Next was a lovely work, an homage to impressionism, from Prague, titled, Portrait of a Young Girl. It went for 85,000 euros.

Definitely impressive, with an interesting background.

Next up was a work out of Saint Petersburg, Russia, that was magnificent. It was called Weeping Boy, and had the stylings of a Dutch or Italian artist.

Those eyes! Byyle gazed into them, finding wells of sadness squeezed from a broken heart to drip on the soul.

Incredible. The history of this one is fascinating, compelling. Bravo.

A gavel tapped. The piece sold for 145,000 euros.

“We come to our next work. It is untitled, and it is from New York.” The voice of the female auctioneer had a British accent. It was soft, soothing.

“This is us,” Byyle said. He always listed New York on his items because it helped sales.

After presenting a brief summary, the auctioneer noted, “There is a reserve on this item.”

A moment later, bidding commenced.

“We have an opening bid of twenty-five thousand U.S. Twenty-five,” the auctioneer said, adding. “This item is visually stunning, vibrant with extraordinary beauty.”

More bidding followed.

“We have forty thousand. Forty.”

To coax more bids, she began sprinkling in bits of background on how the work was inspired and acquired.

“We have sixty thousand. Sixty.”

Byyle kneaded Tituba’s nape as the auctioneer praised the work.

“Look at the shapes, the texture,” she said. “We have eighty thousand. Eighty for this lovely work. She’s a beauty, an angel.”

Byyle was pleased with the rising increments as the auctioneer continued inveigling more bids. She provided additional background on the methods used, and the challenges leading to the acquisition, which, as Byyle knew, always increased the value.

It worked.

“We have ninety thousand. Ninety. Now we have ninety-five U.S.”

We’re getting close.

Byyle held his breath.

But an excruciating minute passed without a new bid.

“You’ll see how the lines flow, making the presentation of the natural elements vivid, exquisite,” the auctioneer said.

No new bids.

Another minute passed, and it was evident bidding had plateaued.

“Unfortunately, the highest bid falls short of the reserve. The work will not be sold.” The auctioneer tapped her gavel. “Now, our next work comes from Amsterdam and is titled…”

Byyle sagged.

It was over.

CHAPTER 41

Waterbury, Vermont

At state police headquarters, photos of Sam Moore stared from a whiteboard that had been rolled into one corner of a renovated open space.

The area now served as the Hydra task force command center, where folding tables and chairs had been positioned into a horseshoe shape.

“Could bring us luck,” one investigator said.

Power cords and cables were laced to laptops, chargers, printers, and tablets. Additional whiteboards held maps and timelines of the Moore case, with summaries of potential leads, while other boards held the history and locations of key Hydra scenes.