Murder 101. Faye Kellerman

you just hold the ladder.” The two men didn’t speak. McAdams was fidgety. Decker said, “You okay?”

      “Kinda creepy in here.”

      “Yeah, cemeteries are a little spooky.” Decker paused. “Not this place, though. Someone took the time to make it pretty.”

      Pellman came back with the ladder. “Here you go.”

      Decker handed him his big, bulky battery pack flashlight and took his smaller light. He started climbing toward the windows. “Guys, shine the lights on the window, okay? I want to see them up close.”

      The two men focused the light on the “autumn” stained-glass window. It was about fourteen by twenty inches in size and was hanging from two chains that were hooked into the ceiling.

      “Is there a signature?” McAdams shouted.

      “What kind of signature should I look for?”

      “Tiffany Studios … something like that.”

      Decker was face-to-face with the artwork. He shone his light through the colored glass. He wasn’t an expert, but it looked pretty good to his eye. It took him a few seconds to find the signature: Tiffany Studio. New York.

      “Do you think it’s real?” McAdams asked from below.

      “No idea.”

      McAdams said, “There must be someone in one of the colleges who could authenticate it.”

      “Good thinking.” Decker continued to study the work: each cut piece of glass, each thread of metal that held the glass into place. All the metal, including the frame, was dark bronze in color but with a hint of dark green peeking through. He knew from watching those antique shows that the patina—the way the metal aged over time—was important in authentication and to his eye, the metal work between the glass pieces and frame had plenty of patina. So did the chain from which the panels hung.

      All the links had plenty of patina except for the two metal loops soldered to the frame and attached to the hanging chains. Those two loops were darker than the frame and looked flat when compared to the rest of the metal. Decker saw a raised chip of what he thought was a metal shard poking up, but when he touched it, dark paint flicked off and fell onto the back of his hand. Carefully, he climbed down the ladder and folded it up. “Uh, with the family’s permission, I’d like to get an art expert down here to look at all four windows.”

      McAdams said, “Why? What did you find?”

      “I’m not sure, but I’d like someone to take a closer look.”

      Pellman shuffled his feet. “I suppose I can call up the family.” He hemmed. “Maybe it would sound better if it came from the police.”

      “I’d be happy to call them up and tell them my thoughts.” Even in the dark shadows, Decker could tell that Pellman was relieved. The watchman gave Decker Ken Sobel’s telephone number. “Do you have something to secure the door with?”

      “No, not on me.”

      “I don’t suppose there’s a hardware store open at this time of night?”

      Pellman said, “Just call up Glenn Dutch. I’m sure he has something around his house. If not, he’ll open the store for you.”

      McAdams said, “Dutch’s Hardware is on Gable Street.”

      “Do you have the number?” Decker asked Pellman.

      “I don’t have it, but Roy might have it. Roy’s a friend of Glenn’s and I have Roy’s number.”

      “Could you get Glenn’s number from Roy, then?”

      “Surely, I can.” He checked his contact list on his phone. “I must have it at home … Roy’s number. I’ll call up my wife and she can get me Roy’s number who can get you Glenn’s number.” Pellman walked a few feet away to make his calls.

      McAdams said, “You want to tell me what you found or are you going to make me play twenty questions?”

      Decker said, “I found paint.”

      “Paint?”

      “Paint flicked off on one of the loops soldered onto the frame. It was painted to make the solder joints look old. And, come to think of it, whoever put those loops on the frames did a sloppy job of soldering. Now it could have been a recent repair. I’m just saying it wasn’t in keeping with the original work.”

      McAdams said, “What did the glass look like? The individual pieces, I mean.”

      “The glass was beautiful … really iridescent.”

      “Did you find any cracks?”

      Decker regarded him in the shadows. “Interesting you should ask. I remember thinking that the glass was in really good shape. Why?”

      “This may not be true for window panels, but my mom always said that the lamps have been around for a while. It’s nearly impossible to find something in pristine shape—without any cracks—that hasn’t been forged.”

      “Good to know,” Decker said. “On the other hand, the panels have been hanging in the same place for over a hundred years untouched.” A pause. “On the third hand, the works are hanging in a noncontrolled environment. With all the weather fluctuations, you might expect a few cracks. On the fourth hand, I only looked at one panel so maybe the others have cracks in the glass.”

      “So that’s the way you do it. You just keep talking to yourself until you hit on something.”

      “Sure, I talk to myself if no one else is around. When I was head of the detectives’ division, I used to talk to my other detectives. We’d bounce stuff off one another and we were right more than we were wrong.”

      “You know, I am standing right here, freezing my ass off. You could bounce shit off me.”

      “McAdams, I’ve been trying to bounce shit off you for the last six months and all I’ve had to show for it was a face full of crap. S’right. I know I’m a terrific detective. If you want to learn, I’ll be happy to share what I know. And if there’s something that I don’t know but you do know, well, that’s fine with me also. A great detective starts by being a great listener.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      With the Bergman crypt once again secured by a padlock courtesy of Glenn Dutch’s Hardware, they left the crypt at 11:30. It was late to be making calls, but if it had been Decker’s crypt, he would have wanted to know right away. He handed a slip of paper to McAdams. “This is Ken Sobel’s number—the one who was up here most recently and seems to be in charge. You can do the honors.”

      “Me?”

      “You’re my superior.”

      “So I’m assigning you to the task of making the call.”

      “It’s my Sabbath. Can you do me the favor?”

      “It’s late.”

      “I know. But I still think we should call him.”

      “Why?”

      “Because it’s the proper procedure. Pellman has already told him that there was something wrong with the lock. He’s probably waiting to hear from him.” A pause. “Look, if you don’t feel comfortable—”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.” McAdams took out his phone. “I’ll do it.”

      But he didn’t do it. Decker said, “Start by introducing yourself.”

      “I know how to handle this, okay.” Decker didn’t answer and McAdams regarded his phone. “How much should I tell him? I mean, what if he ripped the panels off himself?