Page 92 of Portrait of an Unknown Woman

Gabriel exhaled heavily. “Is there anything youdon’tknow, Maurice?”

“Information is the key to my longevity, Monsieur Allon. Andyours, I imagine.” Durand looked down at the phone. “How else to explain the fact that you are in possession of this photograph?”

“It was given to me by the head of the Police Nationale’s art crime unit.”

“Jacques Ménard?”

Gabriel nodded.

“And what exactly is the nature of your relationship?”

“It’s a bit like ours.”

“Coercive and abusive?”

“Discreet and unofficial.”

“Is he aware of our past collaboration?”

“Non.”

“I’m relieved.” Durand returned the phone. “That said, I think this should be our last meeting for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have an assignment for you.”

“The names of those galleries in Berlin and Brussels?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Durand removed his spectacles and rose. “Tell me something, Monsieur Allon. What happened to those paintings you found in Lucien’s workshop?”

“Up in smoke.”

“The Picasso?”

“All of them.”

“A pity,” said Durand with a sigh. “I could have found a good home for them.”

At half past ten the following morning, while seated at the Louvre’s Café Marly, Gabriel delivered his first report to Jacques Ménard. Thebriefing was thorough and complete, though evasive when it came to sources and methods. Like Christopher Keller, who occupied a nearby table, Ménard found fault with Gabriel’s decision to destroy the forgeries he had discovered in Lucien Marchand’s studio in Roussillon. Nevertheless, the French art detective was impressed by the scope of his informant’s findings.

“I have to admit, it all makes a great deal of sense.” Ménard gestured toward the gleaming glass-and-steel structure in the Cour Napoléon. “The criminal art world is a bit likela pyramide. There are tens of thousands of people involved in the illicit market, but it’s controlled by a few major players at the top.” He paused. “And it’s obvious that you’re acquainted with at least one or two of them.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Oui. Just not the right ones, apparently. Your ability to gather this much information so quickly is most embarrassing.”

“Edmond Toussaint never popped up on your radar?”

Ménard shook his head. “And neither did Lucien Marchand. I don’t care what sort of promises you made to the Vionnet woman. I’m going to open a case against her and seize those assets, including the villa in the Lubéron.”

“First things first, Ménard.”

“I’m afraid nothing has changed,” said the Frenchman. “My hands remain tied.”