Read Online The Amber Knight by Katherine John - Free Book Online

of smudges on the envelope and three distinct prints on the papers and photographs. He didn’t need a detective to work out that one set was his, another Edmund’s and the third Josef’s. After extracting a half-hearted promise from Josef to sound out Melerski along with his other Mafia contacts and approach Warsaw on the off-chance that another museum had notified the authorities of the re-appearance of the Amber Knight, he retrieved his passport from Josef and left.
    Turning right out of Piwna Street he made his way through narrow lanes to the Royal Way. If Mariacka Street was the most beautiful in Gdansk, the Royal Way and the Long Market were the most imposing. He lingered in front of the Neptune Fountain watching tourists pose for photographs before the gothic facade of Artus Court and wondered if the wealthy brotherhood of merchants who had built it had also paid homage at the shrine of the Amber Knight. Mulling over the possibility while drinking a glass of cold beer in a pavement café seemed infinitely preferable to the prospect of climbing the stairs to the top floor of the Historical Museum to confront the frosty Magdalena.
    Changing direction, he bumped into the back of Helena, Edmund Dunst’s very new, and very pretty, blonde wife, who was trying to sell one of her still-life paintings to a chic, middle-aged French tourist.
    ‘I thought you were going to keep all the landscapes and still-life’s for the gallery,’ he hissed in strongly accented school French.
    A born actress, Helena shrugged her shoulders. ‘I have to eat, sir, your gallery charges so much in commission it is not worth my while.’
    The tourist pricked up her ears. While Adam inspected the paintings Helena had racked out on frames, the deal was concluded.
    ‘Five hundred euros.’ Helena tucked the money into the leather purse attached to her belt. ‘Thank you. That will put a smile on the face of our bank manager.’
    ‘Want a beer? We can sit on the step if you’re afraid of missing customers.’
    ‘A beer would be good.’
    He caught the eye of a waiter, gave him an order and joined her. ‘Do you know anything about a painter called Casimir Zamosc?’
    ‘Polish?’
    ‘Presumably. All I know about him is that he exhibits with Waleria.’
    ‘Never heard of him.’
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘He not a member of any of the guilds I’ve joined, so that rules out most of the artists in Gdansk. Must dash, here comes another one.’ Taking her beer from the waiter’s tray she joined a German couple who had stopped to look at her landscapes.
    Adam took his glass up on to the terrace and glanced at his watch. Nearly twelve – an ideal time for a combination breakfast and lunch. On impulse he finished his drink and crossed the street to the delicatessen. He picked up a basket and raided the shelves for the ingredients for a picnic lunch. No need for drink, there were a couple of bottles of good German wine cooling in his refrigerator. His purchases piled into a carrier bag, he retraced his steps through the cool, dark alleyways to St Mary’s church and Mariacka Street. An erotic vision of Manet’s “dinner of herbs” came to mind. It would be fun to recreate the scene. Helga always looked better divested of the leather mini-skirt and cropped top she wore when out of her croupier’s uniform.
    ‘She’s gone,’ Waleria announced as he stepped into the gallery. ‘Left about an hour ago.’ She eyed the carrier bag. ‘Replacing your silver?’
    ‘Lunch.’ He dropped the bag to the floor.
    ‘For us, how thoughtful!’
    ‘Edmund Dunst and I have to work through in the museum. I only called in to pick up a bottle of wine from upstairs. By the way, you heard of a painter called…’
    ‘Casimir Zamosc? Someone from the Salen Institute of Modern Art telephoned from Paris. I presumed you’d be connected.’
    ‘My sister. You should warn this Zamosc, she devours artists, body and soul. And the body part always comes first.’
    ‘Never