After all, Jobo consoled himself, high achievers always took risks. He had to prove that he was special enough to own the work. This was no time to be timid. He glanced back at the screen, swallowing drily. It was late – he should have left for home an hour ago. The walls seemed oppressive, the car park outside aggressively silent. Then, suddenly, he heard footsteps.

But the gallery was closed, he thought, panicked. It should be empty.

Hurriedly Jobo locked the doors, flicking the lamps off. The footsteps crunched on the gravel outside, near the window, as Jobo held his breath and pressed himself against the wall. Reflected in the mirror opposite, he could see the outline of someone looking in, the dark shape hovering for a moment, then moving on.

Hardly breathing, Jobo waited. Immobile, he listened.

Then he heard the entrance door open and saw the handle of his office door rattling hard against the lock.

41

London, December

‘I’m going to Tokyo to talk to Jobo Kido and see where Harriet Forbes was killed,’ Nino said, waiting for Gaspare to protest.

But he just stared at him. ‘You need money?’

‘I’ve still got plenty left over from Ravenscourt, the bastard. He owes me.’

‘No news from him?’

‘Nothing. And the police haven’t been in touch again. Much as I’d like it, I don’t think anything’s happened to Ravenscourt – I think he’s just backed off.’ Nino paused. ‘Well, go on. Aren’t you going to ask me?’

‘About going to Japan? No, I know why you’re going.’ The dealer shrugged. ‘I can’t say don’t go, Nino – you will anyway. But I can tell you to be careful.’

‘I know it’s a long shot, but what else can I do? Farina Ahmadi’s a dead end, Triumph Jones is in hospital in New York—’

‘What?’

‘He was mugged yesterday,’ Nino explained. ‘But what did he expect, putting out a reward for the Titian? I don’t know why he just didn’t paint a target on his forehead – it would have been quicker.’

‘Who mugged him?’

‘Take your pick. It could have been anyone out of a cast of thousands. Or it could have been the killer.’

Gaspare frowned. ‘In New York?’

‘He’s been in Venice and Tokyo already, why not New York? Triumph Jones was never going to find the portrait that way. He must have been desperate.’

‘He was lucky he wasn’t killed.’

‘Maybe that’s what he wanted. Apparently he expected the police to swallow some story about falling down a flight of stairs.’ Nino changed the subject. ‘I’ve only got two weeks left to find the last victim. Some woman’s being stalked now. At this very moment she’s being watched. Hand-picked to be murdered on the first of January … I can’t let him kill her.’

‘But you don’t know who she is.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Nino,’ Gaspare said carefully, ‘how can you possibly track her down?’

‘I can’t, unless I find out her connection to The Skin Hunter. There is one. Every victim has had some connection to Vespucci. This woman will be the same.’

‘But—’

‘Seraphina’s relative knew him, and she found the portrait; Sally Egan copied it; Harriet Forbes wrote an article on The Skin Hunter.’ Nino was emphatic. ‘The next woman he picks will have a connection too. I just have to find it.’

‘And you think you’ll find it in Tokyo?’

‘Maybe. Harriet Forbes was killed there. Jobo Kido lives and works there.’

‘Yes, and he might be a suspect.’

Nino shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. He’s too obvious, Gaspare. He’d be the first person everyone would suspect. It’s not Kido. But he might know something. Or there might be something about the place where Harriet was killed. I have to go.’

‘What you’re trying to do is impossible. You can’t prevent a death when you don’t know who the victim is—’

‘She knows Vespucci,’ Nino snapped. ‘She’s heard of him, read about him, painted him or studied him. But there is a link. And I do have one clue to her identity.’

‘What?’

‘In the killer’s eyes, she’ll be immoral. Sexually reprehensible. Just like Vespucci’s victims. And she’ll also be young and good-looking, like the others.’ He paused, catching Gaspare’s expression. ‘What is it?’

‘You’re chasing a phantom.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Nino corrected him. ‘The killer admires Angelico Vespucci. He worships him, otherwise why would he want to be him? Why would he copy everything he did? The killer didn’t just pick his victims out of thin air, he chose them because of their link to Vespucci. It makes sense to him. A twisted logic. Like it’s meant to be, a sign for him to pick that particular woman.’

Gaspare sighed.

‘All right, say all of that’s true. But how did he find out about them? How did he know about the copy of the portrait and the article? He could easily discover Seraphina’s link to Vespucci. Her ancestor was his mistress, after all. But the other two – that’s more difficult.’

‘Not if you’d studied him for years,’ Nino said, sitting down and leaning towards the old man. ‘You’re an art dealer, Gaspare. You’ve spent decades reading, researching details most people could never discover. Or even know how to find. Look at that Bellini portrait, what you uncovered about that.’

‘But I read books that had been written on Bellini,’ Gaspare replied practically. ‘Where’s the killer getting his information on Angelico Vespucci?’

‘He was famous in his time. I know that all the evidence about him was supposed to have been destroyed and forgotten, but I don’t believe that. He’s part of Venetian folklore – whether people talk about him or not, he existed. Somewhere there will be records about Vespucci. There must be—’

‘Because the killer keeps putting up information on the website?’

Nino nodded. ‘Yeah. Every day there’s something new. Which means that the killer’s got a source. Maybe he’s been collating his material for years while he was planning this, making the whole scenario perfect. The way he kills, the women, the dates – he’s not leaving anything to chance. It’s an offering to his idol, The Skin Hunter. A perfect replica of his deeds, the ultimate accolade. And you know something else? The killer might be mad, but he’s clever. He wants someone to come after him—’

‘You’re joking!’

‘No, I’m not. He wants his audience. He’s no fool. He knows someone will have worked out the dates, and knows that his next murder will be anticipated for the first of January. It’ll add to the thrill for him. Give him that extra buzz to prove he can tip us all off – and still get away with murder.’ Nino paused, thinking. ‘I sent an email to the Vespucci website, but got no answer. I thought he’d reply, but he didn’t take the bait. Maybe I wasn’t right for him.’

Baffled, Gaspare stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m not cultured. I’m from the film business, I’m not a member of the art world. I wouldn’t be educated enough to appreciate Titian, or a genius like Angelico Vespucci.’ Nino smiled wryly. ‘Not in the killer’s eyes, anyway. No, our man wants to impress the professionals. He wants to be their equal in status. As smart, as respected. Not just by emulating Vespucci, but by copying a man so powerful he was painted by Titian. He’s a snob.’

Gaspare looked at Nino blankly. ‘A snob?’

‘Yes, because not only is he impressed by Vespucci’s violence, but because the Venetian was so powerful. He had influence, money, status. I doubt the killer would have copied Rosemary and Fred West. They’d have been considered vulgar, working class. This man admires the life of Vespucci. And that’s why I think the killer is someone who’s had to educate himself.’

Impressed, Gaspare listened. He had been surprised when Nino had offered to help him solve Seraphina’s death, but as the weeks had passed the dealer had watched his progress with admiration. Fully recovered, Nino Bergstrom was no longer the sick man who had convalesced at his gallery. He was tough; the task had re-energised him, and his thinking was incisive. A man who had never investigated anything before, he was determined to succeed. Prepared to run any lead to ground, to talk to anyone. Even ready to go after a murderer.