False Impression

“Then I’m afraid he’ll miss me again.”

“I’m not even convinced the stalker’s a man.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I saw Fenston talking to a woman in the back of his car while I was attending your funeral.”

“That doesn’t prove—”

“I agree, but it worries me that I’ve never seen her before.”

“She could be one of Fenston’s girlfriends.”

“That woman was nobody’s girlfriend.”

“Describe her.”

“Five foot, slim, dark-haired.”

“There will be a lot of people like that where I’m going.”

“And are you taking the painting with you?”

“No, I’ve left it where no one can giv

e it a second look.”

The phone went dead.

Leapman pressed the off button. “Where no one can give it a second look,” he repeated.

“Can, not will?” said Fenston. “It must still be in the box.”

“Agreed, but where’s she off to next?”

“To a country where the people are five foot, slim, and dark-haired.”

“Japan,” said Leapman.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Fenston.

“It’s all in her report. She’s going to try and sell your painting to the one person who won’t be able to resist it.”

“Nakamura,” said Fenston.

9/16

29

JACK HAD CHECKED in at what was ambitiously described on a flashing neon sign as the Bucharesti International. He spent most of the night either turning the radiator up because it was so cold or turning it off because it was so noisy. He rose just after 6:00 A.M. and skipped breakfast, fearing it might be as unreliable as the radiator.

He hadn’t spotted the woman again since he stepped onto the plane, so either he’d made a mistake or she was a professional. But he was no longer in any doubt that Anna was working independently, which meant Fenston would soon be dispatching someone to retrieve the Van Gogh. But what did Petrescu have in mind, and didn’t she realize what danger she was putting herself in? Jack had already decided the most likely place he’d catch up with Anna would be when she visited her mother. This time he’d be waiting for her. He wondered if the woman he’d seen when he stood in line for the plane had the same idea, and, if so, was she Fenston’s retriever or did she work for someone else?

The hotel porter offered him a tourist map, which colorfully detailed the finer parts of the city center but not the outskirts, so he walked across to the kiosk and purchased a guidebook entitled Everything You Need to Know About Bucharest. There wasn’t a single paragraph devoted to the Berceni district where Anna’s mother lived, although they were considerate enough to include Piazza Resitei on the larger foldout map at the back. With the aid of a matchstick placed against the scale at the bottom left-hand corner of the page, Jack worked out that Anna’s birthplace must be about six miles north of the hotel.

He decided he would walk the first three miles, not least because he needed the exercise, but also it would give him a better chance to discover if he was the target of an SDR.

Jack left the International at 7:30 A.M. and set off at a brisk pace.