After stealing a famous Rembrandt painting, Terry learns that his daughter Angie has been kidnapped... and the canvas is the ransom.
But Terry has his own ideas on how to get his daughter back. A master forger and thief, Terry devises a master plan to save his daughter, and keep the priceless piece of art to himself.
A deadly game of cat and mouse is about to begin, and the stakes are high. With the body count rising, can Terry follow through with his plan, or will his greed prove to be his undoing?
Genre: FICTION / CrimeSteady sales
Terry Statham walked over to the canvas that was standing on an easel in the middle of the room and went 'Du-du', just like a little kid, before he pulled away the cloth that was covering it, and Angie found herself looking at Rembrandt's 'Self Portrait at the Age of 63'.
They were in the front room of Terry's flat, which he'd had converted into a studio. Paintings that Terry had done in a variety of different styles were hanging all over the whitewashed walls, but it was the face of the 63-year-old Rembrandt that claimed all of Angie's attention. Having a man like Terry as a father, Angie had been made familiar with the works of the Old Masters from a ridiculously early age, so that even as a small child she knew certain canvases the way many little girls nowadays know their Barbie dolls and Bratz.
'Whaddaya think?' Terry said.
Angie went right up close to the painting to get a better look at the surface texture, then she took a few paces back and the painting came into clearer focus before her. Yeah, that was Rembrandt all right. Her father had managed to capture him right down to the tiniest nuance of expression and gesture – that was presuming…. Angie turned to Terry and said, 'It's a copy, right?'
'You tell me.'
'Well I mean it must be, obviously – except that it looks far too good for that…too authentic…' She shook her head, her pretty brown eyes wide with disbelief. 'How'd you manage to make it seem so real?'
'I guess I must've improved with age.' Terry ran his hand through his thick silvery-grey hair as he spoke.
'Wait a minute,' Angie said, 'you can't be planning on selling it if the original's still hanging on the wall in the National Gallery, surely?'
