“I thought it was a bit much to expect.”
“And if it’s Maurice you’re after, he’s been dead for some time.”
“Did he do fakes when he was alive?”
“Not that I know.”
“Are you being circumspect?”
“No, Ms. Lee, I’m not. I’m telling you I have no idea whether Maurice O’Toole painted forgeries or not.”
“Okay,” Ava said. “Now I have another name for you: Jan Harald Sorensen. He’s Danish, I think, and lives in Skagen.”
“Sorry again. I’ve never heard of him, although Skagen does have a very famous art colony, and the fact that I’m not familiar with him doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist and doesn’t paint.”
Ava sighed. “I think I’m just about ready to pack this in. I’m running out of doors to go through.”
“I wish I could be more helpful.”
“I understand, and thanks for taking the time. By the way, if my hunch is right, the two Dufy paintings among those Brian Torrence wants you to authenticate are the real deal.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve found a financial trail that indicates they were purchased like the other three that are genuine.”
“I’ll take a close look at them as soon as I possibly can.”
“Look, if you can think of anything about an O’Toole or a Sorensen, call me on my cell. I think I’ll be leaving Hong Kong tomorrow, but I’d still be interested if you uncovered anything.”
Ava closed her Wong notebook. She doubted it would be opened again. Liechtenstein wasn’t going to give her the information she wanted. She had a dead Kwong and a dead O’Toole, and that left her with exactly one lead. If she wanted to pursue it she would have to fly to Denmark and tromp around Skagen looking for someone named Jan Harald Sorensen, and if she found him, she had to hope he actually was an artist. That was too small a needle in too big a haystack.
She opened her laptop and emailed her travel agent, telling her to book the next day’s Cathay Pacific flight to Toronto. Then she let Mimi and Maria know she was heading back to Toronto. Maria answered immediately. I’ll meet you at the airport.
Yes, I’d like that, Ava replied.
Before turning off the computer she wrote to her father. She asked how the cruise was proceeding, told him that the Wuhan job wasn’t going to materialize, and then, almost as an afterthought, wrote, I met Michael at dim sum yesterday. He looks very much like you, and acted very much like you. It felt strange even writing his name.
She wasn’t sure what time she had fallen asleep but she knew it was just past two a.m. when she woke, the digital clock glowing next to the phone that rocked her into consciousness. “Ava Lee,” she said.
“This is Frederick Locke. I’m sorry for calling so late, but I knew you were going to be travelling and I thought you’d want to know what I’d found out before you left.”
“Found out?”
“The two paintings by Dufy — I think you were correct. I had a quick, intense look at the provenance and it seems to hang together.”
“That’s good. I’m sure the Wongs will be pleased.”
“And while I was looking into that, I had one of my assistants do some research on your O’Toole and your Sorensen.”
“And?”
“I had her check into Maurice O’Toole, and it emerges that he was married to a woman named Nancy. She managed his business affairs before he died.”
“Did she locate Nancy?”
“Yes, she died three years ago.”
Ava groaned. “Great. Everyone I need to talk to is dead.”
“The thing is, my assistant also said that Maurice was known to do a bit of funny stuff now and then. The idea of his painting some fakes isn’t out of the question.”
“How could I confirm that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did they have children?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a long shot that any records still exist.”
“I agree.”
“One more dead end, pardon the pun.”
“Don’t be gloomy. We haven’t talked about Sorensen yet.”
Ava detected a touch of excitement in Locke’s voice, and whatever disappointment she felt vanished. “I’m listening,” she said.
“My assistant thought the name sounded vaguely familiar and went hunting through some Danish art databases. The reason we couldn’t find Jan Harald Sorensen is that he paints and sells under the name Jimmy Sandman.”
“Strange name.”
“Strange man. The name was originally a nickname his Skagen colleagues pinned on him because of his habit of scouring the beach every morning for driftwood, which he used to paint on. His paintings were focused on the seas and beaches around Skagen and were filled with repetitive characters: a Lutheran minister in his religious garb, a black-haired woman with bright red nipples, and a mournful clown-type character that was his take on himself. He is very, very talented, but limited in imagination and range.”
“Is he alive?”
“Well, there’s no record of his passing.”
“Is he in Skagen?”
“I have no idea.”
She began to weigh her options. “Is he talented enough to have done at least some of the forgeries?”
Locke didn’t respond right away, which pleased Ava. He was at least taking it seriously.
“I think he is,” he said.
“What else can you tell me about him? Age? Any physical description? Married?”
“Definitely married. He has seven children with a woman named Helga. Age, mid-forties. How does he look? Well, in the photo I have, he has a thin, rakish beard that runs around a very ample jawline. He is a rather plump man.”
“The data you have, what does it say about his residence?”
“Skagen, but the information is old. He could have had two more children, gained another twenty pounds, and moved to Norway by now.”
“Is Jimmy Sandman his legal name?”
“I think it is.”
“You think?”
“It does say he changed his name, but I have no idea if he actually did it in the formal sense.”
“Are you always this careful?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Good, I like that,” Ava said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
(13)
She tried to get back to sleep and did manage to log half an hour here and there, but her mind was too active to sustain her slumber. She had been one phone call away from catching her flight to Toronto, and now she was locked in an internal debate about whether to go there or head to Denmark.
After the call from Locke, Ava had gone online to research Jimmy Sandman. She found most of the material that Locke’s assistant had uncovered, but not what she was really looking for — an address, a phone number, anything that could help her actually locate him.
