Chapter 21
Olivia gripped her purse against her stomach, clutching it as if it might be swept away by a hurricane. She was sitting in a car with a man who had just confessed he’d been convicted for murder. And he wasn’t in the backseat behind a cage, or even handcuffed.
“I thought it was your father! I received the report on him. What’s going on, Ethan?”
“Can I tell you about it?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, you must.”
“I grew up knowing nothing but art and paint and getting by on the talents my father had bequeathed me. As opposed to learning a skill that would find me a normal job. A legal job. My father didn’t believe in working a menial, minimum-pay job. Or paying taxes.”
Olivia gaped at him. No. She wasn’t going to judge. Well, she already had. But if she wanted to hear the full story, she had to stifle the urge to open the door and run away. Curiosity kept her seated.
“Christopher Maxwell was an amazing painter. It was something he’d done all his life, starting as a toddler with finger paints. He began grooming me when I was four. He’d tell me to look at pictures I liked and try to recreate them. By the time I was fourteen, I was recreating Monet and the Pre-Raphaelites with an ease that my father marveled over. He was very proud of me. And, you know, earning your father’s pride is all a boy needs. I didn’t need to look outside for validation, because I’d already earned it. And I grew up hearing that it wasn’t a crime; it was a compliment to the artist.
“My father was also a thief. He had to steal the originals of the paintings he forged in order to make the switch. He never sought fame. Nor would I. And soon he stopped painting entirely and focused only on the switch. The steal,” he clarified, glancing at her.
Olivia kept her expression neutral. What else could she do?
“You can’t imagine what it feels like to see pride in your father’s eyes after showing him a simple painting. Such a reward.”
No, she couldn’t. Her father was an alcoholic who began drinking as soon as he opened his eyes in the morning. They’d lived on the dole, thanks to the back injury her father had suffered the month before she’d been born. He’d spent most of his time on the sofa, watching the serials and muttering under his breath about how he’d never find another woman like Olivia’s mother. Some days she’d been forced to steal from the supermarket just to eat. And while her father had never physically hit her, the emotional abuse had been significant.
“No,” she said softly. “I can’t imagine feeling such pride.” A small smile traced her lips.
“It is immense.” Ethan shifted on the seat to face her. “I put my father on a pedestal. Yet despite how much I respected my father’s artistic skills, he was never able to hold it together with women. He was a womanizer. Was married briefly before he divorced and married my mother. And I suspect there were many woman after she left him, even though they never got an official divorce. He would dash from one woman to the next, leaving them in tears and begging for his attentions. I believe he actually enjoyed their heartbreak. I never discussed it with him. I believed his love life was his own business. And when we learned he had lung cancer not three years ago, I was devastated.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Ethan shrugged. “I wasn’t allowed to attend his funeral. I didn’t even know about his funeral.”
“What? Did you and your father have a falling out?”
“No. At the time of Christopher’s death, I was sitting in Brixton prison.”
“For…murder? I don’t understand. A man who grows up as you have… And the dossier on your father stated he’d been convicted for such a crime.”
“It is a tangled mess. I do not have a murderous bone in my body, Livi. Trust me when I say that. It was a fouled theft. I’d been my father’s getaway driver that night. I wasn’t aware he carried a pistol when he did his jobs. I wish that I had been. I always wonder if things would have gone differently.”
He turned to face the dashboard, lost in memories. Olivia’s heart had settled to a normal pace, and she found the compassion to reach over and clutch his hand. He squeezed it, but didn’t look at her.
“In a panic, my father shot the man pursuing him. That man was a policeman. I saw it all. I reacted. I ran out and grabbed the gun Christopher held and put up my arms when the back-up unit arrived. We both knew the arresting officer. And he knew that I was not the one who had pulled the trigger. Yet I made it all the way through incarceration, and to the judge, on a murder charge. The judge made a point of stating that a son should not be so blind in his love for his father. Can you imagine? They all knew. Yet there was a more sinister plot going on behind it all. I owe that to the Elite Crimes Unit.”
“How so?”
“I believe my father knew someone in the ECU. Or rather someone in the ECU had in mind to look out for my father. Not sure why. Of course, I was never able to ask anyone and have it confirmed for me. Yet someone wanted to keep him out of jail. And for good reason. He’d have never survived incarceration in his condition. But who called in that favor is beyond me.”
“But the police records say your father was convicted of murder. Not you. Well, the crime was redacted….”
“More ECU interference, I’m sure. I was sentenced to twelve years for my father’s crime…under his name. And I willingly accepted that result. Ethan Maxwell ceased to exist. I became Christopher Maxwell, and my father…well, he must have gone off the grid somehow. With help from the ECU? I’ll never know. The last time I was allowed to speak to him was the moment before I was taken to prison.”
“If the ECU is connected to Interpol, they have the power to make a man disappear. You know that as well as I.”
“Indeed.”
“Did your father die while you were in prison?”
Ethan nodded, wiped his hands over his face, and leaned against the headrest. “Six months I’d been sitting in a tiny cell. One night I was taken out to a room with steel walls and a chair. I was chained to the chair. In walks a woman. We call her The Commander. She made me an offer to join the Elite Crimes Unit for the rest of my sentence. If I did not accept, she said I would occupy the grave plot next to my father’s. She showed me a picture of the tombstone with my father’s name on it. That was the first time I learned he was dead.” He looked to her. “He’d died two months earlier.”
She could do nothing but gape at him.
“I’d been writing to him, but hadn’t gotten replies. I figured it was because he was so ill. I’ll never forgive myself for not being there for him.”
“But you were there for him,” Olivia said.
He narrowed his gaze at her.
“You took the rap for him, allowing him to live his last days at home. Safe and free. Ethan, what you did for your father…” She didn’t have the words. It had been unselfish and thoughtless. Stupid. But again, she wasn’t going to judge. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to be there for him in his last days.”
He nodded. “The tombstone read Christopher Maxwell. I’ve told myself that was our punishment for our crimes. The universe has a way of making sure everyone gets their just desserts in the end. But beyond that.” He inhaled and exhaled heavily. “I know the ECU had their hands in the case the moment my father pulled the trigger. They tagged me, followed me, marked me for recruitment. And when they saw their chance, they pounced. Because I had been incarcerated as Christopher, I could start anew as Ethan Maxwell. No viable record of my past was available. And certainly no mention of a homicide conviction. I went through training in a secret location, learned the skills required to work on the right side of the law, and now here I am. An art-crimes consultant recruited by a black-ops section of Interpol.”
“Black ops is supposed to be secret.”
“We are. You don’t know anything about our range, our operations base, what our operations pertain to, or what our legal reach is. Do you?”
“No.” Olivia slumped against the seat. “But I can do some digging.”
“How did that work when you looked into me?”
She turned to him in surprise.
“I expected it. You would not be a good detective constable had you not done so.”
“Just a constable.”
“Never merely just anything, Livi. You are well deserving of the position.”
She nodded. “Why did you tell me all this? Because I recall you saying you’d get fired, or worse, if anyone knew anything about you and your organization.”
“Correct. If the ECU learns I’ve spilled all to you, I’m out. As in, occupying that grave next to my father. Or if I’m lucky, back to Brixton. Not that I would consider that move any sort of luck.”
“Then why?”
He took her hand, and she allowed it. She needed it as much as he did.
“I’d like you to trust me,” he said. “But mostly I believe it’s because I like you. And it kills me that this knowledge you now have about me makes you feel as though I’ve betrayed you. I have only ever done as ordered. And I find I value your trust more than my life.”
“I need truth, Ethan. Always.”
“I can give you that.”
“It might be too late.”
“Please, Livi. Give me a chance?”
The man had laid open his heart and soul before her. Bared it. Exposed his secrets. Risking a heinous punishment that could even result in his death. But that didn’t mean she had to accept him into her life. She could feel for him, sympathize with him, but… “I can accept that. For now. I won’t say anything about this. Yet. I’m not sure I can promise to keep it a secret forever. My job…”
“I understand. I would never ask you to jeopardize your job. Your willingness to listen to me now is immeasurable. I adore you, Livi. And I’m not saying that as a means to coerce or influence you. Just so you know? The sex? It wasn’t merely a hook-up for me.”
That was startling, but Olivia limited her reaction to a nod. She wasn’t going to respond with a “me neither,” because she didn’t feel the same way. Or did she?
Yes, God help her. She did.
She leaned across the seat and met Ethan with a kiss. A simple press of her mouth to his. Too fleeting for what they’d already experienced together. But it wasn’t meant to be sexy. It was a seal to her words that she would not say anything about him. Yet. A sort of promise.
“We should get to Scotland Yard,” she said. “Forensics should have the painting by now. What are we going to say about the Millais forgery? That you did it?”
“I don’t believe there is any way, or necessity, to assigning the forged painting to an actual artist. I have not so many works circulating as my father does. And I have taken great pains to ensure my works are virtually undetectable when compared to the originals.”
“Arrogant, but I’ll give you that. Howard knows we’ve pinned the first two as your father’s work.”
“As does the ECU. It won’t be a problem to them that this painting is mine. In fact, I wonder if they’ve expected as much all along.”
“What do you mean?”
“Another asset was initially called in to investigate the first incident at the Wexler. But I replaced him within four hours. After they realized it was a forgery. The ECU knew it was Christopher Maxwell’s work, so they placed me on the job. He’s dead, so it would no longer be a conflict of interest.”
“But is it now that one of your works is involved? And the ECU seems to lie to you more than you realize. What if they know something about these bombings you don’t know?”
“Doesn’t make sense to send me in blind, does it? Whoever this vandal is, he’s trying to make a statement. To me. About me and my father. But for what reason?”
“You need to start looking into all the people you and your father have worked with. And perhaps figure out who it was in the ECU that was trying to protect your father by keeping him out of jail.”
“You’re convinced my employer is working against me?”
“No, just trying to cover all the bases.”
“Good call, detective constable. My father and I trusted so few. I’ll start making a mental list.”
* * * *
Ethan parked in the Scotland Yard lot. Before they got out, Olivia touched his hand. “You need to know how important this case is to me,” she said. “It’s not just because I’m a woman who needs to prove herself. Or even that the department funding has been cut, and it’s very possible the Art and Antiquities Unit will once again be folded. What matters most to me is that I’ve fought for this. I’ve earned this. And I’ve had to climb up from humiliation to do so.”
“Humiliation?” He narrowed his gaze on her. “I don’t understand.”
“You told me your story, now here’s my story. Four years ago I worked at the Hawhouse gallery.”
“The one that closed last year?”
“Yes. They took a hit a few years earlier when one of their employees spent millions on a worthless painting. That person was me.”
Ethan raised a brow and gave her complete attention.
“I was trusted by many clients to buy and sell for them at auctions. My mistake was purchasing a work for a client, for ten million dollars, which ended up being a forgery.”
“Which is why you’re such a stickler on the art form.”
She gave him a condemning glare.
“Sorry. We will always disagree on that point. The art world is rife with privilege and politics. Snooty clients. I can imagine such a purchase caused you great humiliation.”
“That, and I lost my job because of it. I lost my special assignment to Scotland Yard, as well. And the art world never seems to forget. Camila Wright remembered me, which is why she asked for you to head the investigation.”
“Again, so sorry.”
“Yes, well, I couldn’t stay away from what I loved the most. So I decided to go in for police training and get in that way.”
“Very successfully.”
“Yes, but as much as I love my job now, I can never erase that past humiliation. Even now when on jobs, I encounter bias. Everyone knows everyone in the art world. So… I need some good luck with this case.”
“You’ve got me on your side.”
“I can’t have you taking credit for a successful case,” she stated plainly. “This needs to be my work.”
“I understand. I am merely a consultant, Livi. I am not rewarded nor remunerated for a successful outcome. I just do what I do. What I’ve been blackmailed to do, actually. Bragging rights are not mine.”
“I’m not looking to brag, I merely want to cement my position in the unit and rise above the whispers about that one event that changed my life.”
“It’ll happen. I promise you that. Let’s go inside and take a look at the Millais, shall we?”