I had no air in my lungs to scream in horror when I turned to the reading area to face the voice that had intruded in my safe space. I also had no time to consider my own safety. Not when the darkness was closing in faster than it had two days before. I barely had the presence of mind to pull my handbag from my shoulder and dig out empty music sheets and a pencil with stiff fingers. In the very far background I heard a concerned voice calling me, but it was not strong enough to pull me back. All that was real to me now were the music sheets in my hand and the notes floating around in my head. Nothing else.
How I made it to the dining table I had no idea, nor did it matter how long I was there. As long as I was focussing on Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 5 in D major, the darkness stayed peripheral. I could feel the darkness closing in on me the moment I allowed my attention to be drawn to the other person speaking softly to me, moving around my apartment as if searching for something and then placing more empty music sheets in front of me.
I pushed the knowledge of his invading presence in my apartment out of my mind and only focussed on the purity of the music notes on the sheets. In many of his letters Mozart mentioned that this Concerto had been his favourite. It was mine too. I loved his use of trumpets and timpani in the first and last movements. The horns, oboes and strings that served as the piano’s support were perfect. It was pure, safe, in harmony. I had to focus on this to regain my own harmony.
Slowly my mind returned to my apartment and back into my body. The threatening darkness had moved away, but the stranger was still in my apartment. I shook this knowledge off and focussed on the table. The music sheets were neatly arranged next to each other, in two rows, from the one side of the long wooden dining table to the other. There were twenty sheets. I had written a lot.
Still not completely back in control, I chose to finish the second movement, the Andante, giving myself time to assess my situation. Writing Mozart not only helped me through moments like this. It was also the most effective way for me to think things through. I never had any problems memorising the compositions and must have written each of Mozart’s works at least twice in my life. Others I had written countless times. This one especially had helped me several times to come up with solutions to seemingly impossible situations. Like the one in my apartment.
For some unfathomable reason he was still in my apartment and had not chosen to leave while I was fighting the darkness with my music. Who was he and what was he doing here? I didn’t want to chance looking at him in case he would think that I was available for conversation or maybe some more sinister activity he had in mind.
I had completed seven years of self-defence training, combining different disciplines to enable a woman to defend herself in all different kinds of situations. All the years of training flooded my mind. I would have to assess my assailant to best determine what form of defence I might need, yet I was reluctant to look away from my safe music papers.
“I made you a cup of tea.” The intruder spoke quietly a few feet away from me. He had a deep voice and spoke with smooth confidence. My favourite teacup filled with camomile tea appeared next to my left hand. A strong male hand made the fine porcelain cup and saucer look even more fragile. A quick glance revealed muscular forearms partially hidden by the pushed-up sleeves of a black sweater. “It looked as if you drink a lot of this tea, so I hope that I assumed correctly that you might like a cup.”
The temptation to look at the rest of the man was hard to resist, but I wanted more time to analyse my situation. The gentleness in his voice did not alert me to any violent intent, but he might just be trying to create a false sense of safety before he pounced. I almost laughed at my unprofessional analysis. Never had I used the word pounce in any of the profiles I had created. I took a deep breath and consciously moved into the rational side of my brain, the side where I was most comfortable, where I spent most of my time.
According to the twenty-four sheets of music in front of me, I estimated that I had been writing for at least three hours. Questions started gnawing at me. I finished the last notes, drew the bold double bar line to indicate the end of the second movement, and stilled the nagging questions in my mind.
I looked up from the table and found the intruder. The unwelcome fiend was in my reading chair, a chair no one but I had ever used. He was immersed in a newspaper. My newspaper. I took the opportunity to study him.
He appeared in his mid thirties, maybe a few years older than me. Taller than average, he had the build of a gymnast. Very muscular, but not bulky. This was important to know in case I had to defend myself. His dark brown hair was just a bit too long to qualify as short. It looked finger-combed, a bit messy. Stylists needed a lot of product and time to give male models that look.
His square jaw was darkened by stubble and his skin had the tone of someone who had just returned from a Mediterranean holiday. The fingers holding my newspaper were long, the nails neatly clipped. Everything about him stated relaxed elegance, from his quality dark clothes to his demeanour.
His crossed ankles and relaxed torso showed that he had no concerns about his safety. Not like I did. I studied him intently for any cue that he might be a threat to me. I found none. I did, however, sense something familiar about him.
“Who are you?”
“Oh, hello.” He looked up from my newspaper that I now would not be able to read. He had destroyed the creases. “Glad to have you back.”
“Who are you?” I maintained an even tone, not willing to let him see any more vulnerability than he had already witnessed.
“You have quite a cool collection of artwork here.” He got out of my chair and walked to the wall behind me. I had chosen and bought the fourteen masks that took up a quarter of the wall after extensive research and consideration. I took the time to assess him further as he passed me. I would have to be quick and smart to get the better of him physically. He was light on his feet and moved with the kind of grace that was attributed to boxers, gymnasts and athletes. And thieves.
His English was flawless with no accent to place him in any particular region. I continued watching him for possible clues to his identity or purpose in my apartment while he perused my collection.
“I especially like this Inca funerary mask from Peru. Ah, Peru. I loved travelling there.”
I refused to be drawn in into his reminiscing, but I was dying to know how he was able to identify that mask. It could’ve been from any South American country. The way he held his body while facing my favourite mask oozed self-confidence. I was looking at a man who very seldom tasted failure. It seemed not to have made him arrogant, but rather self-assured, if not overconfident. And he was trying to distract me from my question. So I waited.
It didn’t take too long for him to turn back to me with a half smile. “Do you really have the IQ of a high genius?”
I clenched my teeth to refrain from responding. I had watched enough interviews to know that one should never reveal too much about oneself. Nor did I think it prudent to be pulled into a conversation with someone who had broken into one’s house.
“Who are you?” I asked again in the same controlled tone.
“What happened earlier? It looked like you had some kind of Autistic or Aspergers blackout.”
That was it. I had enough of people asking me about my state of mind. And I was bored with explaining it to complete strangers. I pushed my chair back with uncharacteristic force and placed both my hands flat on the surface of the dining table. “I am going to have a shower. The bedroom and bathroom doors are reinforced, so don’t even think to enter. When I come out, you will not be here.”
“And if I am?”
I straightened myself slowly to my full average height and gave him my most severe gaze. For a few seconds we were locked in a battle of fixed stares before I turned around without a further word and walked to my bedroom as if the matter was settled. I knew that it was all but settled, but I was not going to allow some common criminal who had broken int
o my sanctuary to dictate the direction of any conversation.
My security paranoia in a very safe city at last became useful as I bolted my bedroom door. Only after I turned the third lock did I allow myself to slump against the door. How he had managed to enter my secure apartment was a mystery that I would have to solve before I went to bed. Wherever the gap in my security was, it had to be filled else I would never have another good night’s rest. He hadn’t seemed to have any harmful intent and I could only hope that he would respond to my warning gaze and leave. I shook my head as I made my way to my bathroom. The way I had read him, I knew that he was still going to be in my apartment when I finished my shower.
The desired half an hour under the relaxing spray of a hot shower was cut short with the uncomfortable knowledge of a stranger on the other side of the wall waiting for me. At least I was comforted by the fact that there was no way he could penetrate the two steel-reinforced doors leading to my bathroom. I went through my routine as quickly as possible and felt much better by the time I pushed my fingers through my short, dark brown hair to give it a natural messy look.
In my bedroom, I gave myself a last inspection in the mirror and approved. My dark jeans fitted my slim legs snugly, but gave me enough room to manoeuvre in case of a physical altercation. The dark brown boots would do some serious damage if they connected to any part of the human body. I inhaled deeply and on the exhale relaxed the muscles around my eyes so that my emerald green eyes wouldn’t look so disturbed. Once I was satisfied with the image in the mirror, I unlocked the door, fully expecting the intruder to still be there.
I found him perusing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the reading area. He had a first edition Kipling in his hand and was paging through it with unadulterated awe etched on his face. How could a common criminal appreciate art and literature like this? The same sense of familiarity pulled at my consciousness. I inched closer.
“You have exquisite taste, Jenny.” He must have sensed my presence, because he only looked up from the book after he had spoken. And he had shortened my name. “Your art collection is small, but chosen with an obvious eye for quality and substance. Your music taste is an interesting jump between genres, but this,” he pointed to the books, “this is something I would give my big toe for.”
“Why would you–” I stopped myself from inquiring why he would sacrifice a digit, knowing that it probably was one of those senseless things people said. “Why don’t you just give me your name?”
He carefully replaced the book and even managed to align it the right distance from the edge of the shelf before he turned to me. “If I give you my name, will you sit down with me and have a conversation?”
“Why would I want to do that? You broke into my apartment and have overstayed your welcome by a few hours.”
“I would consider it a huge favour.” His smile used all those facial muscles indicating insincerity. Most likely he used it to charm his way around other hapless victims. This was the first time that I felt him to be a threat. I moved away from him to a small wooden table I had bought from a Cambodian art dealer.
“What are you doing?”
“Phoning the police.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work.”
Without taking my eyes off him, I picked up the receiver of my home phone only to be met with a dead instrument in my hand. I shook it slightly towards him. “What have you done?”
“Played it safe.” Surprisingly he looked apologetic. “I’ve also switched on a scrambler that won’t allow you any reception on your mobile phone.”
My life had been in such controlled harmony until two days ago. Now I had to deal with a lapse not only in my carefully cultivated control, but also in my home security. All of this started with that blasted Manny and his case. Not being one to believe in coincidence, I was leaning towards the intruder’s visit having something to do with the photo and Manny’s case.
“I don’t want to frighten you, Jenny.” He turned his palms outwards, but it was the true concern on his face that had me convinced. This time.
Using a shortened version of my name grated on my nerves. I desperately wanted to release all the pent-up frustration of the last few days in a lecture about respecting people’s names. But this might not be the wisest move. I considered all my options and sighed. “Your name and then we talk.”
“Fantastic.” He took a step closer and stretched out his hand in introduction, but immediately stopped when I stiffened. His hand floated to his side. “Sorry. My name is Colin Frey.”
The little time I had already spent with this intruder had been enough for me to have established a baseline. This enabled me to know that at that very moment he was telling the truth. I replaced the dead receiver and gave my reading chair a look of disgust. I stepped to the left and sat down on one of the two wingback chairs that completed my seating arrangement in the reading area. Colin took his place again in my chair, much to my dismay. I would have to disinfect my entire apartment.
“What do you want, Mister Frey?”
“Colin, please.” He looked unsure how to continue.
“Please just state your business so that you can leave.”
“You work for Rousseau & Rousseau. It is not quite stated what you do there, but it seems that you’re working in the fraud detection department.”
“Your business, Mister Frey.” I was not going to allow him the pleasure of drawing information out of me. I studied every movement of his facial muscles and found my eyes continuously drawn to his lips.
“Please call me Colin.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smile and the penny dropped.
“You are him!” I sat up in my chair, eyebrows raised and my heart racing. “You are the poet-man.”
Colin closed his eyes, which was as much as an admission. “How did you know?”
“Your lips. They are the same lips as those of Sydney Goddphin, John Milton and Isaac Watts.”
“How do you know?” He shook his head. “Those photos in the newspapers. I knew they were going to come and bite me in the arse one day.”
“How far back does this go?” I forgot all my previous concerns. The man in front of me was much more fascinating than any safety concerns. “I only looked back five years, but I have a feeling that you’ve been doing this much longer.”
“I would prefer to not implicate myself at this very moment.” He rubbed his wrists as if he could feel handcuffs tightening. “But I must admit that in all the time the poets have been in existence, no one has once even come close to making any connection.”
“How did you know that I had made the connection?” Wasn’t the EDA computer supposed to be secure?
“You did a Google search.”
“Surely my Google search didn’t make direct contact with you.”
“Actually it did. I’m telling you too much, Jenny.” He rubbed his hand once over his face. “But I need to know that you are taking me seriously.”
“Seriously about what?” I had so many questions. “Why are you here? How did you get in? My apartment is supposed to be secure and yet you managed to break in here.”
“It really wasn’t that difficult. Top floor apartments are always easy to breach.”
“Are you telling me that you’re doing this frequently?”
Shock registered on his face. “I’m definitely telling you too much.”
“Just tell me how you got into my apartment.” I had to know. Or else I wouldn’t be able to move on.
“Through the ceiling in the guest bathroom. It was a tight fit, but easy enough. I could also have come through the window if it wasn’t full daylight.”
“Or you could’ve knocked on my front door.”
“Would you have opened it?” He smiled when I looked at him askance. “Thought so. Jenny, why did you do this search into the poets?”
“You know that I work for an insurance company, so surely you had to come to some conclusion.”
He had just s
uccessfully managed to shift my attention from my unanswered question. Unknown to him, I had watched hundreds of interviews and had learned valuable lessons. Like when a fraud suspect started asking his own questions, much could be gleaned from those questions. For now I would allow him to take the lead. It might prove to be very informative.
“Of course I have a hypothesis, but I would rather hear from you why these poets interested you.”
I didn’t want to tell him anything that wasn’t public knowledge. I chose my words with care. “The stolen art. That was what drew my attention. I’m busy working on this case involving an artwork that was stolen during the Second World War and then retrieved. You were the one who identified it. One thing led to another until I found too many names of seventeenth century poets seeming to discover stolen artwork. I don’t believe in coincidence so I came to the conclusion that it could be the same man.”
“Which artwork?”
“Pardon?” I knew what he was asking, but needed time to consider my answer. Not only did he appear to be an accomplished burglar, he also had a way of manipulating the conversation that showed a higher intellect. That intrigued me.
“Which artwork is part of the case that you are looking into?”
“Um... I can’t tell you that, miste–”
“Colin.”
“Colin.” I took a deep breath. The topic needed to be changed if I was to continue keeping Manny’s confidence. “Who do you work for?”
“Who says I’m working?”
I lifted one eyebrow and glared at him “You’re the one who quoted my IQ. Don’t underestimate me.”
“I would never make that mistake. No one has ever gotten me to talk so much about myself.”
“Not that you’ve said much.” Something clicked into place. “Your name. You don’t tell people your real name.”
“I’m not admitting that it’s my real name.”
“Your face tells me it is.” It was interesting that someone who, for obvious reasons, would not trust anyone, chose to trust me. “Tell me, though, why do you steal these pieces back?”
“I’ve never admitted to stealing anything.”
“True. But we both know that you’re the one stealing back these art pieces, some of which were thought lost forever.”
“Were they?” He held up his hands when I frowned. His avoidance was becoming annoying. “Okay, okay. So those pieces are valuable, but I’m not here to talk about that.”
“Then tell me why you are here.” Even though I was desperately curious to know about his motives behind re-appropriating those artworks, this was a much more pressing issue.
“Why are you looking into Gauguin’s Still Life, The White Bowl?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Is that the piece of artwork that the police had found on the dead girl?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I repeated, but this time my voice sounded a bit breathless. How was it possible that he knew about the piece of the painting found on the girl? “And stop answering my questions with questions.”
“I know it is a lot to ask of you, but I need you to trust me.”
A disbelieving sound escaped my lips. “I don’t know you. All I know about you is that you’ve broken into my apartment, have stolen back a lot of art pieces and seem to know a lot about a lot. Can you give me any rational reason why I would trust you, an obvious criminal? Or why I would tell you anything at all.”
“Your life is in danger.”
The stark statement hung between us. I found myself mentally writing a few bars of the third movement of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 5 in D major. I would not allow any more shocking statements, photos or bits of information to steal my control. Fortunately, normalcy returned after a few short bars and I asked, “In danger from whom?”
“You’re not the only one who cannot reveal information. There are also things that I cannot tell you. We will have to get to know each other better for that kind of trust.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“What? Getting to know each other or trusting each other?” His smile was quick. A sober expression took over his face. “If you are looking into the murder of that girl who hid a piece of the Gauguin, you need to be very careful of any and all association with the EDA.”
Cold fingers gripped my courage by its throat. Who was this man? How did he know about the EDA? Manny had said that only himself, Leon, the Chief and the Head of the EDA knew about Phillip’s and my involvement.
“Aha,” he said in a knowing tone. “You are working with the EDA.”
“I did not say that.” I can’t believe that I fell for this amateur test. He had simply thrown that statement out into the air to see how I was going to react and react I did. I might as well have told him everything I knew.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands dangle. “I cannot emphasise enough how dangerous this is.”
“How would you know? Does this have anything to do with the artists who got murdered?”
It looked like I had shot him with a stun gun. “How do you know about that?”
This was a job for Phillip with his excellent people and negotiation skills. The two of us were attacking each other with information and successfully shocking each other into admissions that should not be voiced at all. I had to delve very deep into my psychology training to find the right way to deal with this.
“Okay, stop. We are walking in circles and it’s leading nowhere. I don’t owe you any kind of trust since you are the one who entered my home uninvited. If you want me to listen to you or answer any more questions, you will have to tell me your true purpose for being here.” I did not have to try to put severity into my voice and expression. I had never been this serious about anything.
“Fair enough. I suppose lying is not an option since I know that you are an expert at detecting deception.”
I did not move a single muscle in my face. I did, however, want to roll my eyes and raise my upper lip in total disgust of his presence and avoidance. He was still stalling, but I knew that I could outwait him.
He breathed a tired chuckle in surrender. “Fine. I came here to find out who you are. I was curious about the person who had uncovered such a well-constructed secret. I also wanted to warn, or scare, you away from this case. But I have changed my mind.”
“Have you now?” I was reading his every muscle movement. Holding on to a poker face was nigh on impossible. We always gave away clues as to what is going on inside our heads. So far Colin had been truthful. Uncomfortable, but truthful.
“Yes, I think that you are exactly what I need. Before you get upset, let me explain. I don’t have access to law enforcement like you do.” His smile was wry. “For obvious reasons. A lot of bad things have been happening for a long time and someone needs to stop it. Unfortunately, a lot of those bad things are done by people in law enforcement. That is why I think you’re perfect.”
“I’m an outsider.” It was like listening to Manny all over again. I wondered if the thief and the respected EDA deputy chief would find it as amusing as I that they had something in common.
“Exactly. Already you know much more about this than anyone else. I believe that you are the one who could put the pieces together to stop this.” I was surprised to see that he truly believed this. “You already have connected … um … the poets to a lot of artworks. Surely you have found connections between forged works, stolen art and the murders?”
I took my time to answer. “We can both agree that we know things that should not be shared. Why don’t you start by telling me everything that you can share?”
“Just for the record, I’m the only one sharing at the moment. It should show you my willingness to trust you and also the ominous nature of this situation.” He waited for a reaction, but when I didn’t even blink, he just smiled and continued. “Do you know about the EDA connection with these murders?”
It had become clear that Colin k
new nothing of Eurocorps connection to all this. I thought about all those stolen weapons, but immediately remembered Manny’s frantic warnings to keep this confidential. I still hadn’t decided to trust this thief.
“What connection?” I asked
“I haven’t figured out all the details.” The levator labii superioris muscle on the side of his nose raised his upper lip in disgust. “The connection goes very high. And that is honestly all I know. There are a lot of loose fragments of information that I have and am trying to use to come up with a viable theory. About the EDA, I don’t have anything but a long list of coincidences and a healthy dose of suspicion.”
“Are you a conspiracy theorist?”
He burst out in rich laughter and for a moment the stress lines on his face lifted. “I never thought of myself as one. Not until this came along.”
“What makes you suspect the EDA? What are the coincidences that you’re talking about?”
“How many artist deaths have you found?” He yet again countered with a question and I hesitated to answer him. Could I trust a criminal with information that is easily obtainable on the internet? What would Phillip do in a negotiation like this? “Genevieve?”
“Five.” It tore me in pieces to say that one word.
“I know of thirteen. I suppose that you only looked at Western Europe.”
“Thirteen? All of them artists?” I decided not to ask him if he had any knowledge of murders in the last four years. That would reveal the limited scope in my research and the frustrating mystery of why I couldn’t find any more murders in the last four years.
“Some of them amateurs, some professional, but all of them must have some connection other than being murdered.”
“The EDA?” I reminded him.
“Oh yes, the coincidences. I first became aware of the EDA’s presence when a friend of mine disappeared.”
“Your friend was an artist?”
“Yes. It was in 2006. A few weeks later his body was found floating in the Danube river about twenty kilometres outside Budapest.” His voice was controlled, but the masseter muscle tensing to cause a bulge on his lower jaw spoke of his anger. “At that time there was a large defence meeting held in Budapest with very little publicity. The EDA was present at this meeting. That in itself made me suspicious.”
“But how do you connect the EDA to this? I’m sorry to say this, Colin, but your conclusion has no factual base. It is all total conjecture.”
“I told you it is only my suspicion. It’s just that at four more murders, the EDA also happened to be in the same city.” He looked at his watch and grimaced. “I have to go soon. It’s a pity. I would’ve loved to sit and talk much longer. We have much to discuss. Jenny, I can’t tell you how glad I am that I have found you.”
“Glad?”
“After all these years of leaving anonymous tips at numerous police stations, at last there might be someone who could put a stop to this senseless killing of great talent. None of the other investigators or agencies ever took it to be a real threat. And it was not like I could walk in and try to convince them. At least now I have you.”
“You do not have me.” Each word was slowly pushed through my teeth. No one laid claim to me. It was detestable.
“Oh, I think I do. You are untainted by all that power, bureaucracy and traditional thinking. You’re also intrigued by the connections.” He moved to the edge of my reading chair and rested his hands on his knees as if ready to push himself up. “You will come up with the necessary physical evidence and connections to catch the bad guys and end this.”
“Bad guys?” I had to smile at his use of that term. “Aren’t you a bad guy?”
“You know that I’m not.” He spoke with total confidence in his good character. I narrowed my eyes and considered this. He interrupted my pondering with concern pulling the corners of his mouth down. “I don’t know how, but the EDA is up to their necks in this. Why else would there be so many forgeries and deaths in all the places that the EDA can be found?”
“Conjecture. They are the European Defence Agency. Of course you’re going to find their presence throughout Europe.”
“Maybe.” He thought for a moment. “Have you looked into the Russian guy who killed the girl? Have you looked for a Russian connection?”
“A Russian connection? Is there a connection?”
“Find it,” was the only answer he gave me after a staring at me for a long while. “There is also a lot more about that girl than meets the eye. You should see what you can find out about her. While you are at it, look into ships too.”
“Ships?” This man was infuriating me now with all his cryptic suggestions. The Russians, the girl, ships. Why can people never just say something straight out? He had told me a lot, yet I felt like I only received the first four words of a paragraph. Not one sentence was complete. It was confusing, frustrating and deliciously challenging.
He got up and turned to the guest bathroom, ignoring my question. “I really have to go. It was wonderful meeting you. It’s going to be fun working with you.”
I jumped up from my chair and glared at him. “There will absolutely be no working together. Do you really think that I will work with you?”
“Of course. You’re going to need me.” He started walking away from me. “Walk me out.”
I was hard pressed to not go on the offence and attack him with some of my self-defence training. It would release a lot of the residual anger whirling around in me. I managed to breathe through it. “The front door is in the other direction, Colin.”
“I know,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m going to leave the way I came in.”
I followed him to the guest bathroom at the back of my apartment and gasped at the gaping hole in the ceiling where he had removed the cover leading to the ventilation system.
“Don’t worry. I’ll put this back so neatly, you won’t even know that I’ve been here.” He effortlessly lifted himself into the man sized hole, disappeared for a moment and then peeked back. “Don’t bother securing this entrance. There are at least another six ways that I can enter your apartment.”
“You could always just ring the doorbell.”
“You would never open the door for me.” He gave me a genuine smile. “It’s really been a pleasure, Jenny.”
His head disappeared into the darkness of the ventilation system. A moment later the cover closed the hole and it was as if there hadn’t been a thief in my home. An intruder insisting on my trust and co-operation.
“My name is Genevieve,” I said to the bathroom ceiling. A shudder rolled through me and I walked back to the living area. The only evidence that he’d been in my apartment was the untouched cup of camomile tea on the dining room table. And the ruined newspaper in the reading area. I took the cup to the kitchen and carefully looked around. There wasn’t even a stray fingerprint on the marble counters. They were as spotless as when I had left my apartment two days ago. Not that it mattered. I had an overwhelming urge to clean my whole apartment from top to bottom, scrubbing away any possible trace of Colin Frey’s presence.
Episodes like I had experienced the last few days reminded me that regardless of all my knowledge and training, I was essentially still vulnerable to losing control. It humbled me. I looked through the kitchen cupboard with its neatly organised cleaning products and chose a few to start my cleaning spree. While I was putting on a fresh pair of rubber gloves, I accepted the fact that the only part in me rebelling against the whole case and all its elements was my intense and instant dislike of change.
The psychologist, pattern-finder, scientist and information-seeker in me pulled at me to find the connections that I knew were out there. My fear of change was constantly at war with the cerebral parts of me. This was no exception. The excitement of finding new connections and patterns barely overrode that fear. But above all, it was my word that I had given to Phillip and Manny that would subjugate my fear. I never went back on my word.
&nbs
p; But was I going to invite a criminal into my life? I had enough confidence in my abilities to believe that I could find the pattern and make the necessary connections without his help. I took the soft cloth that I kept especially for marble surfaces from its holder and started to polish the kitchen counter. A small smile pulled at my mouth. When I needed to have something stolen, or re-appropriated as he called it, I would ask for Colin Frey’s help. Until then, I was going to look for those six possible entry points and make sure that they were secured.
Chapter FIVE