—
As soon as the police boat pulled away and Natasha came back to the upper deck, she looked at Vladimir with surprise. “One of the boys said they were the police. What did they want?” Normally she wouldn’t have asked him, but it wasn’t business, and she was curious. She had been reading about the art theft at Da Lorenzo, and knew Vladimir had been there that week with some of his associates from Moscow who had flown in to meet with him for a night.
“It was just a social visit. They wanted to see the boat,” Vladimir said, looking unconcerned. “The robbery was a good excuse.”
“Have they found anything out?” Natasha asked, intrigued by the expert art theft she’d read about. And it was an odd coincidence that the Lucas were the victims, since Vladimir had bought a painting from the widow and the son had done a portrait of Natasha. It made it seem more personal than if it had happened to people they’d never met.
“They probably don’t know anything yet. It’s too soon,” he said, and changed the subject. He told her about a painting he was bidding on at auction that week, and showed it to her in the catalog. It was a Monet. “I’m buying it for the new boat.” He smiled at her. “For our bedroom. What do you think?”
“I think you’re incredible and the most brilliant man in the world.” She smiled at him. He leaned over and kissed her then. He didn’t tell her that he’d tried to buy another of Lorenzo’s paintings the night before the art theft, nor that Theo had turned him down flat and refused to sell. Vladimir was tired of their games.
“And I intend to get the Monet,” he added. “You know I never lose what I want.” It was going to cost him a fortune, and he didn’t care. They talked about it for a while, and then he whispered something to her, and she smiled at him. And a moment later she followed him down the stairs to their bedroom. They had better things to do than talk about an art theft or think about the police.
Chapter 11
The chief inspector asked Athena about their visit to the boat the next day, and she confirmed that nothing had come of it, which didn’t surprise him. He knew nothing would. Vladimir Stanislas wasn’t their man.
“I didn’t think so,” he said smugly. “You don’t think he’s a suspect, do you?” he asked her. She had a good reputation. She thought outside the box, to an extreme degree sometimes, and more often than not, it paid off.
“I haven’t ruled that out yet. But probably not.” She was honest with him. It would have been a nice tidy way to wrap up the case, but even if he had a hand in it somehow, she knew it would be damn hard to tie him to the crime. Not impossible, but difficult, and it would take time, more than a brief visit to the boat.
“And the son? Theo Luca?”
“He’s not it either.” But she and Steve went back to see him anyway, and she told him they’d paid Vladimir a visit on the boat, to follow his suggestion that they talk to him.
“What did you think?” Theo asked her intently.
“He’s a tough customer, but probably not our guy. What about the woman who’s with him? Do you know anything about her?”
“She’s his mistress. She’s Russian. She’s been with him for eight years.”
“You know her?” Athena looked interested in that.
“I’ve seen her a few times. I talked to her twice when I delivered paintings to them. One of my father’s, and one of mine.”
“Do you have images of the paintings?” she asked him, not even sure why. It wasn’t even a hunch. Just curiosity on her part. He hesitated when she asked him, and then went to look for them on his computer. And brought up both. Athena looked startled when she saw the portrait of Natasha and recognized her immediately. “Did she sit for you, or did you do that from a photograph?” She was on to something, but not sure what.
“Neither. I did it from memory after seeing her at the restaurant. She has a haunting face.” Athena nodded. She thought so too, and a sensational body. And something about the way she had just vanished on command had unnerved her. She asked Theo some other questions then, and a little while later she and Steve left. He hadn’t been paying attention and asked her about it in the car.
“Get anything?” he inquired as he lit a cigarette and she made a face.
“You’re disgusting to work with, by the way.” She pointed to the cigarette. “And the plot thickens.”
“How’s that?”
“I don’t know how it happened or how he pulled it off, or if she even knows about it. But he’s in love with the girl.”
“What girl?” Steve looked confused.
“The one on the boat. Stanislas’s mistress.” Steve whistled.
“Well, that’s interesting. I wonder if Stanislas knows.”
“My guess is he does.”
“How did you figure that out?”
“Luca painted a portrait of her, and she has it. Guys like Stanislas always know. And then they strike. She could be in deep shit. Guys like him are never good sports about what they consider ‘betrayals.’ They have very simplistic rules.”
“I’d say sleeping with another man could be called a betrayal.”
“I didn’t say she slept with him. I said Luca is in love with her. That’s different. But it could be bad news for her.”
“Did he tell you he’s in love with her?”
“Of course not.”
“Jesus, these people are complicated. You have to be as twisted as they are to figure it out.”
“That’s what they pay us for,” she said, smiling at him.
—
Gabriel and Maylis came back from Florence a week after the robbery, and things started to settle down. The art theft details in several cities were working on it, but no leads had turned up, and no sign of the paintings. And on Gabriel’s advice, Theo opened the restaurant again, in order to maintain an air of normalcy, although they had security guards in the house now, and two at night.