Jose Somoza - Art of Murder

She nodded briefly, then immediately changed her tone of voice. 'Great work, Lothar.' 'Thanks.'

Wood was not lavish with her praise, so these words made Lothar feel good. He did not believe he deserved them personally It was his team who had done it all: the wonderful Nikki and the others. They had been busy with the task ever since Wood had suggested the possibility of comparing morphometric similarities in the images of all the people who had visited the exhibitions in Vienna and Munich. 'It's likely he came to explore the terrain before he went into action’ she had said, 'and most probably he did it in disguise.' The computers in the lower basement at the Atelier had not stopped their frantic activity since

Wednesday. Bosch had got the results that Friday morning, on his return from Munich. He was satisfied with his team's work, and pleased that she should acknowledge it.

'I'll tell you something,' Miss Wood said. 'My main doubt was whether it was several people or just one. In the first case, we would have been up against a well-structured organisation with people trained to carry out specific functions. The second possibility makes it more likely we're dealing with a specialist. That makes it more difficult, because we can't catch the small fry first and hope they lead us to the ringleader. We'll have to go shark fishing, Lothar. Are there any comparisons between the computer images of the girl with no papers and the supposed art dealer?' 'On the last page.'

Wood turned to it. On the left was a blow-up of the girl in Vienna and Munich; below them the face of the fake Weiss; at the top in the centre was the man spotted in Vienna and Munich; below that, a photo of Oscar Diaz; and on the right, the computer portraits of the girl without papers and the other girl called Brenda, drawn on the basis of information supplied by the barman in Vienna and Sieglinde Albrecht. They were six different people: it seemed incredible that a single person could have been all of them. Bosch could guess what Wood was thinking. 'What do you reckon?' he asked. 'Is it a man or a woman?'

'He or she is very slender,' replied Wood. 'I'm not sure about the sex, but they're very slender. When it's a woman, she's almost naked. When it's a man, he always wears suits and covers himself right up to the neck. But cerublastyne can't take away, it can only add. Look at those legs – the legs of the girl called Brenda. If it's a man, he must be of very slender build, and look very feminine, and have no body hair. Diaz and Weiss were of similar physical appearance, so probably he solved the problem by using a mould for the head and the thighs. Making the guy with the moustache's fat stomach was even easier: a theatrical prop, possibly. We haven't found any fingerprints anywhere, not even on the steering wheel of the van for Deflowering. That suggests our suspect uses cerublastyne moulds for the hands, which would also explain why Deflowering 's clothes were ripped to pieces, do you remember? Diaz had big hands. If our man used them as moulds to make his cerublastyne hands it must have felt like he was using garden gloves. He couldn't do any delicate work. It would even have been difficult for him to unbutton his own jacket. The Artist has got very small hands, Lothar.' Bosch shook his head as he studied the photos. 'It's incredible that this is only one person,' he said.

Tm not so surprised,' replied Miss Wood. 'I've seen, guarded, and bought some transgender works which I'm afraid would completely destroy any convictions you might have about identity or gender. We live in a confused world, Lothar. A world which has become art, become simply the pleasure of concealing, of pretending to be something one is not, or that does not exist. Perhaps we never used to be like this, perhaps this has come about despite our true nature. Or perhaps we have been like this from the start, perhaps our true nature was always concealment, only now we have the means to make this possible.'

They fell silent. Bosch was taken aback by this philosophical outburst from a woman he considered the most practical person he had ever met. He wondered to what extent her father's illness was affecting her.

‘I don't agree,' he said. Tm convinced we're something more than mere appearance.' Tm not,' Wood replied in a strangely broken voice.

For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes. This was extremely painful for Bosch. She was so beautiful he could almost have cried. Looking at her gave him a stab of pleasure. In his youth he had smoked marijuana, and always had the same reaction on nights when he allowed himself certain excesses: a fitful sense of happiness that rolled down a dark slippery slope to end up in an equally tepid sadness. Somehow, his pleasures had always left behind a trail of tears.

'Be that as it may, the Artist is art,' she said after a further silence. 'What do you mean?'

'Until now we've thought he must be an expert, but now we can go further. You yourself said it: it's "incredible". Someone who's expert in cerublastyne knows how to use it, but that's all.

It would be like an ornament: the craftsman makes the disguise, and that's that. But what's the difference between an ornament and a work of art? A work of art is a transformation. Portraits are works of art because they transform themselves into the person they are representing.'

'A canvas…' Bosch murmured.

'Exactly. The Artist could be a former canvas who is expert in cerublastyne. There are bound to be several portraits in his curriculum.'

'A canvas who hates Van Tysch… a canvas who hates his painter. It sounds good.'

'It'll do as a working hypothesis. Do we have morphometric details of all the HD canvases in the world? Not just the ones on show now, but all the retired ones?'

'We could get them through the net. I'll talk to Nikki. But to study the details of all of them would take months, April. We need to narrow the field down.'

All of a sudden the atmosphere had changed. Now that he and Wood were thinking aloud, Bosch felt energetic and active. They both leaned forward studying the photos as they spoke. 'We can't narrow down the gender…'

'No, but we can be more precise about the professional experience: the use of cerublastyne for example. He or she has been more than an ornament or a marginal work of art. They may have done hypertragedy and art-shocks, but above all, lots of transgender art. We're up against a real expert in transgender work.' 'I agree,' Bosch said.

'And we can assume he or she has worked for or otherwise been in contact with the Foundation: either as a sketch, an outline model, an original, whatever… How many do you reckon are left after that?' 'Several dozen.' Wood sighed.

'Let's set the age limits as…' She thought for a second, then shook her head. 'Well, let's be logical about it. For example, we can eliminate kids and old people. It could be an adolescent or a young adult. We know the approximate morphometric details, so that will help. Talk to Nikki. Tell her she's looking for a model who's worked for us, young, of either sex, with experience in cerublastyne and transgender work, whose morphometric details fit. Once we've drawn up a list of possible suspects, we'll need to investigate where they are now, and cross off all those with a firm alibi. We need results by the middle of next week.'

'We can try.' Bosch felt euphoric. 'This is fantastic, April… We'll get there even before that Rip van Winkle outfit. It might even be us who captures him! I'd love to see Benoit's face if that happens…' Miss Wood was staring at him. After a moment she said:

'There's one small problem, Lothar. After our meeting with the Rip van Winkle people in Munich yesterday, I went with Stein to the airport, if you remember.' 'Yes, but I don't know what you told him.'

1 think I might have put my foot in it. I told him things I shouldn't have. I can't trust anyone. No one, apart from the Maestro. But the Maestro is inaccessible.'