Page 32 of The Collector
“I’m sorry to hear that you were robbed, Mr. Allon. But I can assure you, it wasn’t me.”
So that was the game she intended to play. It promised to be an interesting evening.
She left the wine on the table in the entrance hall and led him into the sitting room. The tall windows were opaque with reflected interior light, rendering the North Sea invisible, but the crashing of waves was faintly audible. It was the perfect accompaniment to the moody Scandinavian jazz that issued from her Hegel amplifier and Dynaudio speakers. Her furniture was modern, as was the art that adorned her walls. Gabriel was not ashamed to admit that much of it was a damn sight better than the hurriedly completed winter seascape she held in her hands.
She leaned the painting against a low coffee table and took a step back to admire it. “There’s no signature,” she pointed out.
“I don’t often sign my work.”
“Why not?”
“Habit, I suppose.”
“You’re working as an art restorer now, yes?”
“How do you possibly know that?”
“Your cottage was rented by someone from the Tiepolo Restoration Company in Venice.” She lowered her voice. “Kandestederne is a very small place, Mr. Allon.”
When he made no reply, she helped him out of his coat and in the process managed to determine that he was carrying a firearm. She was good, he thought. He would have to watch his step tonight.
She laid his coat over the arm of a chair and, bending slightly at the waist, drew a bottle from the marble wine cooler resting atop the coffee table. Her every movement was efficient and effortless and catlike in its smoothness. “Do you drink Sancerre?” she asked.
“Every chance I get.”
She filled two glasses. Their toast was guarded, like two fencers touching foils at the outset of a match.
“How did you know it was me?” asked Gabriel.
“It was rather obvious, Mr. Allon. Even from a distance. But I confirmed my suspicions using facial recognition software.”
“You took my photograph outside the bakery in Frederikshavn.”
She smiled. “A trick of the trade.”
“And what trade is that?”
“I own a small cybersecurity consulting firm.”
Gabriel looked deliberately around the elegant room. “You obviously do quite well for yourself.”
“As you know, Mr. Allon, it’s a dangerous world. There are threats everywhere.” She indicated the couch and they sat down. “Which is why it’s so surprising to see a man like you in a place like this. What brings you to Kandestederne?”
“An investigation I’m conducting on behalf of the Italian police.”
“What sort of investigation?”
“I’m looking for a professional thief who stole a painting from a villa on the Amalfi Coast. I was told I could find her here.”
“Told by whom?”
“A dirty diamond broker from Antwerp.”
“I’m afraid you’ve been misled, Mr. Allon. Kandestederne is hardly a hotbed of criminal activity.”
“The events of this afternoon would seem to suggest that’s not entirely the case.”
“This mysterious robbery, you mean?”
