Chapter Twenty-One
Alexi knew something had gone horribly wrong. Ari always checked in on time. Always. It didn’t matter what he was facing or where he was. Initially Alexi had thought it was because there were areas in the country without cell service. But when an hour passed beyond the specified time he became deeply concerned. Ari was either in hell or in custody. No-one was irreplaceable, but he came close. With his canine companion at his side Alexi walked into the interview room and stared at the large, empty frame.
Was the portrait more of a liability than it was worth?
He didn’t need the money.
It was the esteem.
The acclaim.
Hearing the phrase, how did you do that?
But most of all it was the challenge.
He’d stolen paintings, jewelry and other treasures from private residences many times, and nothing could match his sense of triumph.
“Craig and Bob,” he grunted under his breath. “Fucking clowns, and I bet they’re spilling their guts to the NCA. But it’s okay Poncho,” he added, bending down and stroking his dog. “They don’t know the important stuff, and there’s nothing to prove those idiots even met me, let alone worked for me. Besides, they know what would happen if they dared to mention my name.”
He was so deep in thought when his phone rang it startled him. He was in no mood to talk to anyone, but he snatched it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. It was Ken Matthews, his contact at the NCA. He was low on the totem pole, but he had full access, a sharp ear, and a desperate need for money.
“Hello?”
“I only have a second, Mr. Kozlov, but in case you haven’t heard Ario Baptiste has been brought in.”
“I figured as much,” Alexi replied, feeling a huge ripple of relief that Ari wasn’t dead. “What are the charges?”
“Attempted auto theft. A fingerprint was found on a BMW that had been tampered with.”
“Has he been interviewed?”
“Yes, but apparently he didn’t offer much.”
“Can you get a message to him?”
“Yes, Mr, Kozlov, that’s not a problem.”
“Tell him to ask for a barrister. He’ll know what number to call.”
“I’ll let him know right away.”
“Excellent, and I appreciate this. There’ll be a drop in the usual place in the next hour. How’s your wife?”
“Much better thanks to your generosity, Mr. Kozlov. We’re both very grateful.”
“The more information you give me, the fatter the envelope. But don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“I won’t, sir. Thanks again.”
“Goodbye, Ken.”
As the call ended, Alexi experienced a second wave of relief. If all they had on Ari was a potential auto theft based on a fingerprint it would never hold up. The barrister would have him out in no time. Alexi turned his attention back to the empty frame.
Every man had a weakness.
Even Donovan Blake.
Phoebe Beaumont was his.
Alexi’s lips curled in a fiendish grin.
The portrait would soon be in his hands.
* * *
Though Phoebe had enjoyed the midday meal her mind had been on Ari’s video-taped interview. She didn’t just want the satisfaction of seeing the intimidating bully in custody, she was hoping to expose any lies he may have told.
Now sitting in the library with Peter and Donovan, she settled into the couch and waited impatiently for him to set up his laptop. As the video began, she leaned forward and stared at Ari intently. When the officer began asking meaningless questions she was overjoyed. They were the best way to evaluate a subject’s responses, and she suspected that’s exactly what the interviewer was doing.
The moment Ari was asked if he’d tampered with the BMW parked overnight on the street in front of his boss’s residence, she noticed he crossed his ankles under the table. The interrogator was seated on the opposite side of the table. It was a move he might not have seen. Ari denied the allegation, then was asked how his thumb print ended up on the passenger’s side door. Ari smiled and said he’d always liked the car and stopped to peer in the window, but as he spoke, he crossed his arms. As the interview continued, the signals that he was either lying or telling the truth became obvious.
“Phoebe, are you getting anything?” Donovan asked, pausing the playback. “Can you read him?”
“Easily,” she replied confidently. “I just hope he’s questioned about the portrait.”
“I was told that will come up towards the end.”
“If you watch him closely, you’ll see him cross his arms or ankles, even his legs, if he’s lying. It’s just so obvious.”
“And he has no idea?” Peter muttered. “Fascinating.”
As Donovan restarted the video, Phoebe began replaying sections and explained what she had spotted. When the subject of the portrait was raised, she paused it and took a deep breath.
“Look at his eyebrows,” she exclaimed. “He’s fighting the instinct to frown. Whatever he knows is extremely important but he doesn’t want to show his concern.”
“Mr. Baptiste, are you familiar with an estate known as Hawthorne Hall?” the interviewer asked.
“I’ve heard of it,” Ari replied.
“Are you aware a portrait was stolen from there?”
“News to me.”
“Do you know Craig Carson and Bob Lacey?”
“Never heard of them.”
“We know it was your boss who ordered the theft, and we also know it was Craig Carson and Bob Lacey who did the dirty work. Mr. Baptiste, this crime is falling apart and you’d be wise to cooperate. We can make sure you spend less time behind bars, even be sent to a more, shall we say, comfortable prison. Tell me, Mr. Baptiste, who wants to buy that portrait from your boss, and what are the details of the deal?”
“That’s of no relevance to the flimsy charges against my client relating to the theft and/or tampering of a motor vehicle,” a tall portly man interjected, striding into the room. “My name is Terrence Witherspoon. I am Mr. Baptiste’s barrister, and there will be no further questioning. You will release him immediately. A fingerprint on a car is insufficient to arrest him, let alone hold him. If you have anything else tell me, if not, he’s leaving with me, or a lawsuit will be filed for false arrest and imprisonment. You know I’m right. Stop this nonsense at once.”