The Bosch Deception by Alex Connor Page B

held her gaze, feeling the animosity. ‘Which I won’t. I despise the Catholic Church. I’m not here for forgiveness, but for another reason entirely.’
    â€˜What reason?’ she asked, without turning to look at him. ‘I believe there was a murder here recently—’
    â€˜How did you hear that?’
    â€˜I come from a wealthy family. The only child of an over-indulgent mother and a rich – if absent – father. I married Claude for love – money didn’t matter to me then. But now I recognise its value. You see, now I can find out anything I want, because I can buy information. Money is a wonderful lubricant. It oils people’s memories.’
    He was surprised by her. The Eloise he remembered had been a reserved woman, discreet, without particular opinions. The wife of his best friend, the woman who had madeClaude happy. Nothing more. But the person Nicholas was now listening to was altogether different. He didn’t know this woman.
    â€˜The man who was murdered here was a vagrant,’ Nicholas explained. ‘His death isn’t related to what we’re talking about.’
    She turned, walked back to him and looked down into his face.
    â€˜What
are
we talking about, Nicholas? Two murders, an ancient mystery, something so dangerous that you’re here babysitting an old priest.’ She nodded. ‘I told you, I can find out a lot of things when I want to. And I
will
find out who killed my husband and Sabine Monette.’
    Nicholas stared at her, trying to work out what she was offering.
    â€˜Where’s the chain?’
    He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
    She walked to the door and paused. ‘I’ll come back and we can talk again. In the meantime, think about what I’ve said. I can help you – so we might as well work together.’
    â€˜I’m not putting you in danger.’
    â€˜It’s too late for that,’ she said shortly. ‘It’s spreading, Nicholas. The secret’s leaked out and it’s claimed two lives already. Trust me or there’ll be more. And next time it might be someone
you
love.’

Twenty-One
    Philip Preston’s Auction House, Chelsea, London
    There was an auction already in progress. Philip was on the rostrum and a large video screen was throwing up magnified images of the lots so that the audience could see – in glaring close-up – exactly what they were bidding for. Of course most dealers attended the previews and picked over the goods before the auction, making a note of lot numbers and the estimate of how much each piece was expected to reach. But there were always latecomers, and the inevitable opportunists.
    Positioned at the back of the hall, Gerrit der Keyser spotted Hiram Kaminski and beckoned for him to approach. He scuttled over, peeling off a pair of pigskin gloves and laying his hat on his lap. He was, as ever, prim, his feet crossed at the ankles.
    â€˜I heard about Sabine Monette,’ Hiram whispered, shocked. ‘What a terrible way to die. I read that she’d been murdered.’ He paused, then asked, ‘Hadn’t she just bought a painting off you?’
    â€˜Shit!’ Gerrit said feigning irritation. ‘So the secret’s out, is it? Yeah, the old bat bought a small Bosch picture – and stole a chain off me.’ He watched as Hiram’s eyes widened. Nice man, Gerrit thought. Good dealer. Honest and trusting. Poor fool. ‘She nicked the fucking chain off the back of the painting. Thought I wouldn’t notice—’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Why what?’
    â€˜Why did she steal the chain?’ Hiram asked, his tone perplexed. ‘Sabine Monette was a rich woman. So why would she need to steal? And besides, she’d bought the painting so the chain was hers by rights anyway.’
    Damn it, Gerrit thought, Hiram Kaminski wasn’t quite the innocent he