“Strange name.”
“Strange man. The name was originally a nickname his Skagen colleagues pinned on him because of his habit of scouring the beach every morning for driftwood, which he used to paint on. His paintings were focused on the seas and beaches around Skagen and were filled with repetitive characters: a Lutheran minister in his religious garb, a black-haired woman with bright red nipples, and a mournful clown-type character that was his take on himself. He is very, very talented, but limited in imagination and range.”
“Is he alive?”
“Well, there’s no record of his passing.”
“Is he in Skagen?”
“I have no idea.”
She began to weigh her options. “Is he talented enough to have done at least some of the forgeries?”
Locke didn’t respond right away, which pleased Ava. He was at least taking it seriously.
“I think he is,” he said.
“What else can you tell me about him? Age? Any physical description? Married?”
“Definitely married. He has seven children with a woman named Helga. Age, mid-forties. How does he look? Well, in the photo I have, he has a thin, rakish beard that runs around a very ample jawline. He is a rather plump man.”
“The data you have, what does it say about his residence?”
“Skagen, but the information is old. He could have had two more children, gained another twenty pounds, and moved to Norway by now.”
“Is Jimmy Sandman his legal name?”
“I think it is.”
“You think?”
“It does say he changed his name, but I have no idea if he actually did it in the formal sense.”
“Are you always this careful?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good, I like that,” Ava said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
(13)
She tried to get back to sleep and did manage to log half an hour here and there, but her mind was too active to sustain her slumber. She had been one phone call away from catching her flight to Toronto, and now she was locked in an internal debate about whether to go there or head to Denmark.
After the call from Locke, Ava had gone online to research Jimmy Sandman. She found most of the material that Locke’s assistant had uncovered, but not what she was really looking for — an address, a phone number, anything that could help her actually locate him.
Knowing he was already up, Ava phoned Uncle at six thirty and explained to him what she had found.
“It sounds flimsy,” he said.
“I know, but it’s all I have. Kwong’s dead, the O’Tooles are dead, and there’s no chance of getting anything out of Liechtenstein. The only path I can see is through this Sandman.”
“And you are not even sure he was involved.”
She had thought about that during her restless night. “No, I am sure, actually. It makes too much sense not to be true. Why would the numbered company wire money to O’Toole and Sorensen otherwise?”
“They did it just once.”
“I know, but there had to be a reason for that as well.”
“You sound as if you are trying to talk yourself into going to Denmark.”
“Uncle, even with the genuine paintings factored out, we’re looking at a seventy-million-dollar fraud here. I’m trying to convince myself that I have a chance to recover some of it.”
“And this Sandman is the link?”
“The only one I have, but I think he’s a good one. And if I can get to him, I’ll convince him to lead us directly to the people who orchestrated this.”
“Then I think it is worth pursuing. It should not take more than two or three days, and it will show Wong May Ling that you have taken your commitment to her seriously.”
“Seriously enough that I’m going to phone her in a few hours and tell her it’s time she called you to settle on a fee.”
“You are that confident?”
“No, of course not. You know I don’t take things for granted. But on the chance that I can get some money back, I want to have an agreement in place. It’s just good business, and May Ling knows all about good business.”
“When will you leave?”
“Today. I just need to put a flight schedule together. I have no idea how to get from here to there. My agent is still up, so I’m going to contact her when I hang up with you.”
“Let me know your schedule. We will take you to the airport.”
Ava had been using the same travel agent for years, and even in the age of online bookings she liked the assurance of having someone cover her back if she ran into problems. Squabbling with airlines was not on her list of favourite activities. She emailed her new destination and asked for options.
Half an hour later she had a reply. She couldn’t get to Skagen by air; the closest airport was Aalborg, about an hour’s drive away. Every schedule to Aalborg involved at least two stops, and all of them landed her via the same local carrier at 11:20 the following night, so it came down to airline and airport preference. She opted for Lufthansa and a Hong Kong-Frankfurt-Copenhagen-Aalborg route because it was a few hours’ less flying time.
Ava told her agent to book the flight, check her into an Aalborg airport hotel, and rent a car for her for the following day.
She phoned Uncle. “My flight is at one forty. Could you pick me up at eleven?”
“We will be there.”
She made herself a cup of Starbucks VIA instant coffee and collected the South China Morning Post that was waiting for her at the door. Iran. Afghanistan. Pakistan. North Korea. Thailand in some kind of upheaval again. On the cruise she hadn’t missed reading about any of it.
She thought about going for a run, but a quick look outside negated that idea. The sky was dark, the rain pelting down sideways as it crossed Victoria Harbour. Instead she emailed Mimi, Maria, and her father to let them know about her change in travel plans. She knew Maria would be disappointed and would start to worry again, so she stressed the urgency of the business that kept her away from Canada.
At ten o’clock she called May Ling on her direct office line. Briefing clients was a tricky business. Uncle believed it was always best to under-inform, to keep expectations to a minimum. If anything, Ava was even more closed.
“Ava, I was hoping to hear from you.”
“I’m leaving Hong Kong in a few hours. I have a small lead I’m following up on.”
“Where are you going?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Does it have anything to do with the banking information I gave you?”
“That was very helpful, thanks.”
“You must be making progress of some kind.”
“Actually, we managed to confirm that two more of your paintings are genuine. Someone from Harrington’s will probably contact you today with the details.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with your leaving?”
“No,” Ava said. “I have a small lead I have to follow up on. And I want to repeat the word small. It may come to absolutely nothing.”
“When will you know?”
“A couple of days.”
“And if it comes to something?”
“It would be a piece of the puzzle, nothing more than that. Certainly nothing conclusive.”
“And you can’t tell me?”
“It’s better if I don’t. There are too many ifs attached to it.”
“And if it comes to nothing?”
“Then my work for you is done.”
“I hope not.”
Me too, Ava thought, and then said, “I’ll call you when I know something definite.”
She was packing her bags when she got a call from the lobby. Uncle was early. She quickly organized the rest of her things and rode the elevator to the lobby, where Uncle was waiting for her.
“I spoke to May Ling and told her about the other two paintings being genuine,” she said as the car eased out of Central.
“What was her reaction?”
“Hardly enthusiastic.”
“The fakes are weighing more heavily on them.”
“I also told her I was leaving Hong Kong, but I didn’t say where or why.”
“Wise.”
“I also think you shouldn’t call her about our fee — she’ll read too much into that. Let’s wait until I see what happens in Denmark. There’s no point in even talking about money unless I can find this Sandman.”