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“Because the president of the Louvre declared it a national treasure and paid nine and a half million euros to ensure it remain in France permanently.”
“And now he’s wondering whether it’s a Cranach or crap?”
“In so many words.” Ménard switched on a standing halogen lamp. “Would you mind having a look at it?”
Gabriel went to the nearest stainless-steel utility cart and after a moment of searching found a professional-grade magnifier. He used it to scrutinize the brushwork and craquelure. Then he stepped away from the painting and placed a hand contemplatively to his chin.
“Well?” asked Ménard.
“It’s the best Lucas Cranach the Elder I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m relieved.”
“Don’t be,” said Gabriel.
“Why not?”
“Because Lucas Cranach the Elder didn’t paint it.”
“How many more are there?”
“Three,” answered Ménard. “They all emerged from Galerie Georges Fleury with a similar provenance and the same uncertain attribution. And the experts of the National Center for Research and Restoration, after careful evaluation, declared all three to be newly discovered works by the masters themselves.”
“Anything good?”
“A Frans Hals, a Gentileschi, and the most delicious Van der Weyden you’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“You’re an admirer of Rogier?”
“Who isn’t?”
“You’d be surprised.”
They were sitting at a table at Café Marly, the Louvre’s stylish restaurant. The declining sun had set fire to the glass panels of the pyramid. The light dazzled Gabriel’s eyes.
“Are you formally trained?” he asked.
“As an art historian?” Ménard shook his head. “But four of my officers have advanced degrees from the Sorbonne. My background is in fraud and money laundering.”
“Heaven knows, there’s none of that in the art world.”
Smiling, Ménard removed three photographs from a manila envelope—a Frans Hals, a Gentileschi, and an exquisite portrait by Rogier van der Weyden. “They were acquired by the Louvre over a ten-year period. The Van der Weyden and the Cranach were purchased during the tenure of the current president. The Frans Halsand Gentileschi were acquired on his recommendation when he was the director of the paintings department.”
“Which means his fingerprints are on all four.”
“Evidently, he and Monsieur Fleury were quite close.” Lowering his voice, Ménard added, “Close enough so that rumors are swirling.”
“Kickbacks?”
Ménard shrugged but said nothing.
“Is there any truth to it?”
“I wouldn’t know. You see, the Central Office for the Fight against Cultural Goods Trafficking has been ordered not to investigate the matter.”
“What happens if the four paintings turn out to be forgeries?”
“The world’s most advanced facility for the conservation and authentication of art has determined that they are genuine. Therefore, absent a videotaped confession on the part of the forger, the Louvre will stand by its findings.”
“In that case, why did you ask me to come to Paris?”
Ménard drew another photograph from the envelope and placed it on the table.
