Chapter 24
Reginald Parker checked his watch. “Tea time. Shall we?” He gestured toward a café across the street.
Ethan winced. “We’ll stay right here and you’ll say what you’ve come to say to me,” he said firmly. “Is that what this is all about? The vandalisms? The Wexler staff member whom you badly burned? Because you simply wanted to attract my attention and say ‘Hey, brother?’“
“I’ve been following you for years, Ethan. If I’d wanted to say hello, I could have done it at any time. As for the vandalisms, you must know, I’ve a talent for the dramatic. I like to make statements.”
Ethan scoffed and looked around the street. Everyone was going on about their business.
“I also admit to being a bit of a pyromaniac when I was a teen. Old habits die hard, eh? I think we both have Christopher’s nose, don’t you?” Reginald suggested. “I’ve always wanted to know my older brother. Christopher refused to combine the families.”
“He betrayed my mother. They never divorced, you know. And I never would have accepted you or your mother, even if Christopher had asked. Which he did not. It would have killed my mother.”
Even though he hadn’t seen or heard from his mother in years, Ethan still had a penchant for protecting her. She may have deserted him and his father, but a boy missed that tender care and the marmite toast. Yes, even something as simple as toast.
“I understand that. Christopher did get around, didn’t he? The old rascal.”
He would not dignify that insinuation with a reply. Of course the old man had gotten around, but it wasn’t Parker’s place to act as if they had been buddies.
“But it’s been difficult, living in my big brother’s shadow.”
Ethan tilted his head, trying to figure out the man’s angle. Was he a milquetoast simpleton who sought family? Some sort of validation? It didn’t match up with the vandalisms. Dramatic? Indeed. And also risky, for the explosions could have easily done more harm than a few burns; they could have killed.
“What is your goal?” Ethan asked. “Because as much as you wish it, we are not going to sit down and have a brotherly conversation over tea. The circumstances you have created to bring us together negate any and all reasons to get to know you.”
“I’ve always had a terrible manner of conveying my wishes. I thought the paintings would speak to you. I knew you’d figure they were Christopher’s works.”
“Except the Millais. Or do you believe that was his work as well?”
“Not at all. It’s yours. I know that with certainty, because I’ve studied your work over the years.” Reginald shrugged. “You needed a nudge, is all.”
“A nudge?” Clenching his hands into fists behind his back, Ethan used every ounce of control he had to keep himself from grabbing the idiot by the rain slicker and shoving him. “You are destroying valuable artwork—”
Reginald lifted a finger. “That is true only if you can put a value on a forged work. Which, I suppose, a man can. The museums didn’t know otherwise. Unless you’ve told them?”
“You were the one to leak the Wexler incident to the press, weren’t you? Why do that if your goal was only to speak to me?”
“Leverage. I wanted to turn up the heat beneath your heels, so to speak. I know a key reporter for The London Daily who would love to discover exactly who is behind the vandalisms. But the even bigger story would be to reveal those paintings the museums have touted as originals are actually forgeries.”
Ethan couldn’t prevent a wince. That would be the end of his career if such news got out. Perhaps even his life. But he couldn’t let the bastard know how much he needed to keep that information secret.
“You’ve harmed an innocent,” Ethan said. “And you are sucking up valuable police manpower with your—”
“She is lovely. Constable Lawson. I do hope she can remain with the Arts and Antiquities Unit. She knows her stuff.”
He knew too much. And that worried Ethan. Had he also been following Livi?
“This is what I want,” Reginald started.
Ethan lifted his chin, looking down his nose at the man. His younger brother. But blood did not a family make. It simply did not. It merely meant that his father had been indiscreet.
“I have always desired Christopher’s validation,” the man said. “To be taken under his wing and taught, as you were, how to paint like a true master.”
“You said this was not about validation. You think Christopher would have approved of your slapdash hasty puddings?”
“Hasty puddings? That hurts, Ethan. I worked very hard on those paintings. The Millais was my best work.”
“Rubbish.”
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“Again with the history quiz? We met once for five minutes, as you’ve said. I was appalled that my father had a secret family he’d never told me about. How do you expect I should have acted toward you?”
“I had hoped for a hug. You barely gave me a glance. I revere you. My big brother, the master forger.”
“Did Christopher tell you all that?”
“I gleaned it. I followed him a lot. My mother and I lived down the street in Tower Hamlets, you know. I watched him and you often.”
Ethan grabbed him by the collar of his raincoat. The slicker crinkled as he squeezed, but the man did not react. He was so…unemotional.
“You’ve no right,” Ethan said. “I should call for your arrest right now.”
“You won’t do that. You only have the one vandalism on me. You want more. And the only way to learn more is to keep me talking. And to do that, you’ll have to let go and be nice to me.”
He was right. The bastard was playing him. And while it would be so sweet to make the call and wipe the man out of the system, Ethan knew that the charges against him would not serve him any amount of prison time. He’d only damaged forgeries.
Forgeries that could ultimately be traced to Ethan. And then? The Elite Crimes Unit would quickly be rid of him to avoid the risk of discovery.
As Olivia had said, the real prize was in finding the originals. And Reginald Parker had nothing whatsoever to do with those crimes. He had presented himself as the villain, but was actually but a detour to the true denouement. A process that would see Ethan as the true villain.
Bloody hell.
He released Parker with a shove. The man, his brother, tugged down his slicker. He eyed him with such a clear and innocent gaze. Ethan would not compare him to a younger sibling looking up to an older one. He simply would not.
“So you wanted my father to teach you, but he refused, is that it?” Ethan asked. “Obviously your talents were not worthy of his attentions.”
It felt good to say that, but at the same time, Ethan felt a twinge of remorse. He didn’t know this man. What he’d been through in life. The only reason to be cruel to him was a perceived offense that he hadn’t anything to do with in the first place. That they were brothers was Christopher’s indiscretion.
“I am quite talented,” Reginald said. “And Christopher knew it. Do you know the Degas sketch in the Setton Gallery?”
“Vaguely.” A simple line drawing deemed a new discovery of one of Degas’s paintings just last year.
“It’s my work.”
That confession was now on tape. Good going, little brother. “It’s too late to get those lessons from Christopher now, isn’t it?”
“You can help me,” Reginald suggested.
“I no longer take brush in hand. As you likely know, since you’ve been following me, I now work for the good guys.”
“Yes, some dark, secret organization.”
He didn’t know about the ECU—at least, not intimately—otherwise, he would have taken dramatic pride in naming them. Or so Ethan hoped.
“I don’t care about who you work for,” Reginald said, “but you will help me. You owe me that.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“All I ask is you tell me where Christopher’s secret studio is. Do that for me, and I’ll go away and leave you alone.”
“I will do no such thing.” Because…
Christopher had a secret studio? Ethan knew nothing of one. What was the man playing at now? “What? Do you think working in the studio will give you some sort of vibes from the master, and you’ll magically paint better?”
“He kept paintings,” Reginald said. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Ethan. “But that’s all I’ll say about that. You will tell me where it’s located. Or I’ll be forced to make it happen.”
Ethan chuckled, crossing his arms high over his chest and thrusting back his shoulders. “Serve me your worst.”
A police siren sounded, and while Reginald glanced aside in search of the sound, Ethan held him squarely in his gaze. The insolent, to suggest such a thing!
“My worst?” Reginald returned the chuckle. “Very well.” He made show of checking his watch and pointing across the street. “I really do need some tea.”
“Good day to you, then.”
“We’ll see one another again soon.” Reginald strode off.
Ethan refused to turn and watch his departure. It would be like giving him the validation he’d requested. He did not deserve it. He did not deserve one more thought from Ethan.
And yet, what would happen now that he’d refused the man’s request? A secret studio? Impossible. Maybe? If his father had owned a private studio, it certainly couldn’t still be in his name and sitting untouched. Could it?
“Chester?”
“Got it all,” the reply crackled in Ethan’s ear. “I’ll send a team to verify the Degas sketch at the Setton Gallery. Good call, letting him go. We need more.”
“Indeed.”
“What information can you give me on the location of the studio?”
“None at all. My father did not have a secret studio. At least, not that I am aware.”
“Uh-huh.” Disbelief? Let the ECU try and track the place down. Ethan would be close on their heels to see what they turned up. “You placed the tracker?”
“I did.”
“I’ll get a fix on his position,” Chester said. “I’ve The Commander on the line for you. I’m patching her in now.”
About to ask why in hell the head of the organization had been listening in, Ethan stifled his anger when Lucinda Marx’s voice sounded in his ear.
“You must stay close to the subject, Ethan. We don’t want another slip to the media. The Elite Crimes Unit can’t afford that. You can’t risk that.”
“I understand the risk.” Why was the ECU more worried about publicity than finding the criminal? “He’s teasing me. He wants something he thinks I have, so he won’t go to the media if I can string him along.”
“What did he say about targeting Christopher’s works?” Ethan was startled by her tone. It was oddly personal. Like she had cared for the man. Had she ever known him? When the ECU had been orchestrating his life behind the scenes, had there been a moment when she’d made contact with his father?
“It was a play to get to me,” he said. “Can I ask about your curiosity on this case, Commander? This is the first time you’ve stepped in to basically tell me what I already know.”
“Ethan.” A sigh followed, and he felt certain she was considering her words before speaking. “I knew Christopher Maxwell.”
That was a surprise. Yet, with everything he had suspected about his recruitment into the unit, perhaps it shouldn’t have been.
“I just…don’t want this to all blow up and expose the ECU,” she continued. “You understand?”
“I do. I will ensure that does not happen.”
“Good.” The connection clicked off abruptly.
She’d known his father? How, and in what capacity? The one time Ethan had met Lucinda Marx, he’d pinned her at around his age. Did she have an affair with the older Maxell? His father hadn’t much gone in for younger women.
If he would have dared ask further, he suspected she wouldn’t have answered, so Ethan had to be satisfied with what she’d given him. Which was nothing.
“I wish you were still alive, Christopher. I could use your advice now. You’ve gotten us both into a mess. How many affairs did you have? And have I more siblings I’ve yet to learn about?”
He winced, not finding the humor in that thought.
“Family,” he muttered. “Can’t live with them, and apparently, even when they’re gone they can still haunt you.”