She turned and saw a burly man with a thick black beard; he was wearing a heavy black sweater. “I am the captain of the fishing boat out there,” he said. “My name is Mikhail.”
“I’m Ava Lee.”
“I have been coming here for years and I never get used to how barren and isolated it is,” he said. “When we could catch all the cod and haddock we wanted, it wasn’t so bad. But now all we get is some perch and bluefish, and I am beginning to wonder if I’m not long for this place.”
“Does it always rain like this?”
“No. Sometimes it rains harder, sometimes it just drizzles.”
“I’m a sunshine girl.”
“Then this isn’t the place for you.”
“I’m leaving today,” she said. “You can have your room back.”
“I am sorry about last night,” he said.
“Me too.”
“Those three men will not crew with me again. I have been at sea for twenty-five years, and I have always been aware that people think fisherman, think Russian, and then think animal. That is not me, and it won’t be any man who signs on with me. So they will be gone.”
“That’s not necessary on my account.”
“It is on mine.”
“And I probably overreacted. I could have handled it better.”
“The nose will mend, the other two will live. What will be worse for them is that the crew will taunt them for the rest of the trip about being beaten up by a hundred-pound girl. And then word will get around to the rest of our fleet and they will be joked about for years.”
“I overreacted,” Ava repeated.
“They are sitting in the restaurant. They would like to apologize to you.”
Ava looked out again at the harbour. The rain was finally letting up and she figured she could make it to the Sorensens’ without getting soaked. “No, that’s not necessary,” she said. “And now I really have to go; I have a meeting. But thank you.”
Before the Russian could say a word she was gone out the door, making a hard right turn, and heading up the hill.
Helga Sorensen greeted her at the door. She was wearing a nicer dress, pantyhose, and a layer of makeup, and her hair was brushed back and coiled in a bun. Ava knew which one she would be negotiating with. “Where is Mr. Sorensen?” she asked.
“Upstairs. We do not need him.”
“No, I do. There are questions I need answered, papers I need signed.”
“Let us settle the money first,” Helga said.
“I need to know that he’ll answer my questions.”
“As best he can.”
“And that he will sign the papers.”
“You said he would be kept out of this.”
“I can’t go to the person or people who organized this fraud with only his word. I’ve prepared a statement that I would like Mr. Sorensen to sign. It isn’t perfect and it isn’t meant to be legal. It’s just an admission that he painted some of the artwork in question. I need to know what he painted, when, for whom, and how much he was paid. It won’t go any further than me.”
“Can I see it?”
Ava pulled a copy from her Double Happiness computer bag and passed it to Helga.
“The point is that they need to know that I actually know what happened, that I’m not guessing or making any charges that are unsubstantiated.”
“There is no money mentioned in here.”
“I didn’t think you would want them to know you’ve been paid to cooperate. Don’t you think it looks better all around if they believe you did this out of good conscience?”
“Better for you too.”
“Yes, that’s part of it.”
“So what about the money?”
“I’ll have twenty thousand wired to any bank account you want, once he signs.”
“Twenty is not enough.”
“I thought we had agreed — ” Ava said.
“No, I said that my husband and I needed to talk. That is how things were left. And now we have talked and twenty thousand isn’t enough.”
She’s good, Ava thought. “What number do you have in mind?”
“Eighty.”
She wants forty, Ava thought. “That’s more than you received for doing the paintings.”
Helga sat stone-faced.
“I’ll send you twenty-five.”
“Eighty.”
“Thirty.”
“My husband insists on eighty.”
“You need to meet me halfway. I’m quite sure my people will never approve eighty.”
“Halfway?”
“Forty. Mrs. Sorensen, I’ve already doubled my original offer.”
“All right, we’ll settle for forty.”
“Okay, I’ll send you forty, but I want Jan to go over these papers right away, fill in the blanks, and sign three copies. If he can do that in the next hour, I can have the money in transit to you today. It might even hit your bank account by lunch. If he dawdles, I won’t be able to get it out of Hong Kong until tomorrow.”
Helga Sorensen stood up and walked to the foot of the stairs. “Jan!” she shouted.
Ava heard footsteps above her.
“Come down here,” Helga said.
When he appeared, his wife grabbed him by the elbow and led him into the dining room. “We have to fill out these papers for the woman.”
Helga came back into the living room. “I need to help him,” she said. “I have this information filed and he doesn’t remember so well.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ava said. “But if you give me your bank information, I’ll get things started on my end.”
“I’ll be back.”
She disappeared up the stairs. When she came back a few minutes later, she handed Ava a blank cheque from a Torshavn bank. “I thought you had an account in Skagen,” Ava said.
“Haven’t used it in years,” Helga said.
But you didn’t close it, Ava thought. How lucky is that?
As Helga and Jan Sorensen began to fill in the gaps in the statement, Ava called Hong Kong.
“ Wei.”
“Uncle, it’s Ava.”
“Where are you, Denmark?”
“No, the Faeroe Islands.”
“Where is that?”
“Somewhere in the North Atlantic, between Iceland and Norway.”
“You had success in Denmark?”
“Some. I think I’ve located one of the artists.”
“Have you told May Ling?”
“No, and I’m not going to.”
“Probably best.”
“Uncle, I need you to call the accountant to organize a wire transfer. It’s for forty thousand U.S.”
“When do you want it sent?”
Ava looked at Helga and Jan huddled together at the dining room table, he writing intently as she read from various files. They were going to give her what she wanted. “Send it now and get him to scan the wire confirmation and email it to me.”
“I will have it done… Are you getting close?”
“Maybe once removed.”
“Keep me informed.”
“I will,” she said.
She hung up and pulled her notebook from the bag. She opened it to the page where she had listed the paintings. If she was correct in her assumption, Sorensen had started painting the fakes five years ago. The Wongs had stopped buying two years ago. During the three-year gap, they had bought seven paintings that Torrence thought were fakes. Those paintings were what she expected to see on Sorensen’s statement.
Helga came into the living room with Jan in tow. He looked sheepish, like a kid who had been caught doing something naughty. “Here,” she said, thrusting the papers at Ava.
Six paintings were named, the last six, in the exact order in which the Wongs had purchased them. Sorensen had been paid ten thousand dollars for each one. She turned to the second page and saw the name Glen Hughes, with a London address.
“How did this Hughes find you?” Ava asked.
“Through Maurice O’Toole,” Helga said. Her husband nodded in agreement.
“We got a letter from Maurice when we were still in Skagen,” Helga continued. “He said he had been doing some work for a dealer and that he was going to have to give it up. They were looking for a replacement and he wanted to give them Jan’s name. He wanted to make sure we were okay with it.”
“How did Jan know O’Toole?”
“They went to art school together and kept in touch afterwards. They had a lot in common, Maurice and him, both of them drawn to water, to seascapes.”