The Flinck Connection (Book 4) (Genevieve Lenard) by Estelle Ryan Page B

Frey. Since you’re the expert, you can tell us how they did it.”
    Colin and I got in his SUV and followed Manny for twenty-three blocks to the Jean Monnet Museum. Colin had given me a warning look that I understood to mean that the car was also not a safe place to talk. From Colin’s music selection, I chose Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A major and sat back to listen to the soothing sounds for the twelve-minute drive to the city centre.
    We parked behind Manny’s ten-year-old sedan. It was curious that we had found parking so easily at half past ten in the morning. Not only was the museum located in the city centre, but it was in the tourist area that saw a lot of foot and vehicle traffic. Despite the month and the lack of tourists, this part of the city was always busy and packed during workdays and weekends alike. This led me to wonder if the police had cleared the area of traffic and parked cars.
    I got out of the SUV and pulled my scarf higher over my chin. It was cold. On the opposite side of the street, pedestrians were slowing down their pace to gawk at the police cars haphazardly parked in front of the museum. The entrance to the museum was blocked, a police officer standing there, his posture lacking any welcoming cues. It deterred any curious onlookers from crossing the street and asking questions.
    Manny waited for us to join him after he spoke to the officer to let us through. The museum was housed in an older building which was well maintained to retain its old-worldly look. This building housed the museum, a boutique and a framing business. Taking up almost two-thirds of the building and using all four floors, the museum was large enough to have a permanent exhibition and host a few temporary exhibitions every year. I had been here when they had a display of Leonardo da Vinci’s sketches.
    A portly man rushed towards us. “Are you the specialised team? Are you the people who will find these… these barbarians? Why would they break into my museum and steal my art?”
    “Did those paintings belong to you?” Why had Henri Fabron not told us this?
    When the short man huffed, his stomach jounced. “All the paintings, all the art in my museum get treated as if they were mine.”
    “And you are?” Manny had on his disinterest persona.
    “Rémy Bonfils, the curator of this museum.” He dismissed Manny after a quick glance at Manny’s oversized and wrinkled coat, and turned to Colin. “What are you doing to get my art back?”
    “I’m Sydney Goddphin. Pleased to meet you.” Colin took a step closer to Monsieur Bonfils and shook the curator’s hand. The curator evaluated Colin’s dark winter slacks, his designer coat and expensive Italian boots. I supposed Colin’s attire qualified him better as an art theft investigator than Manny’s. People’s irrational prejudices amused me. Colin blinked twice at me and stepped away with the curator. “I can guarantee you that my team is doing everything in our power to solve this heinous crime as soon as possible. Now if you could be so kind as to tell me exactly what happened.”
    Manny watched Colin lead the man to the far side of the room. I didn’t observe any animosity. Only calculation. “That Frey is a dangerous player.”
    “Colin doesn’t take part in any sports, except for jogging and some body-building.”
    “I mean he is a dangerously good liar, Doc.” Manny turned to me. “At least we can now walk through this ark and see what happened.”
    “Firstly, this is not an ark. And secondly, you are also an exceptional liar, Manny. Your skills with Henri Fabron impressed me.”
    “Don’t make too much of it, Doc. I just wanted to get him off our backs. That little wet-behind-the-ears twerp has been riding my arse since the day the president got this team together.” Manny only ever lapsed into metaphors when he was distracted or extremely angry.
    “Why are you distracted?”
    “What makes you… never mind.” He nodded to the