False Impression

It was another hour before Petrescu’s taxi came to a halt outside the Hotel Seiyo in the Ginza district. A bellboy stepped forward to help with her luggage, but the moment he saw the wooden crate he motioned for a colleague to assist him. Jack didn’t consider entering the hotel until some time after Petrescu and the box had disappeared inside. But not Crew Cut. She was already secreted in the far corner of the lobby with a clear view of the staircase and elevators, out of sight of anyone working behind the reception desk.

The moment he spotted her, Jack retreated through the swing doors and back out into the courtyard. A bellboy rushed forward. “Do you want a taxi, sir?”

“No, thank you,” he said, and, pointing to a glass door on the other side of the courtyard, inquired, “What’s that?”

“Hotel health club, sir,” replied the bellboy.

Jack nodded, walked around the perimeter of the courtyard, and entered the building. He strolled up to reception.

“Room number, sir?” he was asked by a young man sporting a hotel tracksuit.

“I can’t remember,” said Jack.

“Name?”

“Petrescu.”

“Ah, yes, Dr. Petrescu,” said the young man looking at his screen. “Room 118. Do you need a locker, sir?”

“Later,” said Jack. “When my wife joins me.”

He took a seat by the window overlooking the courtyard and waited for Anna to reappear. He noted that there were always two or three taxis waiting in line, so following her should not prove too much of a problem. But if she reappeared without the crate, he was in no doubt that Crew Cut, who was still sitting in the lounge, would be working on a plan to relieve his “wife” of its contents.

While Jack sat patiently by the window, he flicked open his cell phone and dialed through to Tom in London. He tried not to think what time it was.

“Where are you?” asked Tom, when he saw the name GOOD COP flash up on his screen.

“Tokyo.”

“What’s Petrescu doing there?”

“I can’t be sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she isn’t trying to sell a rare painting to a well-known collector.”

“Have you found out who the other interested party is?”

“No,” said Jack, “but I did manage to get a couple of images of her at the airport.”

“Well done,” said Tom.

“I’m sending the pictures through to you now,” said Jack. He keyed a code into his phone and the images appeared on Tom’s screen moments later.

“They’re a bit blurred,” was Tom’s immediate response, “but I’m sure the tech guys can clean them up enough to try and work out who she is. Any other information?”

“She’s around five foot, slim, with a blonde crew cut and the shoulders of a swimmer.”

“Anything else?” asked Tom, as he made notes.

“Yes, when you’ve finished with the American mug shots, move on to Eastern Europe. I’ve got a feeling she may be Russian or possibly Ukrainian.”

“Or even Romanian?” suggested Tom.

“Oh, God, I’m so dumb,” said Jack.

“Bright enough to get two photos. No one else has managed that, and they may turn out to be the biggest break we’ve had in this case.”

“I’d be only too happy to bask in a little glory,” admitted Jack, “but the truth is that both of them are well aware of my existence.”

“Then I’d better find out who she is pretty fast. I’ll be back in touch as soon as the boys in the basement come up with anything.”