Murder 101. Faye Kellerman

to Max again. It’s like the one thing he wants that he can’t get hold of. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

      Decker tried to keep his face flat. “Really?” She didn’t answer. He said, “I went online and looked at the Stewart and Harrison gallery inventory. The place has things far more valuable than the windows.” She still didn’t answer. “Does Max have any vices I should know about?”

      “If you call greed a vice, then yes. With Max, it’s always about having more, more, more. And he accuses me of being a spendthrift.”

      “He’s a spendthrift?” No response. “Is he in hock?”

      Melanie blushed. “I wouldn’t know about that. I mean he has all this jewelry but do you think his wife ever gets to wear anything … well, maybe she wears it, but she certainly doesn’t own it. I suppose she can borrow it if she wants.” She looked at Decker. “The point is that everything that Max and his family own is in that store. I mean he and my sister-in-law own this tiny, tiny duplex where they couldn’t even entertain a gnat. C’mon already. Just sell a couple of lamps and get something decent. Not something where the kitchen has a view of an air shaft. See what I’m getting at?”

      “Not exactly.” Decker looked up. “Maybe you should explain it to me.”

      “The gallery belongs to Max’s father and his uncle, Joe. Max is nothing more than a glorified salesman. I think it eats at his kishkas.”

      “So he doesn’t own anything in the gallery? Is that what you’re saying?”

      “I don’t know what he owns or what he doesn’t own. All I’m saying is he always wants more.”

      “So you’re thinking that maybe he stole the windows so he could resell them and get some of his own money?”

      “I’m not saying that.”

      “So what are you saying?”

      “I don’t know what I’m saying. You’re twisting my words.”

      “I’m not trying to do that, Melanie. Do you think Max was involved with the theft?”

      She turned bright red. “Not really.” She sat up. “But if he’s telling you that I was involved, he’s crazy.”

      “Why would he think you’re involved?”

      “C’mon, I know what he told you.”

      “What did he tell me?” Decker prompted.

      “Lemme see how I can phrase this so it comes out right.” She stood up and began to pace. “Ken is a great guy, but tight with a buck, a quality that he passed on to my husband. I never ever buy things we can’t afford, but if I can afford it, I don’t see why I shouldn’t buy it. I mean, why do you work a million hours a week and earn all this money if you’re just going to have it molder in stocks and bonds. I realize that it’s Rick’s business, but he does have a family and why should our children do without when we can plainly do with.”

      She stopped pacing.

      “Anyway, this is all very beside the point. I don’t know anything about the theft. It’s not like it’s been preying on my mind. To tell you the truth, Tiffany isn’t my style. I am all about sleek and modern. This one room is my compromise to Rick. I mean where would I even put the windows? Although I suppose if I did steal them, I wouldn’t hang them out in the open. That would be pretty stupid.”

      Decker nodded.

      “Anything else? I’ve got a nail appointment.”

      “Can you think of anyone in the family with money problems?”

      “No … none of my business. I just wish they’d keep their noses out of my business.”

      “Anyone in the family who has an addiction—drugs, gambling, sex, bad business? Or bad business deals?”

      “Ken’s extended family is large: lots of cousins and second cousins. I’m sure there must be a couple with problems. Who doesn’t have a family without problems?”

      “But nothing jumps into your head?”

      She thought about it earnestly. “No … not really. But Rick and I try to mind our own business. We’re both way too busy to worry about other people. If other people don’t have a life, that’s not my problem. Are we almost done?”

      “Just a few routine questions that I’m asking everyone on the list. When was the last time you were in Greenbury?”

      “The funeral in the summer when Ken’s cousin died. We came in and left the same day. We were with everyone else.”

      “So you haven’t been to Greenbury or the crypt since then?”

      “No. I’ve got better things to do than to schlep up to a musty old crypt in the middle of nowhere.”

      “Besides Max, who do you think might have wanted to steal the panels?”

      She looked aghast. “I didn’t say Max stole them.”

      “So who do you think did it?”

      “How would I know?”

      “I’m not saying you would know. I’m just asking your opinion.”

      She stood up, examining her nails that looked perfectly groomed in contour and color. Then she shrugged. “No idea. All I know is it wasn’t me.”

      Two phone messages, three texts, and five missed calls: all from McAdams. The kid either missed his company or had info. Decker dialed his cell. Harvard was peeved.

      “What’s the purpose of giving me assignments and telling me to call back when you don’t answer your phone?”

      “I was in the middle of an interview. What do you have for me?”

      “Since I outrank you, what do you have for me?”

      Decker smiled. He recapped the interviews.

      McAdams said, “She sounds like a nutcase.”

      “She’s intense.”

      “We should look into her financials.”

      “Great idea except we have no legit reason to pull paper on her. Now it’s your turn.”

      “Well, it seems that grave robbing and stealing from cemeteries are time-old traditions. I found quite a few cases of people stealing from cemeteries. The items usually taken are for personal use, things like urns, planters, gravestone decorations, and statues. The thieves usually live close to the graves and were caught with the items displayed in their houses or yards. Then there are the practical thieves who lift things like lawn mowers or weed whackers or shovels for their own gardening purposes.”

      “Okay. What about valuable items?”

      “I don’t know how relevant it is to our case because it’s old, but I’ll tell it to you anyway. A very well-known art dealer named Alastair Duncan was caught selling a stolen Tiffany window to a guy in Japan. It was looted from a local cemetery by a guy named Anthony Casamassima who used to work as a caretaker there.”

      “Where’s there?”

      “Salem Fields, New York. It’s a massive cemetery on the Brooklyn/Queens border. And it has a lot of Jewish mausoleums because a lot of the families used to belong to Congregation Emanu-El in Manhattan, which used the cemetery to buy plots for its membership. That’s the synagogue I told you about with a Tiffany window.”

      “Where is it?”

      “On Fifth Avenue in the Sixties. It’s open to the public and from what I saw online, pretty damn ornate. You might want to take a look at it. The Met has some gigantic Tiffany works if you want to get a feel for the art. It’s right off the Temple of Dendur.”

      “The what?”