Murder 101. Faye Kellerman

he go?”

      “Uh … Brown, I believe.”

      “So inherently, he’s a smart guy.”

      “Yeah, he is smart. I see him more of an Occupy Wall Street guy than a thief. Honestly, Detective, it would surprise me if it were someone in the family.”

      “Well, I don’t think I’m working with amateurs,” Decker said. “If it were amateurs, they’d steal all four panels at once. And they certainly wouldn’t bother making replicas. But if it were a truly professional job, it wouldn’t have been done piecemeal like it was. So I’m looking for something in between, which makes it hard for me to get a handle on what is truly going on.”

      “Any ideas?” Max asked.

      “I was going to ask you the same thing. Put yourself in my shoes. Where should I be concentrating my efforts?”

      Max was silent. Then he finally said, “Well … the thief was definitely trying to hide the crime with those poor replicas. He or she didn’t want anyone to notice.”

      “Okay. That’s a lot of work to go into hiding a theft. Why would someone do that? What outcome would be worth that much effort?”

      “For one thing, it would buy time for the thief to sell the panels to the highest bidder,” Max said. “Also if the theft wasn’t reported, an auction house could conceivably buy them, which would give the thief more options.”

      Decker started to scribble in his notepad. “That makes sense. So who would you be looking for if you were me?”

      “Usually dealers who dabble in stolen art don’t sully their hands directly. I’d say the dealer definitely hired out.”

      “So you think it’s a dealer?”

      “Possibly.”

      “Is there anyone in the family who’s an art dealer?”

      “Besides me?” When Decker smiled, Max said, “Do I like where this is going?”

      “I’m talking to you about it. I’m being very up-front.”

      “We’re the only gallery in the family. And since I didn’t steal them, I have no idea who is calling the shots.”

      “Okay. Let’s put that aside for a moment. If the guy hired out, who would he hire?”

      “Obviously someone who could do stained glass. Or maybe he’d hire someone who would hire someone who could do stained glass.”

      “Put a little distance between him and the theft.”

      “Exactly. From the looks of the pieces, I’d say maybe it’s a hobbyist or an art student.”

      Decker nodded but didn’t say anything. It very well could be a student who was hard up for money. “Do you know which institutions teach stained glass?”

      “All the art schools I would imagine. What about Littleton in the Five Colleges? That’s in your own backyard.”

      “It’s on my list. But as you so aptly pointed out, I may also be looking for a dealer. If you could give me a list of dealers with … how can I put it … questionable morals … maybe you’ve heard some rumors for instance?”

      “You always hear rumors. We’re in a venal business.”

      Decker laughed. “Anything that you could do to help me would be appreciated. In the meantime, I still have to run down the list of family members.”

      “Even though you don’t think any of them had anything to do with it.”

      “I have to keep an open mind. Maybe someone in the family teamed up with a dealer for quick cash.”

      “I don’t see it. I can’t even see Melanie doing that. She isn’t capable of that much executive planning. Besides, her husband makes a fortune.”

      “What does he do?”

      “Hedge fund. They did very well last year. I should know. I have money with him. And I know that Rick got a huge bonus.”

      “Okay … so let’s leave the family aside for a moment. I want to go back to art thefts. Is that a problem for you—people breaking into your gallery?”

      “Not yet, thank God. My security is excellent!”

      “What about thefts from other galleries in the area?”

      “You mean like Mark Lugo?”

      “Who’s he?”

      “He lifted a Fernand Léger from a local gallery in the Carlyle. Wasn’t the first time he stole. He lifted a Picasso in San Francisco.”

      “He was a dealer who sold the pieces for profit?”

      “No, he was a sommelier who kept the paintings in his apartment in New Jersey.”

      “A sommelier?”

      “Yes, and I bet he had an extensive wine collection as well. That one popped into my mind because it’s recent, but there are probably dozens of them. You can probably look up gallery thefts on the Internet.”

      “Getting back to our case. What about other thefts from graveyards or mausoleums?”

      “Sure, there are people who steal from graveyards all the time. The most famous theft that I know of was Alastair Duncan who was convicted of stealing a five-hundred-pound Tiffany window and selling it to a Japanese collector for over two hundred thousand dollars. He was teamed up with someone who lived in Queens.”

      “Anthony Casamassima. Salem Fields Cemetery. He claimed he was liberating broken-down treasures in very poor condition. That one was solved using an undercover FBI agent.”

      Max stared at him. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

      “It’s all at the click of a button, Max. My partner also found a very old art theft from a Russian Orthodox church in Marylebone, Rhode Island. That one interests me a little more because it’s still unsolved and the thief took items in the art nouveau period. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

      “The Petroshkovich icons. That was before my time, but I do remember my dad talking about it. It was a big deal.” A pause. “Now that was a professional job.”

      “What makes you say that?”

      “Because the thieves only took the Petroshkoviches, nothing else in the church. There were things that were a lot flashier. They knew what they wanted.”

      “Just like the thieves knew that your father-in-law’s pieces were real Tiffany.”

      “I do not deny the value of Tiffany … Lord knows that’s how I put bread on the table. But the Petroshkovich icons are way more valuable because they’re rarer. When did the theft take place? It must have been around thirty years ago.”

      “Yep. It’s an old case and a cold case, but it’s still wide open. And that makes it interesting.” Decker folded his notebook and stood up. “I don’t even need wide open, Max. I have confidence in my skills. All I need is just a toe in the door.”

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      Once outside the gallery, Decker and Rina walked glove in glove down Fifth Avenue, dodging the crowds of shoppers, executive and middle management suits, and tourists who didn’t mind braving the cold to get the winter discounts at the hotels. There were a couple of kosher restaurants nearby and it was around twelve-thirty, so lunch was in order. They nabbed one of the last tables at a meat restaurant in Midtown. Erelong, there wasn’t a chair to be had. Service was slow, but that gave Decker a chance to make a few phone calls, confirming interviews with other Sobel family members.