False Impression Read online

  47

  ANNA FELT HER lunch with Ken Wheatley could have gone better. The deputy chairman of Christie’s had made it clear that the unfortunate incident that had caused her to resign from Sotheby’s was not yet considered by her colleagues in the art world to be a thing of the past. And it didn’t help that Bryce Fenston was telling anyone who cared to listen that she had been fired for conduct unworthy of an officer of the bank. Wheatley admitted that no one much cared for Fenston. However, they felt unable to offend such a valuable customer, which meant that her reentry into the auction house arena wasn’t going to prove that easy.

  Wheatley’s words only made Anna more determined to help Jack secure a conviction against Fenston, who didn’t seem to care whose life he ruined.

  There wasn’t anything suitable at the moment for someone with her qualifications and experience, was how Ken had euphemistically put it, but he promised to keep in touch.

  When Anna left the restaurant, she hailed a cab. Perhaps her second meeting would prove more worthwhile. “Twenty-six Federal Plaza,” she told the driver.

  __________

  Jack was standing in the lobby of the New York field office waiting for Anna some time before she was due to arrive. He was not surprised to see her appear a couple of minutes early. Three guards watched Anna carefully as she descended the dozen steps that led to the entrance of 26 Federal Plaza. She gave her name to one of the guards, who requested proof of identity. She passed over her driver’s license, which he checked before ticking off her name on his clipboard.

  Jack opened the door for her.

  “Not my idea of a first date,” said Anna, as she stepped inside.

  “Nor mine,” Jack tried to reassure her, “but my boss wanted you to be in no doubt how important he considers this meeting.”

  “Why, is it my turn to be arrested?” asked Anna.

  “No, but he is hoping that you will be willing to assist us.”

  “Then let’s go and bell the cat.”

  “One of your father’s favorite expressions,” said Jack.

  “How did you know that?” asked Anna. “Have you got a file on him as well?”

  “No,” said Jack, laughing, as they stepped into the elevator. “It was just one of the things you told me on the plane during our first night together.”

  Jack whisked Anna to the nineteenth floor, where Dick Macy was waiting in the corridor to greet her.

  “How kind of you to come in, Dr. Petrescu,” he said, as if she’d had a choice. Anna didn’t comment. Macy led her through to his office and ushered her into a comfortable chair on the other side of his desk.

  “Although this is an off-the-record meeting,” began Macy, “I cannot stress how important we at the Bureau consider your assistance.”

  “Why do you need my assistance?” asked Anna. “I thought you had arrested Leapman and he was safely under lock and key.”

  “We released him this morning,” said Macy.

  “Released him?” said Anna. “Wasn’t two million enough?”

  “More than enough,” admitted Macy, “which is why I became involved. My specialty is plea bargaining, and just after nine o’clock this morning, Leapman signed an agreement with the Southern District federal prosecutor to ensure that if he fully cooperates with our investigation, he’ll end up with only a five-year sentence.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve released him,” said Anna.

  “Because Leapman claims he can show a direct financial link between Fenston and Krantz, but he needs to return to their Wall Street office so he can get his hands on all the relevant documents, including numbered accounts, and several illegal payments into different bank accounts around the world.”

  “He could be double-crossing you,” said Anna. “After all, most of the documents that would implicate Fenston were destroyed when the North Tower collapsed.”

  “True,” said Macy, “but if he is, I’ve made it clear he can look forward to spending the rest of his life in Sing Sing.”

  “That’s quite an incentive,” admitted Anna.

  “Leapman’s also agreed to appear as a government witness,” said Jack, “should the case come to trial.”

  “Then let’s be thankful that Krantz is safely locked up, otherwise your star witness wouldn’t even make it to the courthouse.”

  Macy looked across at Jack, unable to mask his surprise. “You haven’t read today’s final edition of The New York Times?” he asked, turning to face Anna.

  “No,” said Anna, having no idea what they were talking about.

  Macy opened the file, extracted an article, and passed the clipping across to Anna.

  Olga Krantz, known as the “kitchen knife killer” because of the role she played as an executioner in Ceauşescu’s brutal regime, disappeared from a high-security hospital in Bucharest last night. Krantz is thought to have escaped down a waste-disposal shaft dressed in the clothes of a hospital porter. One of the policemen who had been guarding her was later discovered with his . . .

  “I’m going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life,” said Anna, long before she’d reached the last paragraph.

  “I don’t think so,” said Jack. “Krantz won’t be in a hurry to return to America, now that she’s joined nine men on the FBI’s most wanted list. She’ll also realize that we’ve circulated a detailed description of her to every port of entry, as well as Interpol. If she were to be stopped and searched, she’d have some trouble explaining the bullet wound in her right shoulder.”

  “But that won’t stop Fenston seeking revenge.”

  “Why should he bother?” asked Jack. “Now that he’s got the Van Gogh, you’re history.”

  “But he hasn’t got the Van Gogh,” said Anna, bowing her head.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jack.

  “I had a call from Tina, just before I left to come to this meeting. She warned me that Fenston had called in an expert from Christie’s so that he could have the painting valued for insurance. Something he’s never done before.”

  “But why should that cause any problems?” asked Jack.

  Anna raised her head. “Because it’s a fake.”

  “A fake?” both men said in unison.

  “Yes, that’s why I had to fly to Bucharest. I was having a copy made by an old friend who’s a brilliant portrait artist.”

  “Which would explain the drawing in your apartment,” said Jack.

  “You’ve been in my apartment?” said Anna.

  “Only when I believed that your life was in danger,” said Jack quietly.

  “But—,” began Anna.

  “And that also explains,” jumped in Macy, “why you sent the red box back to London, even allowing it to be intercepted by Art Locations and delivered on to Fenston in New York.”

  Anna nodded.

  “But you must have realized that you’d be found out in time?” queried Jack.

  “In time, yes,” repeated Anna. “That’s the point. All I needed was enough time to sell the original, before Fenston discovered what I was up to.”

  “So while your friend Anton was working on the fake, you flew on to Tokyo to try and sell the original to Nakamura.”

  Anna nodded.

  “But did you succeed?” asked Macy.

  “Yes,” said Anna. “Nakamura agreed to purchase the original Self-Portrait for fifty million dollars, which was more than enough for Arabella to clear her sister’s debts with Fenston Finance while still holding on to the rest of the estate.”

  “But now that Fenston knows that he’s in possession of a fake, he’s bound to get in touch with Nakamura and tell him what you’ve been up to,” said Jack.

  “He already has,” said Anna.

  “So you’re back to square one,” suggested Macy.

  “No,” said Anna with a smile. “Nakamura has already deposited five million dollars with his London solicitors and has agreed to pay the balance once he’s inspected the original.”