Jose Somoza - Art of Murder

'Perhaps it's because I'm tired,' he said as an excuse, drumming his fingers on the desk. 'But I do think you're making an interesting case, Alfred.' Van Hoore's freckled face flushed.

'I'm glad,' he said. 'My reasoning is very simple: if we let Visual Security take care of the guests nobody will try anything. Any supposed terrorist would get away from them as quickly as possible. We need some of our people to form another group, which I have called Secret Visual Security. They would not wear uniforms or credentials, and would send alarm signals to the SWAT teams…'

Jacob Wrestling with the Angel was the first original from the 'Rembrandt' collection to be presented to the public. This meant there could not be too much protection. Nobody had seen the work as yet, but it was known that the figures were Paula Kircher (Angel) and Johann van Allen (Jacob) and that it was based on the Rembrandt painting of the same name. The models would be wearing few clothes, and their billionaire bodies – personally signed by Van Tysch – would be dangerously exposed during the four-hour presentation to the press. The Foundation's Security and Conservation departments were desperately concerned.

'I wonder,' said Rita, 'why we can't change half of Visual Security into a SWAT team in a crisis.' Bosch was about to say something, but Van Hoore got in first.

'It's the same story as ever, Rita. Visual Security is not disguised and therefore forms part of the Foundation's official personnel. That in turn means it has to wear uniforms. But under the men's suits, specially designed by Nellie Siegel, there's scarcely enough room for a bullet-proof vest. And the women agents couldn't wear vests, or even electric stunners.'

'What the agents wear shouldn't affect their ability to protect the works,' Rita complained.

Bosch shut his eyes, wishing this also meant he would be unable to hear. The last thing he needed at this point was an argument between his assistants. His head was still throbbing.

The Foundadon is just as worried about appearance as security, Rita,' Van Hoore retorted. Unlike Bosch, he was quite happy to have an argument. 'There are no two ways about it. If there have to be ten people standing in a corner keeping an eye on everything, they ought to stand out. If possible, they should even all have the same colour hair. 'Symmetry, fiischus, symmetry,' he added, in a passable imitation of Stein's arrogant voice.

At that moment, Nikki came in. To Bosch, her arrival seemed like a breath of fresh air.

'Alfred, Rita: I think we'll have to call a halt to this interesting discussion for now. I need to talk to our search team.'

'As you wish,' Van Hoore said, disappointed. 'But we still need to talk about ID for the event.'

'Later, later,' said Bosch. 'I've got a lunch appointment with Benoit, but – listen everybody – before lunch I have a few minutes when ‘ have nothing scheduled. Amazing, isn't it? I'll talk to you then.' Rita and Alfred smiled as they stood up.

'Everything's under control, Lothar,' Rita said gently as she left. 'Don't worry.'

‘I’ll try to think positively,' Bosch replied, then suddenly realised this was the same reply he used to give to Hendrickje just to make her shut up.

When the door closed behind them, Bosch took his head in his hands and breathed out a great sigh. Sitting opposite him with the apex of the desk triangle pointing at her midriff, Nikki observed him calmly. That morning she was wearing a tight-fitting jacket and trousers, whose canary-yellow colour matched the lemon yellow of her hair. Her white earpiece sat on top like a diadem.

‘I could have got here earlier,' said Nikki, "but I had to repair the damage from spending all night in front of the computer screens with Chris and Anita. I didn't look much like a decent Foundation employee this morning.'

'I understand. Appearance is everything.' Bosch smiled in symmetry with Nikki's beaming smile. 'I hope it's good news you're bringing.'

She handed over several sheets of paper, explaining as she did so.

'Morphometric similarities, considerable experience with portraits, and in cerublastyne disguises. They have all taken part in transgender work with androgynous or either sex figures. And no one knows where any of them are: we haven't been able to contact them either through painters or previous owners.'

Bosch studied the sheets of paper spread out on the desk. 'There are about thirty of them here. Couldn't you reduce the field any further?'

Nikki shook her head.

'On Friday we started out with a list of more than four hundred thousand people, Lothar. By the end of the weekend we had cut it down to first of all five thousand, then two hundred and fifty… Anita jumped for joy when we managed to bring it down to forty-two. Early this morning we were able to sift out another fifteen. So this is the best we can do.' 'I'll tell you what we'll do now… what we'll do now…'

'What we'll do is take a couple of aspirins,' Nikki said with a smile. 'Yes, that's not a bad idea to start with.'

Lothar had to be careful. Nikki and her team were not part of the 'crisis cabinet' as the committee at Obberlund had been pompously baptised, and so were unaware of everything to do with the Artist and the destruction of the two paintings. All they knew was it was vital to find someone expert in the use of cerublastyne with particular morphometric facial characteristics. And yet it was absurd to keep them out of the investigation. Thea is not going to be able to follow up all the remaining twenty-seven leads on her own, thought Bosch.

'A person doesn't just disappear into thin air, not even a sexless ornament,' he said. 'I want you to leave no stone unturned: family, friends, their last owners…'

That's exactly what we have been doing, Lothar. No results.'

'If need be, call on Romberg's team. They have the operational capacity to move around.'

'We could look for them for a year and still come up with nothing,' Nikki replied. Bosch realised her tiredness was making her irritable. 'They may be dead, or be in hospital under another name. Or perhaps they've quit the profession: who knows? We can't search for them all on our own. Why don't we inform Interpol? The police have more resources.'

Because then Rip van Winkle would find out, thought Bosch. And, after Rip van Winkle, the Artist. Miss Wood and he had decided not to rely on Rip van Winkle unless it was absolutely necessary. They guessed that the person helping the Artist was part of the crisis cabinet and therefore that anything Rip van Winkle did would have no effect on the criminal. Lothar tried to think of a plausible excuse.

'The police won't search for anyone unless they receive a complaint, Nikki. And even if a family member of one of the canvases has reported their disappearance, the police work at their own pace. It's got to be us.'

Nikki looked at him sceptically. Bosch realised she was too clever not to see this as a sham, because Interpol would have done a belly dance if the Foundation had asked it to, complaint or no complaint.

'All right,' Nikki agreed after a pause. ‘I’ll use Romberg and his team. We'll divide the work.'

Thanks,' Bosch said sincerely. Nikki, you're much more intelligent than I gave you credit for, he thought admiringly. The intercom buzzed, and the switchboard voice came on.

'Mr Bosch: you have Mr Benoit on line three, but he says that I can reply if you're too busy. And on line two, your brother.'

Roland, thought Lothar. He could not stop himself glancing across at the photo of Danielle. The girl was smiling mischievously at him. Thank God, Roland at last. Tell Benoit… what is it he wants to ask me?'

Benoit wanted to confirm they were having lunch together in his office at midday. Bosch said yes, impatiently.