Last Chance, page 11
‘Thank you,’ said Roberto as the girl handed back his phone. Friday sat frozen, trying to figure out what to do. The girl was walking away. Agent Okeke had told her to do nothing. But she couldn’t just sit there as her friend got robbed. The pretty girl was halfway down the corridor and about to walk past the women’s bathroom. This gave Friday an idea. She took off running until she bumped into the girl, jostling her.
‘So sorry,’ said Friday, barely pausing. ‘I really need to go.’ She disappeared into the nearby bathroom.
Once inside, Friday counted to twenty before she emerged again. Melanie and Roberto were waiting outside.
‘What was that about?’ asked Roberto. ‘You just slammed into Emily.’
‘Emily?’ asked Friday. ‘You got her name?’
‘Sure,’ said Roberto. ‘I should have asked her out. She was pretty.’
‘I know you’re clumsy,’ Melanie said to Friday. ‘But even you don’t normally run down a corridor and bash into someone.’
‘Which way did Emily go?’ asked Friday.
‘Towards the exit,’ said Roberto. ‘Why do you care?’
‘She’s the thief from the Mona Lisa room,’ said Friday. ‘A very clever thief. Come on, let’s follow her.’
Once they were outside, it was easy to spot Emily across the big open forecourt of the Musée d’Orsay. They hurried after her as she walked down the pathway beside the river. After a couple of hundred metres, she turned into a side street.
‘Where do you think she’s going?’ asked Melanie.
‘Maybe she has to report to someone,’ said Friday. ‘A lot of pickpockets work in gangs. It might seem low level, but in major cities like Paris, petty theft targeting tourists is an organised crime.’
They hadn’t been walking for long when Emily turned into a restaurant. Friday started to follow her inside, but Melanie grabbed her arm. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Friday.
‘This is Garance,’ said Melanie.
‘So?’ said Friday. She looked up. They were standing outside a black-fronted restaurant with colourful jars of pickles lit up in the windows.
‘It’s a Michelin-star restaurant,’ said Melanie. ‘You can’t just walk in. You have to have a reservation.’
‘Emily just walked in,’ said Friday.
‘Perhaps she has a reservation,’ said Roberto.
‘Perhaps she’s robbing the people inside right now,’ said Friday. ‘We need to intervene. Come on.’
It was early and the restaurant was very quiet. They spotted Emily sitting by herself and headed over. Friday, Melanie and Roberto slipped into the seats around her table.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Emily. She recognised Roberto. ‘Can I help you?’
‘How are you planning to pay for your meal?’ asked Friday.
‘What?’ asked Emily.
Friday ignored her question. ‘Were you planning to use cash? I doubt it, no-one uses cash anymore, so I’m guessing – card. And no young person literally carries a physical bank card. I’ll bet you’re intending to use a digital card on your phone.’
Emily looked perplexed. ‘Sure,’ she said. She reached under the table.
‘If you’re reaching for your phone in your pocket . . .’ said Friday, ‘. . . don’t bother. It’s not there. Because it’s in my pocket.’ Friday pulled Emily’s phone, with its distinctive unicorn case, out of her own pocket. ‘I pick-pocketed you when I bumped in to you at the museum.’
‘Oh, well done, Friday!’ said Melanie. ‘I didn’t see that coming.’
‘Give that back!’ demanded Emily.
‘I will,’ said Friday. ‘As soon as you transfer my friend Roberto’s money back to his account.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Emily.
Friday raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? Then why do you have photos of so many faces on your phone?’ She opened the photo app and started swiping through photo after photo of different people’s faces, taken looking up from chest height.
‘What do you want?’ asked Emily.
‘Roberto, check your bank balance,’ said Friday. ‘See how much she took from you.’
Roberto opened his own phone and looked. ‘Um . . . thirty-nine euros.’
This surprised Friday. ‘Is that all?’
‘I’m not a monster,’ said Emily.
‘You steal from tourists,’ said Melanie.
‘No, I don’t,’ said Emily. ‘I charge a fee for taking their picture.’
‘A fee they don’t agree to,’ said Friday.
‘Hey,’ said Roberto, still looking at his phone. ‘It is a good picture. I look great.’ He showed Friday and Melanie. He did look fabulous standing in the light in front of the window, with a relaxed and natural smile on his face. His rippling forearms rested carefully on the ledge.
‘There you go,’ said Emily. ‘I provide a service.’
‘But why steal?’ asked Friday.
They were interrupted as the waiter brought over a covered dish and placed it in front of Emily. He lifted the lid to reveal a beautifully presented plate of beef tartare with caviar and julienned potatoes.
‘For this,’ said Emily, totally without shame.
‘Food?’ asked Friday in disbelief.
‘We all must eat,’ said Emily.
‘Not in Michelin-star restaurants,’ said Friday.
‘Cuisine is culture,’ said Emily. ‘I’m supporting the arts.’
Friday cocked her head disbelievingly.
‘Look,’ said Emily. ‘I’m a third-year medical student at the Sorbonne. A scholarship just covers my tuition, my grant barely covers my rent, I work every holiday doing data entry ten hours a day to cover my food and living expenses. I don’t have spare time because I have to study for exams and intern at the hospital. This is my only luxury. My only reprieve from work and instant-pot noodles. If I didn’t do this, I would go mad.’ She picked up her knife and fork. ‘I would offer to buy you lunch, but I only took four photos today.’ She took a bite, closed her eyes to enjoy it. When she opened her eyes, Friday was still staring at her.
‘Lots of people struggle,’ said Friday. ‘It’s no excuse to steal.’
‘So is this a bust?’ asked Emily. She was trying to look defiant, but Friday could see she was bluffing. Friday didn’t blame her. Jail was awful. Emily should be scared. ‘No, I want your help,’ said Friday.
‘Are you blackmailing me?’ asked Emily.
‘No,’ said Friday, ‘I’m negotiating an agreement where we’ll both be happy.’
‘And you think I’m a con artist,’ scoffed Emily.
Friday decided to ignore this observation. ‘How much time do you spend in the Mona Lisa room at the Louvre?’
‘A lot,’ admitted Emily.
‘That’s an odd choice of place to run a scam when there is so much security,’ said Friday.
‘Security guards never notice me,’ said Emily. ‘No major artwork has ever been stolen by a twenty-one-year-old girl. And it’s the perfect place to do what I do, because the tourists there are especially unobservant. They’re overwhelmed to be in the presence of such a famous object. They don’t notice anything.’
‘I get it. The Mona Lisa is your misdirection,’ said Friday. ‘Like a magician clicking his fingers at a key moment. The Mona Lisa makes your target focus on the wrong thing.’
Emily smiled. ‘Exactly.’
‘You must know the ins-and-outs of the human behaviour in that room better than anyone,’ said Friday.
‘Probably,’ agreed Emily.
‘Have you noticed anything strange there in the past few weeks?’ asked Friday. ‘Not a specific thing necessarily, but perhaps unusual patterns of behaviour.’
Emily took another bite while she considered this. ‘Not really, the tourists are always much the same types. Honeymooners, retirees, art students . . . People are fighting, people are bored, people are overwhelmed, people are underwhelmed . . . They’re all different, but they’re the same types of different over and over again.’ Emily picked up another piece of steak and lifted it to her mouth, but then paused. ‘There were new security guards this week.’
‘What?’ said Friday.
She had to wait for her answer while Emily chewed. ‘One of the security guards fell asleep on duty last week.’
‘But the security guards stand up,’ said Melanie.
‘They do this week,’ said Emily. ‘Last week they had chairs.’ She pointed to her phone on the table next to Friday. ‘If you scroll through my pictures, you’ll see. I snapped a shot of him dozing off. I thought it was funny. The director came down and yelled at the whole team. And this week there are totally new security guards.’
‘He fired all of them?!’ said Friday.
‘Ahuh, he was angry,’ said Emily. ‘It suits me. The new ones aren’t as experienced, so they’re less likely to notice what I’m doing.’
‘What does this mean?’ asked Melanie.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Friday. She didn’t like being perplexed. ‘But it can’t be good. We’d better get back to the dorm.’
‘So that’s it?’ asked Emily as she watched them stand up to leave.
‘You really should give up a life of crime,’ said Friday.
‘Why?’ asked Emily.
‘Because it’s wrong,’ said Friday.
‘Besides,’ said Roberto, still admiring the picture she took of him. ‘You’re really good at photography. You should seriously consider pursuing that as a career. You don’t have to trick people. Plenty of people would pay more than thirty-nine euros for a portrait this good.’
When they eventually got back to the dorm, the whole building was buzzing with gossip. Everyone was talking about the Mona Lisa. People were taking selfies with the Giorgio cartoon in the lobby. Up and down the staircase, students were chattering. In their apartment, Sophia and Adam were glued to the television as there was rolling coverage of people turning up at the Louvre with pictures they claimed to be ‘The Real Mona Lisa’. There were pictures of dogs playing poker, Elvis in Las Vegas, finger paintings by three-year-olds. Everyone was joining in the fun and claiming that their painting was the real Mona Lisa.
Social media was even worse. Instagram was flooded with people claiming to have identified fakes. There were photoshopped images of Girl with a Pearl Earring by Vermeer, with the girl wearing the pearl earring through her nose. The Kiss by Klimt with the kisser wearing an apple watch. And Starry Night by Van Gogh, with a space shuttle flying across the night sky. The whole world was enjoying the joke at the Louvre’s expense.
‘Father is going to be so angry,’ said Sophia. She didn’t seem too sorry about this. She was obviously quite angry with her father herself.
Suddenly, someone Friday knew appeared on the news coverage. The station had cut to a press conference at the National Assembly house. The minister for the arts was going to address the journalists.
‘Turn it up,’ said Friday.
The minister stepped up onto the podium. ‘Mesdames et messieurs,’ he began. ‘There has been no evidence proving the wild accusations made today about the authenticity of the Mona Lisa. The Louvre has a rightful reputation for being the greatest art museum in the world. Our government will do everything in its power to protect that reputation. We will not allow foreign influence to besmirch our great national heritage. Thank you.’
Journalists started shouting out questions but the minister ignored them all. He turned and walked away. The coverage cut back to the television studio.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Melanie.
‘I think it means Bernie’s bad day just got worse,’ said Friday.
They were still sitting watching the TV coverage when Kate emerged from her room. She was wearing a smock, but somehow she had paint smeared over most of her clothing anyway.
‘Ah, Friday,’ she said, sticking the dry end of her paintbrush in her hair and rifling through her pockets. ‘There’s another note for you.’ She eventually found the note in the back pocket of her jeans. ‘Sorry, I got some paint on it.’ She handed the folded up piece of paper over to Friday.
‘Wasn’t it pinned to my door this time?’ asked Friday.
‘It was,’ said Kate. ‘But I thought it would be easier if I just gave it to you.’
‘You do know it’s rude to read other people’s mail?’ asked Friday.
‘It’s so rare for a person to leave an actual physical note,’ said Kate. ‘It would be weird not to check it out. It’s like a historical artefact from a bygone age.’
Friday opened the note.
Meet me tonight. Same time. SA.
‘SA?’ asked Melanie.
‘Secret admirer,’ said Kate.
‘Or silly artist,’ suggested Adam.
‘That’s tautological,’ said Sophia. ‘All artists are silly.’
‘It’s the same handwriting as last time,’ said Kate. ‘So it’s definitely the secret admirer setting up a date again.’
‘Abbreviation, it’s so romantic,’ said Melanie.
‘Do you want to come?’ Friday asked Melanie.
‘On a date with you and your mystery man?’ said Melanie. ‘I don’t think so. Besides, it’s at nine thirty. That’s after my bedtime. I don’t do awake at that hour.’
Later that night, Friday met Ian on the fourth floor landing of the fire escape.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked.
‘Interpol have flown in the world’s leading forensic art scientist,’ said Ian. ‘The magistrate has issued a court order for the Mona Lisa to be tested. They’re setting up a lab so it can happen first thing tomorrow.’
‘A lab?’ said Friday, her eyes lighting up.
‘I knew you’d react that way,’ said Ian. ‘So do you want to come and see it?’
When Friday and Ian arrived at the National Police Institute of Criminal Research, Uncle Bernie and Agent Okeke were sitting outside in the corridor.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Friday.
‘We’ve been kicked out,’ said Bernie. ‘Dr Smeaton said we were making him nervous.’
‘Can you please talk more softly out there?’ a voice called from inside the laboratory.
‘What’s the problem?’ whispered Friday.
‘He’s scared of Agent Okeke,’ said Uncle Bernie.
Friday looked at Agent Okeke. Friday found her frightening too. ‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘Dr Smeaton misunderstood Agent Okeke’s role at the organisation,’ said Uncle Bernie.
‘In what way?’ asked Friday.
‘He asked me to fetch him a cup of coffee,’ said Agent Okeke.
‘Oh,’ said Friday.
‘He’s an idiot,’ said Agent Okeke.
‘He made a mistake,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘Unfortunately, Agent Okeke clarified his error by showing him her gun and threatening to use it on him.’
‘He’ll think twice about patronising a woman of colour next time,’ said Agent Okeke.
‘I’d be surprised if he has the courage to speak to any woman ever again,’ said Uncle Bernie.
‘That’s his problem, not mine,’ said Agent Okeke.
‘Actually, it’s all of our problem,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘We’ve just flown in the world’s leading scientific expert in analysing art, and he refuses to be in the same room with us.’
‘What’s he got against you?’ asked Friday.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Bernie. ‘I think it’s just my size. Apparently I remind him of a criminal he once testified against. He seems very concerned about death threats being carried out.’
‘You should go in and talk to him,’ Ian told Friday. ‘You’re fluent in science nerd. And you’re small and unthreatening.’
‘Thanks,’ said Friday sarcastically.
‘No, that’s a good idea,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘You’re wearing your brown cardigan. No-one could be scared of someone wearing a cardigan that ugly.’
Friday turned the handle and let herself in to the laboratory. Europeans use the word “laboratory” differently to English-speaking people. They have gelato laboratories and chocolate laboratories and jam laboratories, but really they’re just the backrooms of shops where things get made. This laboratory was more what an English speaker would refer to as an office.
There was a large white table in the middle of the room, with bright lights on extendable arms overhead and two computers on a desk along the wall, as well as several harder-to-identify pieces of high-tech equipment. Friday recognised a centrifuge and a microscope but aside from that, this could just as easily have been a photographer’s workspace, not a criminal investigation lab.
A short, thin man was bent over the table adjusting the equipment. He was very neatly dressed in chinos, a collared shirt, a tie and a red sweater. He looked like his mother had dressed him for attending church or lunch with the in-laws. It was a studied level of informality.
‘What do you want?’ he asked. There was a note of fear in his voice.
‘Nothing,’ said Friday. ‘I think we need to know if you’re all right and if you have everything you need to test the Mona Lisa tomorrow.’
‘All the equipment I requested is here,’ said Dr Smeaton nervously. ‘But can you guarantee my safety?’
‘This is a police building,’ said Friday. ‘You can’t get any safer than that.’
‘But can I trust the police?’ asked Dr Smeaton.
‘We’re investigating art crime,’ said Friday. ‘I don’t think your average police officer is concerned about what you’re doing here.’
‘I just want to go home,’ complained Dr Smeaton. ‘I retired from criminal work. That’s the whole reason I went to work at Sotheby’s. To get away from all the nastiness. I don’t mind saying what a painting is worth for an art auction, but saying whether or not a painting is a fake – that just makes everyone so angry.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Friday.
