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“Doing what?”
“I’m going to spend the next month cleaning crumbs and other assorted debris from my boat.”
“And then?”
“My wife is considering allowing me to restore a painting.”
“For the Tiepolo Restoration Company?”
“Given the perilous state of my bank account, I’m inclined to accept a lucrative private commission first.”
The general frowned. “Perhaps you should just forge something instead.”
“My brief career as an art forger is now officially over.”
“And to think that it was all for naught.”
“I brought down the largest forgery network in the history of the art world.”
“Without finding the forger himself,” the general pointed out.
“I would have if Lindsay Somerset hadn’t ruined a perfectly good Range Rover killing her husband.”
“Be that as it may, it’s a rather unsatisfying conclusion to the story. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“The guilty were punished,” said Gabriel.
“But the forger remains free.”
“Surely the FBI must have some idea who he is by now.”
“Young Campbell says not. Clearly, your forger covered his tracks well.” General Ferrari reached for the portfolio case and handed it to Gabriel. “But perhaps this might help solve the mystery.”
“What is it?”
“A gift from your friend Jacques Ménard in Paris.”
Gabriel balanced the case on his knees and popped the latches. Inside wasA River Scene with Distant Windmills, oil on canvas, 36 by 58 centimeters, purportedly by the Dutch Golden Age painter Aelbert Cuyp. There was also a copy of a report prepared by the Louvre’s National Center for Research and Restoration. It stated that the center, after weeks of painstaking scientific analysis, had been unable to render a definitive judgment as to the work’s authenticity. On one point, however, it was certain in its findings.
A River Scene with Distant Windmillscontained not a single fiber of navy-blue polar fleece fabric.
Gabriel returned the report to the portfolio case and closed the lid.
“Bon voyage,” said General Ferrari with a smile.
