Gauguin Connection, The by Estelle Ryan Page A

this.”
    I took a moment to move past my distrust of this man and read him. The piece of paper in his hand quivered very lightly, indicating a surge of neurotransmitters and hormones. Most likely adrenalin, causing the uncontrollable quivering of his hands. Why was he stressed, nervous? There was no trace of any deception to be read on his face. Combined, all of these unmanipulatable cues led me to only one conclusion. He was being truthful about never having trusted anyone with whatever was on that piece of paper. This made the accomplished criminal infinitely nervous.
    Without a word, I reached out to take the piece of paper. I realised that with this gesture I had just sealed an agreement with a criminal. I had accepted his trust and in return had given some of mine. I took the paper and wondered how this piece of pulped, pressed wood was going to change my life.
    “Open it.”
    I looked up from the piece of paper in my hand and regarded Colin.
    “Oh, stop reading me. Just open it or I’m taking it back.” He pulled his arms closer to his body and his eyes narrowed. He was exhibiting signs of discomfort with his decision to trust me and my hesitation to see what was on the paper. It gave me no pleasure to cause him such discomfort, but it went a long way to soothe my mind.
    I unfolded the sheet of paper. On it were written, in strong masculine handwriting, five addresses, one of them in Strasbourg.
    “What are these?”
    He swallowed and then looked me straight in the eye. “My homes. All of them.”
    “Your homes,” I repeated while trying to find the significance of this gesture. “Oh. Wow. Oh.”
    “It’s not so many homes. Most of them are rather rustic.”
    “I doubt that. But that is not why I am surprised.” I refolded the piece of paper and unconsciously pressed it against my heart. “You’re willing to trust me, a complete stranger, with your freedom?”
    “That is how much I want to catch these bastards.”
    “I’m working with…”
    “… the EDA. Yes, I know that. I have a theory that you’re working with Millard. Aha, you blinked. So, you are working with him. Good. He’s an irritating arsehole, but he’s good.”
    “You know Manny?”
    “Let’s just say that our paths have crossed a few times.”
    “Translated, that means that either he arrested you or almost arrested you.” The piece of paper was still clutched to my chest. I closed my fist around it and then held it between us. “I don’t understand your trust.”
    “You need something that will assure you that I’m not playing games and I gave it to you.”
    “But why me?” Not many things confounded me, but Colin’s absolute trust had my mind reeling. People didn’t trust me. They felt uncomfortable around me and were even scared of me. Very few liked me. But trust?
    “Because I know you will never use this”—he nodded at my fist—“against me. Not unless I betray your trust.”
    I thought about this. “That’s correct. Would you like some coffee?”
    Colin blinked his surprise and then awarded me with a smile that reached deep into his eyes. “I would like that very much.”
    We stood in companionable silence for the time it took the coffee machine to drip out two cups of coffee. By offering him a cup of coffee, I had agreed to co-operating with a criminal. I did not know when exactly I was going to regret this decision, but I knew it was going to be soon. I handed Colin one of the cups. “Milk? Sugar?”
    “Black is fine.” He followed me to the dining room table. “So, what have you found so far?”
    I hesitated for a moment. Was I really going to trust a criminal with my findings when I didn’t even trust Manny with them? Colin’s pointed look at the paper that was still in my hand made up my mind. I opened the piece of paper again, looked at the five addresses for a full minute and handed him back the page.
    “Now what?” His eyes narrowed with anger.
    “Calm down, Colin. I memorised your