Hungry Ghosts Read Online Free Page A

the Rideau Regional Police Force in Ottawa for more than six years.

5
    Inspector Ramirez stood inside the lobby of the museum while Detective Espinoza briefed him. His stomach growled; he hadn’t eaten all day. “How long was the vandal inside the museum, Fernando?”
    â€œLess than ten minutes. Just long enough to spray paint all over the Italian masterpieces. Señor Testa says the ones that were damaged were the most valuable in the collection.”
    â€œWho is Señor Testa?”
    â€œLorenzo Testa. He’s the curator of the Italian exhibition. He’s here from Rome.” Espinoza checked his notes. “He demanded to speak to the senior officer in charge.” Espinoza lowered his voice. “I’d like to get him out of here, frankly. He’s in the way.”
    â€œAre the paintings ruined?”
    Espinoza shrugged. “They’re up there now, analyzing the damage. The museum director, Romero Garza, says the exhibit will have to be closed down. Señor Testa wants the paintings sent back to Italy for restoration work immediately. This is a huge loss of revenue tothe museum, not to mention a loss of face. Another thing, Inspector. Assuming the vandal wasn’t a real policeman, someone had to steal a uniform to pull this off. But no one has reported any missing.”
    â€œWhat else is on the fifth floor?” Ramirez asked.
    â€œThe European rooms. Señor Garza says they contain some extremely valuable art as well. The Dutch masterpieces alone are worth millions. But it doesn’t look like anything was taken.”
    Ramirez shook his head. “It makes no sense. The building was empty. A thief could have stolen anything in the confusion. Why take such a risk just to damage some art?”
    Espinoza shrugged. “He was making a point. It looks like a political protest.”
    Ramirez nodded slowly. Espinoza had already told him about the large “75” sprayed on the wall above the paintings. That number had significance: It represented what dissidents called the Black Spring of 2003, when seventy-five political dissidents were rounded up and sent to jail.
    â€œA protest without an audience,” said Ramirez. “The people in the museum never saw it, and the media will never report it.”
    Granma reported only Communist Party propaganda, and the television stations were government-run. They carried Brazilian soap operas, old Hollywood movies, and Chinese game shows—nothing that might frighten tourists.
    Ramirez looked up at the balconies overlooking the atrium and the wide staircase that wound to the top level. The vandal was athletic, he thought. Five flights of steep marble stairs, and he’d scaled them in minutes.
    â€œHe pulled the fire alarm before he ran out the emergency exit,” said Espinoza. “That triggered the second alarm. He probably mingled with the police on the sidewalk before he melted into the crowd. The technicians are upstairs dusting for prints.”
    â€œIs Apiro here?”
    Espinoza shook his head. “No. He’s been called to the industrialsection. Some children playing on the beach found a man’s body about an hour ago. It’s going to be busy, Inspector. It’s a full moon this weekend.”
    â€œYes,” said Ramirez wearily. “I know.”

    Inspector Ramirez and Detective Espinoza stood in front of the black-and-white monitor at the museum security desk as Carlos Hernandez played a surveillance tape for them. The head of security’s neck was bright red. Ramirez guessed he was angry as well as embarrassed at being duped.
    The three men watched the blurred image of the vandal running up the massive marble stairs.
    â€œThat’s from one of the cameras above the reception desk,” said Hernandez. “I’m afraid it’s not very clear.”
    Ramirez stood as close to the screen as he could, hoping the grainy resolution would improve, but it