Chapter Nineteen
After talking to Amelin, I sat in my car and reviewed my jottings. I combined his information with what I’d learned to date. None of it comforted me.
The scenario Blaine had presented—one in which Kandinsky might have skimmed a portion of the partnership’s profits—was metastasizing into an even worse one—a phony artifacts smuggling ring. But I couldn’t know for sure without poking my nose where it might get cut off.
If Kandinsky had been part of a smuggling ring and the artifacts were fakes, it could explain his murder. Or he might just as likely have been killed by a jealous competitor. Maybe Kandinsky’s death had nothing to do with anything.
The problem is that I don’t believe in coincidences. I doubted that I stumbled across Kandinsky’s body, met with the professor
