do with the League’s vendetta. Santos killed him for his watch.’
‘They link everything,’ Tom agreed.
‘Moretti, De Luca, D’Arcy…’ She counted the watches off on her fingers.
‘Cavalli,’ Tom finished the list for her.
‘That must have been what Gallo was looking for when he killed Gambetta,’ Allegra said with an angry shake of her head. ‘He’s been working for Santos all along.’
‘But why? How can a watch help get to a painting?’
‘Even if we knew, we still don’t know where the painting is.’
‘Ziff’s our best hope,’ Tom said slowly. ‘He’ll know why Santos needs them.’
‘Will he see us?’ Allegra asked.
‘Oh, he’ll see us,’ Tom nodded. ‘But that doesn’t mean he’ll tell us anything.’
SIXTY-FOUR
Near Aosta, Italy 20th March – 8.33 a.m.
It was a six-hour drive to Geneva, the road snaking up into the hills behind Monte Carlo and then along the motorway into Italy, before turning north and plunging into the Alps. They’d had no trouble at the border, their Swiss passports earning little more than a cursory once-over from the duty officer and then a dismissive flick of his hand as he waved them through. Even so, Tom was certain that he’d caught him giving them the finger as they’d accelerated away. So much for European harmony.
Allegra had soon drifted off, leaving Tom to take the first shift, although she had at least managed to share what she remembered about Santos’s immaculate dress sense, compulsive liquorice habit and cold-eyed charisma before her tiredness had finally caught up with her. Eventually, about three hours in, Tom had turned off at a service station near Aosta on the A5, hungry and needing to stretch his legs before swapping over.
‘I need a coffee,’ Allegra groaned as he shook her awake.
‘We both do.’
‘Where are we?’
‘Not far from the Mont Blanc tunnel.’
The service station was bright and warm, something indistinct but resolutely cheerful playing in the background. A busload of school children on a ski trip had turned up just before them and they were besieging the small shop. Desperately rooting through their pockets for change, they were noisily pooling funds to finance a hearty breakfast of crisps, coke and chocolate. As soon as the onslaught had cleared, the teachers swooped in behind them to pick over the bones of whatever they hadn’t stripped from the shelves and apologise to the staff.
While Allegra queued for the toilet, Tom got them both a coffee from the machine and managed to locate a couple of pastries that had somehow survived the raid. Then he called Archie.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Archie greeted him angrily. ‘I’ve been trying to call since lunchtime yesterday.’
‘I had to swap phones. It’s a long story.’
‘Then make it a good one. Dom was worried. We both were.’
‘We think Jennifer was killed because she was investigating a mafia-controlled antiquities smuggling ring called the Delian League,’ Tom explained, mouthing Archie’s name to Allegra as she returned.
‘
Tom sighed. He could see this was going to be a long conversation. But there was no avoiding it. Step by step, he ran through the events of the last day or so – his encounter with Allegra at Cavalli’s house, their trip to see Johnny Li, the abortive attempt to steal a car, their interrogation of Aurelio, their capture by De Luca and subsequent escape from the tomb, their trip to the casino and their discovery of D’Arcy’s panic room. And finally, the conversation they had just overheard between Santos and the Serbs. Archie was an impatient listener, interrupting every so often with questions or a muttered curse until Tom had finished. Then it was his turn to explain how it seemed that the Artemis Tom had asked them to look into had in fact been bought by a company controlled by the same person who had sold it in the first place.
‘Our guess is that it’s part of an elaborate laundering scam to manufacture provenance,’ Archie added. ‘You ever heard of an antiquities dealer called Faulks?’
‘Faulks,’ Tom exclaimed, recognising the name that Aurelio had mentioned. ‘Earl Faulks?’
‘You know him?’ Archie sounded vaguely disappointed.
‘Aurelio mentioned his name,’ Tom explained. ‘Where he is now?’
‘His car had Geneva plates, so I’m guessing he’s based here.’
‘See if you can find him. When we’ve finished with Ziff, I’ll call you. We can pay him a visit together.’
‘Everything okay?’ Allegra asked as he ended the call. From her expression, Tom guessed that she’d overhead the tinny echo of Archie’s strident tone.
‘Don’t worry. That’s standard Archie,’ Tom reassured her with a wink. ‘He’s only happy when he’s got something or someone to complain about.’ He held out the car keys. ‘Here – it’s your turn to drive.’
SIXTY-FIVE
Lake Geneva, Switzerland 20th March – 10.59 a.m.
A couple of hours later, they drew up at the lake’s edge. A yacht was skating across the water’s glassy surface, its sail snapping in the breeze. In the distance loomed the jagged, snow-covered teeth of the surrounding mountains, their reflection caught so perfectly by the water’s blinding mirror that it was hard to know which way was up. It was a strangely disorientating illusion. And one that was broken only when the yacht suddenly tacked left, its trailing wake corrugating the water.
Getting out, they walked up to the gates of a large three-storey red-brick building with steep gabled roofs. Set high up and back from the road behind iron railings, it appeared to be empty; grey shutters drawn across the mullioned windows, walls choking with ivy, the gardens wild and overgrown. Even so, there were faint signs of life – tyre tracks in the gravel suggesting a recent visit,roving security cameras patrolling the property’s perimeter, steam rising from an outlet.
‘The Georges d’Ammon Asylum for the Insane?’ Allegra read the polished brass nameplate and then shot Tom a questioning, almost disbelieving look.
‘Used to be,’ Tom affirmed, rolling his shoulders to try and ease the stiffness in his back and neck. ‘That’s why Ziff bought it. He thought it was funny.’
‘What’s the joke?’
‘That anyone who spends their life watching the seconds tick away is bound to go mad eventually. He thought that at least this way, he wouldn’t have far to move.’ A pause. ‘Swiss humour. It takes some getting used to.’
Tom pressed the buzzer. No answer. He tried again, holding it down longer this time. Still nothing.
‘Maybe he’s out,’ Allegra ventured.
‘He never goes out,’ Tom said with a shake of his head. ‘Doesn’t even have a phone. He’s just being difficult. Show him the watch.’
With a shrug, she held D’Arcy’s watch up to the camera. A few seconds past, and then the gate buzzed open.
They made their way up the steep drive, the gravel crunching like fresh snow underfoot, the building’s institutional blandness further revealing itself as it slowly came into view.
‘How long has he been here?’
‘As long as I’ve known him,’ Tom replied. ‘The authorities shut it down after some of the staff were accused of abusing the inmates. They found two bodies under the basement floor, more bricked up inside a chimney.’
Even as he said this, Allegra noticed that the spiked railings girdling the property were angled back inside the
