo replied, relaxing slightly. ‘So, what d’you want me to reply?’
‘Tell him that you got the parcel—’
‘I can’t!’
‘Tell him.’
‘No,’ Jobo repeated, pushing away from the computer. ‘You talk to him.’
Sighing, Nino turned to the computer and typed in:
I received the package.
Answer: Did you like it?
Nino: Was I supposed to like it?
Answer: You appreciate beautiful things.
Nino: Whose skin was it?
Answer: You’re very direct today. Not like yourself. I do hope our conversations aren’t being shared. I asked you for secrecy, for your absolute discretion … Is this Mr Kido I’m talking to?
Nino glanced over at Jobo. ‘That’s why you have to talk to him. If you don’t he’ll suss me out and that’ll be the end of it. The end of your Titian and God knows what else.’ He pointed at the computer. ‘Get on it with. And make it sound convincing.’
Jobo: Sorry, I was just wanting to know more about what you were doing. I haven’t told anyone anything.
Answer: Good. Are you any closer to finding out the link between the women?
Nino shook his head to direct the dealer’s answer and Jobo typed the reply.
Jobo: No.
Answer: You’ll have to try harder. The link is there, you have all the information you need to find it.
Jobo: Can’t you give me a clue?
There was a long pause before the response came back.
Answer: You have to prove that you’re worthy of owning the Titian. The answer is there if you’re clever enough.
Confused, Nino tapped Jobo on the shoulder. ‘What he’s asking you to do?’
‘Guess the link between the recent murders.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why?’ Nino repeated impatiently.
‘If I solve the connection, he’ll give me the Titian.’
Incredulous, Nino stared at the dealer. ‘And you think he’ll keep his word? He’s playing with you. He’ll get you running around and then he’ll pull the rug out from under your feet. The killer isn’t going to give you the Titian. He’s going to make a fool out of you, if you’re lucky. If you’re not, he might do something much worse.’
‘I want that portrait!’ Jobo said, nearly shouting.
‘You’ll never get it. He’s got it and he’s keeping it. Think about it: the killer’s hardly going to give up the likeness of his hero, is he? It’s a taster, that’s all. It’s to keep you on the hook. The man’s killed on every anniversary of Vespucci’s crimes. Three killings so far – you really want to see a fourth? We have to stop him.’ Nino shook his head disbelievingly. ‘What’s the matter with you? Are you fucking crazy?’
Breathing heavily, Jobo stared at the screen, his thoughts clearing. What was he doing? How could he think of going on with it? Even if he got the Titian, how could he look at it with anything other than distaste, knowing that it had cost three lives?
Ashamed, he turned to Nino. ‘What can I do?’
‘Answer him. Get back on the computer and talk to him. Draw him out.’
Jobo: Are you still there?
Answer: I’m always here. I thought you’d gone.
Jobo: I’ve worked out some of it. The killings are on the same dates as Vespucci’s murders.
Answer: Very good.
Jobo: So there’s another one to come?
Answer: You know there is. On the 1st of January.
Anxious, Jobo turned to Nino again. ‘What do I say now?’
‘Ask him who the victim is.’
‘He won’t tell us that!’ Jobo replied. ‘He knows we’d stop it if he told us.’
‘Just keep him online. We have to get him to slip up, give us something.’ Nino pointed to the computer. ‘Go on, ask him the woman’s name.’
Jobo: Who’s the victim going to be?
Answer: You’re getting lazy, Mr Kido. You have to work for your reward. I do. The fourth victim is already chosen.
Jobo: Is she in Tokyo?
Answer: Maybe.
Jobo: London?
Answer: Or Venice?
Jobo: What if I guess who she is?
Answer: You don’t want to do that, Mr Kido. If you guess I’d have to kill you too.
And with that he cut the connection.
Badly shaken, Jobo wrenched out the lead from the back of the computer. The light flicked off, the white noise was silenced. The package was still on the desk in front of him. Nino gestured to it.
‘Have you called the police about that?’
‘No. I haven’t told them anything.’ He looked at Nino slyly. ‘You want to call them? Get them to examine the skin? Take fingerprints off the door handle? Or maybe you know some computer buff who can trace the website, see if the killer’s communicating with us from London or from around the corner?’ He paused, shaking. ‘How long does it take to do forensic tests?’
‘Too long,’ Nino replied. ‘We only have a week left. And if we call in the police they’ll impound everything, take possession of your computer – and our contact to the site will be broken. You think there’s a hope in hell of finding the next victim if we do that?’
Jobo shook his head. ‘No. So what do we do?’
‘You keep in contact—’
‘But—’
‘Listen to me. Keep in contact online and tell me everything he says.’
‘But how will you find out who he is?’
‘I don’t know, but the site might lead me to him. It’s all I’ve got.’ He stood up to leave. ‘I’ll stay in touch—’
Panicked, Jobo swivelled round in his seat. ‘Where are you going!’