Art and Murder by Don Easton Page A

yourselves after I’m gone.”
    The optimism on Bojan’s face was evident as he quickly gave directions.
    â€œYou get that?” said Jack into the phone.
    â€œGot it,” replied Laura. “Should be there in thirty minutes.”
    Jack hung up and glanced around the workshop. The building was open to the roof and long and narrow, with windows on the sides. The floor was a cement slab and the walls were covered in sheets of plywood. A long workbench was under the windows in the front section of the building, and another workbench was on the end wall in the room at the rear. The end wall did not have any windows, and rows of tools hung above the workbench.
    Jack used his knuckles to rap on the end wall. As he did, Anton glanced at Bojan and gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, as if to say Jack was an idiot to search there.
    That’s encouraging. He knocked a few more times and detected a section that sounded hollow where a stud should have been. A tug on a support bracket holding a row of screwdrivers caused the section to open like a door to reveal that a false wall had been built over the end of the building.
    Inside, Jack saw kilos of cocaine stacked up, along with a cardboard box and a narrow wooden crate. He hauled the cocaine and the cardboard box out and placed them on the workbench, then smiled at Anton. “You’re a bad boy, Anton. Telling me there was no more cocaine. I count thirty-one and a half kilos. Guess it must have slipped your mind.”
    Anton’s mouth was still wrapped in duct tape but his eyes revealed his anger.
    Jack opened the cardboard box and saw an assortment of jewellery, two passports, and four cellphones. The passports were both Romanian and the numbers were in sequence. The photograph in each one was of the same woman, but the names were different, as was her date of birth, although both dates put her age at twenty.
    He looked at the phones and saw that a felt pen had been used to scrawl a number on the back of each phone, running in sequence from four to seven. He retrieved the two phones he had taken from Anton’s pocket and saw that one had the number three on it.
    Next he slid the crate out and pried the top off. Inside he felt the edge of a picture frame that had been wrapped in bubble wrap. Anton and Bojan were watching intently, but when Jack glanced at them, they both looked away with an obviously feigned lack of interest. Something important, boys?
    Jack left the picture as it was and picked up Anton’s phone with the number three. He gave a grim smile as he pushed redial.
    â€œIt’s about time,” Roche said in French.
    â€œSo, you’re a Frenchman,” Jack said harshly. “Do you speak English?”
    â€œWho is this?” Roche replied frostily in English.
    â€œMy name is Jack. I’m the guy you ordered Anton to kill.”
    A gasp was followed by a moment of silence, then Roche said, “I’ve never heard of you and I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have the wrong number.”
    â€œPerhaps you would like to speak to Anton. Personally, I hate talking on phones, but with what happened, I’m presuming this call is okay. I’ll let him explain the situation to you,” he said, then ripped the duct tape from Anton’s mouth.
    Roche listened in shock as Anton spoke and then Jack took the phone away.
    â€œOkay, I think he’s explained the situation to you enough,” said Jack.
    Roche remained silent as he tried to figure out what to say or do.
    â€œI take it very personally what you tried to do to me,” Jack continued, letting the anger show in his voice. And a lot more personally for what you did to Kerin Bastion.
    Jack knew if he took the stash, there would be no reason for the bad guys to continue to contact him. He had to think of another solution and cleared this throat. “I have located something valuable … but not exactly something I can