The Tulip Virus Page 11
“I could have told you what was on that label,” Tibbens said. “I mean, if you want to know how much it’s worth, if that’s what you’re after, then—”
Alec held up his hand. “No, no. I’m sorry if I gave that impression. I just wanted to know when it had been painted, that’s all. Just curious.” Then he leaned forward and said, “I have to ask you a couple of questions. I’d like you to answer me honestly.”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, you might think I’m better off not knowing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I was at Scotland Yard, they asked me whether Frank had ever had casual encounters. What they meant was, did he ever pick up men, on the street or God knows where, and bring them home?”
“He didn’t do that sort of thing. No two ways about it,” Tibbens snapped. He stared down at the carpet, shuffling his feet. With the toe of his shoe, he brushed the thick pile to one side.
“You said you’d be honest with me.”
“I’m not trying to protect you. I just don’t want his name to be dragged through the mud.”
“You don’t have to protect Frank anymore. Besides, who’ll ever know? I won’t tell a soul.”
Tibbens looked at Alec. He was pressing his right fist against his lips, and his eyebrows were drawn together.
“Tibbens, don’t you trust me?”
He moved his hand away from his face. “All right, then, so be it. A long time ago, in his younger years, he did that sort of thing on occasion. But it’s nobody else’s business. It wasn’t against the law.”
Alec wasn’t surprised. Many years earlier, he had come home in the middle of the night and run into a young man who was just slipping out of Frank’s bedroom. They had nodded at each other, without saying a word. Alec had never asked Frank about it. It was none of his business.
“The last time he brought anyone home,” Tibbens went on, “was at least ten years ago, maybe longer. He lost interest. Those days were over. That couldn’t have had anything to do with it. The police asked me the same question. They wanted the names of everyone he knew, everyone he’d ever called on the phone or written to.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Why, I told them what I knew— that is, what I had a mind to tell them. No need for them to know everything. I didn’t say a thing about the young men. You know how it is. Before you know it the newspapers and magazines would be full of rumors and gossip about his life. Where do you think those journalists get their information? They’ve got their contacts at Scotland Yard. Frank’s life was his own. It’s private, and it’s staying in here,” he said, pointing at his head. “And somewhere else too.”
Tibbens rose and left the room. Just as Alec was about to go after him, he reappeared with a box in his hands.
“This is for you: his private correspondence, part of it, anyway. The rest is in those other boxes.” Tibbens put down the box and jerked his thumb toward the hall. “I put them over there for you.”
“What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Don’t ask me. ‘If anything happens to me, give the letters to Alec.’ That’s all he ever said. A while back, he asked me to store it all at my place. Every month he’d give me a new stack, and I’d put it with the rest. Well, it’s yours now.”
“What about the police?”
“They didn’t ask, and I saw no reason to mention it.”
Alec glanced at the box. It was filled with papers, right up to the top. “I felt the same way,” he said. “I didn’t tell the police everything I knew. I promised him I wouldn’t.”
“Promised? How’s that? When did you talk to him?”
“When I found him here.”
Tibbens stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t mean he actually spoke to you?”
“Yes, he did. At least, he asked me something.”
“What? What did he ask you?” Tibbens had risen to his feet and was wringing his hands.
“I’ll tell you later, when the investigation is over and they’ve caught the killer. I can’t say right now.”
“But maybe I can help.” His voice trembled. “I knew the man better than he knew himself. I could read him like a book.”
“I know, and there is a way you can help. Did you ever notice anything strange? Did you ever wonder whether Frank was keeping something from you?”
“Such as?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. How was he doing financially? Did he have any debts that you know of?”
“I couldn’t say. If he did, I wasn’t aware of it. I suppose his solicitor will tell us more about that today, when we see him. Hmm, something strange, you said?” He pondered the question. “No, I don’t think so. There is one thing, mind, but I don’t know how much it matters. He went away for a long weekend twice a year.”
“There’s nothing strange about that, is there?”
“No, of course not, but he went on his own. You know I always accompanied him, right? I once asked him what he was planning to do, but he wouldn’t tell me. ‘Just a short break,’ he said. But you know and I know that your uncle had no interest in short breaks. Every trip he took had a purpose.” Tibbens nodded. “Aye, he was always a bit secretive about those weekends. I even wondered if he was having an affair, but for goodness’ sake, he could’ve just told me that.”
“Did he always go to the same place?”
“Yes, always Lake Como.”
“So what’s the big secret? We all went there together more times than I can count. Why wouldn’t he take you with him? How many times did this happen?”
“A dozen or more, I’d say.”
“So it started around two thousand two?”
“That’s right. It probably doesn’t mean a thing. Maybe he really did want some time off.”
“Strange,” Alec said.
“Aye. Right, are you coming along?” Tibbens glanced at his watch and got up. “The solicitor’s expecting us in half an hour.”
“One more thing. Do you know if Frank was investing in tulips, or if he had any connection to the tulip business?”
“The tulip business? What ever gave you that idea?”
Alkmaar
FEBRUARY 5, 1637
Willem elbowed his way through the crowd, pushing aside all who stood in his way. Fresh air, he thought, I need air, I can’t breathe.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he was standing in the doorway of the New Archery Hall. Taking a deep breath, he felt the icy air hit his lungs. He coughed, then looked around furtively and headed briskly down the street. At the first side alley, he spun around the corner and leaned against the wall. His breath made an odd wheezing noise, like a chick peeping for its mother. He turned to the wall and pressed his forehead against the stones. The cold seeped into his skin, bringing him the relief he longed for. His nausea slowly subsided. He laid his hands flat against the wall, lifted his head skyward, and said softly, “It’s all taken care of. We’ll be fine now. There’s no need for you to worry.”
Willem knew his father hadn’t believed in heaven or life after death. Neither did he, but still. He had to deal with it somehow. This was the only way he could think of. Then, suddenly, he let out a cry.
“Easy, young fellow, easy. What’s the matter?” Cornelius looked anxiously at Willem, removing his hand from the boy’s shoulder.
“Oh, it’s you, sir. Pardon me, I was startled.”
“No, no, it’s my fault. I should have let you be instead of alarming you like that. Will you join me?”
Willem meekly accompanied Cornelius back in the direction of the auction house. “I told him he doesn’t have to worry about us,” he murmured.
“Yes, I heard you praying,” Cornelius said. He reached out and patted Willem on the back. “Very good, my boy, very good. He’ll be your strength and your shield in the difficult days ahead. As long as you trust in Him, everything will turn out all right.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Damian kissed Emma’s head. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at the computer screen in front of her. She was scrolling down a page on a newspaper’s website. Emma turned toward him and placed her hand on his.
“Have you figured it out?” she asked.
“What? Frank’s secret?”
“No, what you’re taking to the antiques fair, for the stand.”
“Oh, that, yes. We’ll do an English library this time.”
“Sounds nice. And how about Dick? Did he have anything interesting to say?”
“Oh, he gave us plenty of information, but not too much that we can use. He took us through the whole history of the tulip trade, its rise and fall. But I still can’t see the connection to Frank.”
She pointed to the printouts stacked beside her monitor.
“You and Alec were right. There was a tulip scam, in two thousand three. The investors lost millions, and the newspapers called it the Great Bulb Fraud.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her.
“So you two think Frank might have had something to do with it?”
“Maybe. In sixteen thirty-seven, the year that Frank pointed to, the tulip market collapsed, and investors in bulbs lost all their money.”
“You think Frank was trying to tell Alec that he was involved in the fraud?”
“It’s one possibility.”
“The thing is, though, how can we know for sure? There’s almost nothing about the people who lost their money— at least, I can’t find much. I do know there were a lot of them.”
“How many?”
“Well, this article says that about two hundred private investors were involved. I can imagine they don’t want their names all over the papers. I’d feel the same way. Imagine the humiliation.”
“Is it really as bad as all that?”
“It’s pretty bad,” she said, shuffling through the stack of paper and finally pulling out a page. “Here, all in all they lost thirty-two million euros.”
Damian whistled softly. “Thirty-two million? Where did all that money go?”
“That’s what everyone would like to know. It just vanished. They’d put it into something called the Tulip Investment Fund. It’s still not clear what went wrong, exactly, or who was conning who. What I can tell you is that the money was supposed to finance the development of new tulip varieties. Apparently that costs a fortune, and growers are always looking for backers to invest in new projects. I guess if you can grow a better tulip, the world will beat a path to your door.”
“So what kind of money did the investors expect to make?”
“The brochure hinted at a possible twenty-five-percent return in just one year.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
“And it was. Now everyone is pointing fingers at everyone else. The tulip fund insists that it gave the money to the growers, and they embezzled it. They actually had buyers lined up for the tulips. Tulips that didn’t even exist yet.”
History repeats itself, Damian thought.
“Unbelievable, right? They were buying something that existed only on paper. Nothing had actually been grown. Anyway, the fund managers are blaming the growers, but the growers blame the fund. They say the managers put the funds in a foreign account. Another suspect is the bank that lent investors the money to buy shares. The investors say the bank should have warned them about the risks. Apparently it’s impossible to develop a new variety of tulip in less than a year. So all the talk of a twenty-five-percent return within twelve months was optimistic, to say the least. In the end, the investors didn’t get one cent of their money back.”
“Now the question is whether Frank was involved,” Damian said. “Maybe he invested in this fund and lost everything.”
“You think he may have borrowed money?”
“Maybe. It’s the kind of thing that could get a person in very hot water.”
“Damian,” Emma said cautiously, “you know there’s another possibility.”
“What’s that?”
She wobbled uneasily in her chair. “It could have been the other way around.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, Frank could have been one of the people who made off with that money. That could be the connection.”
Damian stood up, pushing his chair back. He gazed down at Emma with a frown.
“I can’t believe it. First him, and now you.”
“Him?’
“Yeah. Alec suggested the same thing. I don’t understand you two. How could you suspect Frank of something like that? How could you think that of him?”
“All I’m saying is, we can’t just rule out the possibility. Apparently Alec feels the same way, despite the pain it must cause him. After all, it’s his uncle we’re talking about.”
“Don’t forget, I knew Frank too, almost all my life. You know what we went through together, how close we were. And later, there was that whole awful business with Alec, when he went to the clinic, remember? Frank and I, lugging him in like a sack of potatoes? And afterward, when we had to keep an eye on him? Frank had to watch every move that Alec made. In that kind of situation, you really find out what a person’s made of, I can tell you that much.”
Emma looked up at him in outrage. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I knew him for as long as you did, or have you forgotten?” Her voice broke into a sob. “I loved Frank.”
She took a deep breath and said, “But that’s not what matters now, Damian, that’s not the point. What we need—”
He snorted. “Of course it matters. How can you just turn against someone you knew so well?”
“Look, a long friendship isn’t the same thing as a close friendship.”
“Any other platitudes you’d like to share?”
Emma gave no answer and kept her eyes fixed on the screen, scrolling down the page, her hand trembling on the mouse.
Damian swiveled her chair to face him, and holding on to its arms, he leaned forward. Staring into her eyes, he said, “Hold on a second. Who is this really about? Are we talking about Frank? Or are you talking about yourself? Well?”
She looked away, and he let go of the chair with a curse. Suddenly she understood that he’d always known, and seen that there was nothing he could do. Still, he had chosen her, even though she’d cheated on him with his best friend. She felt like kicking herself. How blind she’d been, to go chasing after something she could never have. Was that why she’d wanted to win Alec’s love? Because she knew she never could? Was it the challenge that excited her? Or was it simply that she wanted him? She knew perfectly well that she and Alec weren’t a good match. They would drive each other insane. So there was no chance of a real relationship, just a romantic thrill. I must be crazy, she thought.
Emma turned to Damian and opened her mouth to speak, but he had already stormed out of the room.
TWENTY-SIX
Tara dragged herself up the stairs, feeling drained and hollow. All the energy she had poured into her work over the past months seemed to have fizzled out. The unimaginable had happened.
Looking back, the stupid thing was that she’d always had the feeling something would go wrong. She had started to worry the moment Frank told her she wouldn’t have the bulb until the very last minute, when everything else was in place. Not that she was afraid Frank would back out. No, he was focused on his goal, just as she was. It wasn’t the same goal, but that didn’t matter.
Where had Frank hidden the bulb? A few months before she had asked him that
very question, but he refused to tell her anything. “It’s safer this way,” he said. “It’s best if I’m the only one who knows.”
“But what if something happens to you?” she asked.
“Oh, then the bulb will turn up eventually.”
But look at them now: no Frank and no bulb. She hoped he’d at least had the sense to keep it in a safe, under lock and key.
She went into the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the tub. She could still remember it as if it were yesterday: Simon and Frank explaining their idea and waiting expectantly for her response. With a shriek of delight, she had thrown her arms around them and hugged them tight, her heart racing.
At that moment, everything had fallen into place. Every choice she’d ever made, every decision, all her priorities— they all made sense. So did the sacrifices: the boyfriends she’d never had, the invitations she’d turned down, the vacations she hadn’t taken. It had all been worth it.
Until now. Now she was starting to have her doubts, and that was the last thing she needed. She got undressed and stepped into the hot water. As her head slid beneath the surface, tiny bubbles tickled her ears. She pushed back her hair and closed her eyes.
She wasn’t the only one changed by all this. Simon was different too. From the moment their plan began to unfold, bad luck had seemed to hound him. He got into financial difficulties, and his health started to decline. But, she could tell, that wasn’t all that was eating away at him. He’d had money troubles in the past and taken them in his stride. Sooner or later, he’d always found a solution. This time, things were different. He couldn’t seem to climb out of the hole— a hole that he had probably dug himself.
Instead of relaxing, Tara’s brain was working at top speed. She got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel.
Maybe Simon was right, and Alec had the information she needed. She would have to find out fast, before it was too late.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Down below it was gray and drizzly. Up here the sun was blazing on Alec’s face. He closed his eyes and savored the warm rays.