Steal

by Jeff Elkins

  Moe knew what he was trying to say. Weeping with him, she held his hand and reassured him, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You did everything you could.” Remembering the fear and anger of the moment in Matt and Mandy’s living room, remembering the sight of Mandy’s body on the floor, remembering Matt’s wails of pain, Moe squeezed David’s hand and said, “Don’t worry. We’re going to find those bastards. And we’re going to make them pay. I promise.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Moe sat up in bed. Had she heard a crash? She looked left and right. Where was she? She worried about Sarah. Was Sarah safe? Flashes of the four men’s faces moved through her mind. She saw the three-scarred man, as he touched her face. Her jaw felt stiff and her left arm ached.

  She shook it off and rubbed her eyes. The room was small. The floor was hardwood. There was a twin bed in the other corner forming an L with her bed. Bosley’s head appeared. She rubbed his ears and asked, “Where are we boy?”

  She heard another crash and her heart raced. She thought it came from the garden.

  She shook her head and rubbed under Bosley’s neck.

  “You’re awake. Perfect timing,” Stacie said, as she entered the room. She was carrying a mug that she handed to Moe.

  Moe took a sip. The coffee was rich and warm. “Thanks. My head is killing me,” she said.

  “I figured you’d need a pick me up when you woke up,” Stacie said, sitting on the end of the bed.

  “Where are we?” Moe asked.

  “Our new office. The one Francine set up for us,” Stacie said.

  “How’d we get here?” Moe asked.

  “I drove us. I can drive, you know,” Stacie said. She rubbed Moe’s leg and said, “Now get up. The sketch artist just got here.”

  “Sketch artist?” Moe said. She took another sip of her coffee, trying to recall the trip from David’s house to here.

  “Wow. You are out of it. When we left David’s house, you gave me the car keys and told me you needed to sleep. Right before you passed out, you told me to call Baba to get a sketch artist to the house. Baba asked me a thousand questions. I expertly dodged most of them, and he came through. I also set up a meeting with Mr. Thalberg for this evening. I called the private number he gave us. We’re meeting him at a bar up in Towson. Now get up, and let’s get those faces out of your head,” Stacie said with a smile.

  Moe let her feet hit the floor. Her head was spinning. She could still hear the screams of Sarah’s father echoing in the back of her memories. She looked for her shoes and found them at the foot of the bed. Rubbing the rainbow shoelaces with her thumb and forefinger, she said her mantra, “Your name is Moneta Watkins. Daughter of Amar and Rashida. Sister to Robert, Joseph, Calvin, and Lance. You grew up happy and strong. Remember the love. Remember the joy. Because no matter what is in your head, this is your story.”

  After putting on her shoes, she went into the main area of the apartment. There was a small kitchen to the right, separated from the rest of the room by an island with two bar stools. The main room contained a leather couch, two matching club chairs, and two small desks that faced one another. A young man holding a sketch pad sat on the couch. On each desk was a laptop plugin station and monitor.

  Crossing the room, she sat down in one of the club chairs across from the artist. “I’ve done this before, so let’s skip the rapport building. There are four subjects. Two I got a good look at. Let’s start with the first one.”

  “Sounds great. Start with the shape of his face,” the artist said.

  Six hours later, Moe was holding four finished sketches. The artist was good. The pictures looked like photographs had been plucked from her mind and put on paper. After saying goodbye to the artist, she looked at Stacie and said, “We need to get copies of these made.”

  Stacey disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned with an apple, a jar of peanut butter, a box of fancy crackers, and a bottle of water. “You need to eat,” she said, putting the spread on the table in front of Moe. Then, picking up the sketches, Stacie fed the pages into the all-in-one copy, scanner, printer Francine’s team had provided them.

  Moe sat down at the table and dipped an apple slice in the peanut butter. “That’s a nice toy,” she said.

  “Only the best when you are with Francine. She always says, ‘A job is always easier with the right tools,’” Stacie took the originals and stored them in the desk drawer. She then took the copies and posted them on the wall with thumb tacks. “These two look like meatheads. But, Hooked Nose guy and Three-Scars look less like muscle and more like organizers,” Stacie said.

  “That’s how it was in David’s memory,” Moe said, as she sipped the water. She could feel her energy slowly returning. It was funny what an impact food could have when you were hungry. “Hooked-Nose is named Damon,” she added.

  Taking a pen from the desk, Stacie wrote the name Damon under Hooked-Nose’s picture. “So, what did you see?” Stacie asked.

  Moe dipped the crackers in the peanut butter, took another sip of water, and then, launched into the story of David’s memory.

  Stacie listened intently. Once Moe had gotten all of it out, she asked, “Do you think these are the same guys that took your mom?”

  “I don’t know,” Moe said.

  “It sounds the same,” Stacie said.

  Moe sighed and rested her head on the table. “We always assumed Mom was taken for her gifts,” she said.

  “Did Sarah’s dad have gifts?” Stacie asked.

  “Not that I know of. But, mom was always really good about hiding hers,” Moe said.

  “I’m sorry, Moe. Watching that couldn’t have been easy,” Stacie said.

  “I’m okay. I’ve seen worse,” Moe said.

  “Okay, eat one more cracker, and then, we’ve got to go and meet Thalberg,” Stacie said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The drive out to the northern suburb of Towson was smooth. One thing Moe liked about leaving the city were the parking lots. It was great being able to pull into a spot without circling for blocks, looking for an empty place. Looking up at the bar’s poorly lit sign, Moe asked, “Are you sure this is where he said he wanted to meet?”

  “He was very specific,” Stacie said.

  Moe had heard of High Tops bar. It was a popular hangout for local singles, but she’d expected something nicer. From the outside, it looked like a rundown bar that hadn’t been updated in three or four decades. Moe figured maybe it was part of the place’s charm. “You ever been here before?” she asked Stacie.

  “Nope. Let’s hope it’s nicer on the inside,” Stacie said.

  The interior of the restaurant was mostly wood. Hardwood floors, wood paneled walls adorned with televisions and retro looking signs, and wooden tables. It was fairly quiet. There were a few patrons at the bar drinking and watching sports, and a few other scattered throughout the dining room. Mr. Hayes, Theo Thalberg’s broad-shouldered head of security, sat at a table by the door. Again, he was dressed in a blue suit with a solid blue tie. Moe wondered if it were a required uniform or just something Hayes liked.

  “Mr. Hayes,” Moe said.

  “Ms. Watkins. Ms. Howe,” Hayes replied with a nod. There was nothing to eat or drink in front of him. Moe wondered if he was allowed to eat and drink while he was on duty.

  Moe waited to see if he would say more, but Hayes simply stared off into the distance.

  “Is your employer here?” Moe asked.

  Hayes nodded to the other side of the room.

  Moe looked in the direction Hayes indicated and found Theo Thalberg sitting alone at a table on the far side of the restaurant in front of a large television playing a lacrosse game. There were five other people seated at the tables around him. Like Thalberg, all of them were focused on the game.

  Moe and Stacie crossed the room toward him. Standing at this table, Moe said, “Thank you for meeting us, Mr. Thalberg.”

  Theo looked up and smiled. Motioning to the chairs at his t
able, he said, “Thanks for coming out here. Take a seat. Can I get you something to eat? Their wings are great. So is the pizza. Get anything you want.” In front of him was a half-demolished plate of crab covered nachos.

  Moe’s stomach rumbled at the site of the food. The crackers and apple weren’t enough, but she needed to stay focused for this meeting. This wasn’t a social call. “No, thank you,” she said.

  “Are you lacrosse fans?” Theo said, motioning toward the screen.

  “Not really,” Stacie said with a smile.

  “Can’t say I’ve ever seen a game,” Moe said.

  “Oh, man. Well, I love it. I played in college. Hopkins. 74 and 75. Absolutely loved it. Tried to get Thad to play, but he didn’t have the discipline for it. Couldn’t stomach all the running. They play classic games here on the big screen on Tuesday nights. Tonight’s the Hopkins-Syracuse 1989 championship game.

  “Do you need us to come back?” Moe asked.

  “Oh, no. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Hell, I was there. Really fantastic to watch, until the 4th quarter anyway. The wrong team pulls it out in the end. I usually slip out at the end of the 3rd when the game is still good. I asked you to meet me here because this is the only time I get to be alone all week. I wanted to hear your report without prying ears,” Theo said with a grin.

  Glancing up at the screen, Moe noticed the game was half over. “Well, I’ll make this brief then so don’t have to suffer through the last part of the game.”

  Theo took a swig from the beer in front of him, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said, “What have you found?”

  “We suspect that your painting was taken by a team of thieves with military experience. They are connected to a man named Lewis Quartz. Does that name ring any bells for you?” Moe asked. She watched Thalberg’s face closely, looking for any indication of recognition, but she didn’t see any.

  “No. I’ve never heard that name before,” Theo said.

  “We’re still in the process of locating Mr. Quartz. Once we’ve found him, we’ll attempt to discover who hired him and his team,” Moe said.

  “That sounds promising. Good work,” Theo said with a smile.

  “Something else we’ve discovered is that this is not the first time Mr. Quartz’s team has robbed you,” Moe said.

  Theo laughed to himself. “That’s true” he said. He took another sip of his beer.

  “We know about the eight other paintings,” Moe challenged.

  “There have been nine thefts in total,” Thalberg confirmed.

  “Those other thefts were different though. They were all displayed publicly,” Stacie prodded.

  “That’s right.” Thalberg was clearly pleased. He ate another nacho and watch the game for a moment. He said, “People buy art for two reasons: to enjoy it or to profit off of it. I fall in the latter category. For me, art is an investment. I buy a painting, display it briefly, and then store it away where no one can access it for a few years to drive up demand. Then, I sell it. So, when my first painting was stolen, it made me angry. But then, I got my insurance money and went to auction to buy a new piece. All my paintings are insured for their resale value, not what I paid for them. As I mentioned in our first meeting, art is a low priority for the police, so I file the report and my insurance company handles it. The first few paintings resurfaced at auction and someone else took them home for about what I would have sold them for. I don’t like being robbed. Truth be told, it makes me angry every time. But I get the same amount of money, only faster because I don’t have to remove the painting from the public to drive up demand. So, I tolerate it. It’s just the price of buying expensive things. According to my insurance company it happens all the time. They raise my premiums a bit, and I buy more art. In the end, everyone is happy,” Thalberg explained.

  “Everyone?” Moe asked.

  “When they took the McClintok, I became suspicious. I’m not a huge fan of Robert’s work. He’s exceptionally talented and has a beautiful style, but I’m more a collector of Dutch masters. Something about their dark impressions of the world speaks to me. I like how they play with light. But, that’s not important. The McClintok was for charity. I was at a fundraiser and Robert was auctioning off the painting. I bought it anonymously through a broker, so I didn’t get approached by other artists with work like his. Like I said, I prefer the Dutch. And they have the added bonus of being deceased, so there is no pressure to commission new works.” He took a drink of beer and checked the score of the game before he continued, “I decided to hang it in a gallery I support. But I didn’t announce it, not in any formal way. It was all a very quiet affair. It was taken a few days after it went up,” Theo said.

  Moe nodded. “So, you began to think someone on the inside is behind all this,” she said.

  “I was suspicious, yes, but still unsure. They could have been tracking the paintings, rather than me. But, I needed to be certain. Nothing is more important to me than loyalty. So, I was even more careful when I bought the Rembrandt. I used a pseudonym and a new broker. I didn’t use my standard shipping or preparation groups. I even hired an outside team to do the security. I changed everything, and I made all the arrangements myself. But, at the same time, I bought something so expensive, I knew whoever it was that was stealing from me couldn’t pass on it,” Theo said, as he looked down into his nachos.

  “Who do you suspect?” Moe asked.

  “That’s why I hired you,” Theo said.

  “Why not tell us this from the start?” Stacie asked.

  “I’m not sure who I can trust at this point. I wanted to see if you came back to me with an easy answer, some poor patsy wrapped in a bow,” Theo said.

  Sensing the sadness in her employer’s voice, Moe said, “I’m sorry.”

  Looking up from his nachos, he replied, “Thank you. I appreciate that. I don’t like not knowing who on my staff can be trusted and who can’t.”

  “Looking at the pattern, the McClintok should be going on the market soon,” Moe said.

  “I suspect it will be at the next auction. Under a different name of course. Sometimes they put them up as an expensive reprint of a missing original, but those of us in the community know it is the same painting,” Theo said.

  “Can you give us the name of the auctioneer? I’d love to have a chat with him,” Moe said.

  “You can try, but I don’t think he will give you anything. God knows, he didn’t give me anything. There seems to be twenty steps between the auction house and the thieves. Plausible deniability and all that,” Theo said, as he reached to the empty table behind him and took a napkin from it. Taking a pen from his pocket he wrote a name and phone number on it and handed it to Moe. “The seller’s name is Raul. He sets up private auctions once every four months or so. He’s got a small office in Highlandtown. Good luck getting anything from him.”

  “We’ll keep following the thieves, too. We’ll keep you posted,” Moe said, as she and Stacie stood to leave.

  “Make sure you only call me on the number I gave you. My staff has access to my other phones. That’s the only line that is safe right now. And thank you for understanding. I hope to hear something soon,” Theo said. “Goodnight, Ms. Watkins. Goodnight, Ms. Howe,” he added, as he turned back to the game.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The walk down the off-white hallway was becoming second nature to Moe, which made her sad. She had to figure out how to get Sarah out of this place. As nice as Dr. Elias was, no child should have to live in a place that smelled as much like disinfectant as this place did.

  “So, they’re really doubling down on the sterile hospital vibe, aren’t they?” Stacie said, as they walked.

  “I hate it,” Moe said. They came to a stop in the large middle room where Moe usually met Dr. Elias. She wasn’t sure if they should wait or just go on to Sarah’s room.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Dr. Elias said from a hallway to their left. “One of our patients was having a rough time.” His tie w
as disheveled and there was a fresh scratch on the right side of his face.

  “Is everything okay?” Moe asked.

  “Of course. The night shift is always harder because we have less staff, so if a patient starts to struggle, it can sometimes become frustrating,” he said, as he straightened his tie.

  “This Stacie Howe, my partner,” Moe said.

  Dr. Elias blushed and smiled like a giddy school boy. Reaching out both hands to shake Stacie’s, he said, “Oh, wow. Kim. It’s nice to meet you. I was a huge fan of your show. ‘It’s a pickle!’ I can’t believe I’m actually getting to meet you.”

  “It’s always nice to meet a fan,” Stacie said.

  “Do you still talk to Lizzy? She was amazing on that show. And I love her newest movie. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried at the end,” Doctor Elias gushed.

  “Her name’s Juliette. Lizzy was the character’s name, and I haven’t seen her for a long time,” Stacie explained with a sigh.

  “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry. I know her name isn’t Lizzy. She’s so talented,” Dr. Elias said.

  “Yep. She was great,” Stacie said.

  “Wow. Sorry. It’s like a piece of my childhood is standing in front of me,” Dr. Elias said.

  “Would it be okay if we went to see Sarah now? I want to catch her before she falls asleep,” Moe said.

  “Oh. Of course. Go on without me. I need to check on the patient I just left,” Dr. Elias said, recovering from his moment of being star struck.

  “Moe!” Sarah squealed. She jumped up from her bed as Moe and Stacie entered her room, ran to Moe and threw her arms around her.

  “This is what they think a kid’s bedroom should look like,” Stacie said, disgusted by the drab, windowless space.

  “I’ve got some news for you,” Moe said, kneeling to be on eye level with Sarah. She gripped both of Sarah’s hands and said, “I went to your old house and I met Mr. David.”

  “Really?” Sarah said.