“Yes. Well, he may come back to Massachusetts tomorrow. They expect him at work Thursday morning. We plan to question him then.”
“And what if he happens to pick up a newspaper while he’s up here and reads about the arrests we’ve made, and the art theft ring we’re busting?”
“Didn’t realize he was going into your territory. Sorry. Nothing we can do about it when he’s not in the state.”
“Have you got the name of the deceased collector?”
“Uh…”
I tried to stay calm while I waited, tapping deliberately with the pencil.
“John W. Carpenter.”
“Thank you.”
I tapped the desk again, then broke the pencil in half.
“Eddie!”
He was at my side immediately.
“We’re going for a ride.”
I gave Nate, Arnie, and Clyde instructions for the rest of the day. Eddie and I headed south in his truck. The Scarborough town manager allowed us to look at the tax map of Prout’s Neck, and we located Carpenter’s property.
“Better get a Scarborough cop or a state trooper to go with us,” Eddie said. I hated the delay, but he was right. We went around to their police station. It took me half an hour to convince their deputy chief to send a man with me. It was nearly five when we arrived at the cottage. A white-haired man was locking the front door. A black Lexus with a Maine plate sat in the driveway.
I showed him my badge. “Sir, I’m Captain Larson with the Portland Police Department. I understand this was the summer home of John W. Carpenter.”
“Yes, sir, I’m his executor, Marvin Wallace.”
“Mr. Wallace, did a man named Neil Daniels come here to appraise some artworks for the Lexington, Massachusetts, Museum of Art?”
“Yes, Mr. Daniels left here about five minutes ago.”
“Five minutes? Where was he headed?”
“Back to Massachusetts, I suppose.”
“Did he appraise the paintings?”
“He examined them and bought them on the spot for the museum. Took them with him.”
“How did he pay for them?”
“He wrote a check to the estate on the museum’s account. You’re not telling me this Daniels was a phony, are you?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so. He is employed by the museum, and they did send him up here to see the paintings. I didn’t realize he was going to purchase them today.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just that we’re trying to locate Mr. Daniels quickly. You don’t know for sure where he was going?”
“No, but he had four paintings in his car, and they were worth $23,000 together. I don’t think he’d stop overnight at a cheap motel. I assumed he was going straight back to Lexington.”
We left the Scarborough patrolman at his station, and I called Jennifer and told her I would be late.
Everyone had left the office when we got back, and I sent Eddie home. I went to the file cabinet and pulled out Nate’s file on Daniels. It was quite thorough, including a description of his car and the Massachusetts tag number. I called the Maine State Police, asking them to watch for the car on I-95 south. We had some license plate readers along the busiest parts of the interstate, and they would notify me if Daniels’s plate number showed up. I tried to call the Lexington Museum of Art. It was closed, and I got a recording with the hours of operation.
On my computer, I pulled up the museum’s website. Daniels was listed among the staff, and his credentials seemed to be in order, beginning with his art history degree from UMO the year Jennifer graduated, then an internship and a master’s, then employment at the museum as a cataloger, then promotion to assistant curator of modern paintings.
I jotted down the names of three administrators and then looked for home phone numbers. I finally got hold of the museum’s special programs facilitator, but she couldn’t tell me a thing.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. I had to go home and talk to Jennifer.
Nate’s folder lay before me, and I opened it again. Daniels grew up in Caratunk, a tiny town on the upper Kennebec. His parents still lived there. Would he drive that far to see his family briefly?
He’d done pretty well for himself for a small-town boy. Instead of driving a pulp truck, he held a responsible position in an urban art museum. Why should he jeopardize that?
He had a brother, Justin, employed by a whitewater rafting outfit in The Forks. Sister Lynn, married and living in Missouri. Sister Jodi, employed as a buyer for a large department store at the Maine Mall, living in Stroudwater, Portland.
I took a deep breath. It was right under our noses. Wouldn’t a nice guy like Neil want to see his sister when he was going to be within a few miles of her house anyway?
The stairway door opened, and Eddie came in. He was wearing his winter jacket over a flannel shirt and black jeans.
“Cold out?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s going to go down in the teens tonight. Maybe snow a little.”
“What are you here for?”
“I wanted to see if you’d gone home.”
“Not yet.”
“Harvey, don’t let this thing get out of control again.”
“Thanks. I don’t think it will, but I just found out Daniels has a sister living about three miles from here.”
“Within the city limits?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
*****
Eddie parked his truck at the curb in front of a modest brick house. In the driveway sat a gray Toyota Corolla with a Massachusetts plate.
“You’re good, Harv,” said Eddie.
“Nate had it in his background check. I never read it ’til tonight.”
“Looks quiet.”
A couple of lights were on in the house. We got out and walked up the driveway to the door, and I rang the bell.
A young blonde woman opened the door. She was attractive, but her face was too thin, and her lips were thin, too. Like Neil’s. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two. She looked at us expectantly, then a little apprehension crossed her face. Single women shouldn’t open the door wide like that.
“May I help you?”
“Miss Jodi Daniels?”
“Yes.” Definite apprehension.
I pulled my badge out, and Eddie unzipped his jacket so his showed. I said, “We’re from the Portland P.D. We’re trying to locate your brother, Neil. Is it possible he’s here tonight?”
“Well, yes, I—let me—just a minute.” She turned away into a sparsely furnished living room, leaving the door open, and called into the next room, “Neil!” Her voice rose as she said it.
He came in from the kitchen, tall and loose jointed. He was wearing dress pants and a tailored white shirt, but the jacket and tie of museum formality had been left somewhere, and his collar was open. He surveyed me and Eddie through steel-rimmed glasses. His hair was shorter than it had been in the yearbook picture, but he had the same serious, calculating look.
Eddie nudged me just a little, and I realized I was staring and thinking about Jennifer liking this guy, believing herself in love with him. I turned a little toward Eddie and said quietly, “Take over.”
He stepped forward, and I closed the door behind us to keep from heating the outdoors at Jodi’s expense.
Eddie said, “Mr. Daniels, I’m Detective Thibodeau, of the Portland P.D., and this is Captain Larson. We need to talk to you, sir.”
“What about?”
“There’s been a string of art thefts in the area, and we thought you might be able to help us.”
“In what way? Do you need appraisals?”
“No, sir, we wondered if you knew some of the people involved.”
“I’m sure I don’t—unless you mean people whose artworks have been stolen?”
“No, sir.” Eddie glanced at Jodi, who stood with her hands on the back of a chair, watching her brother. “Maybe you could come ov
er to the station with us, and we can talk there.”
“Is that necessary? Can’t we talk here?”
Eddie looked at me, and I nodded curtly. I surveyed the room. The girl didn’t have much in the house, but what she had was nice. The chair she was leaning on was a Shaker ladder back, with acorn finials at the top. She had a Sheraton card table, and the painting over the bookcase looked like a Landers. It had the same quality I’d seen in the one Mrs. Harder owned. Bright, clear colors. A weathervane jutting above a roof of old cedar shingles, with a maple branch in the red blossom stage reaching toward it.
“Sir,” Eddie said, “an Eric Stanley has been arrested, and he told us that—”
“Just a minute,” Daniels cut him off. He stood looking Eddie in the eye for a few seconds. He licked his lips and glanced at Jodi. “Perhaps I should go with you. Just let me get my jacket.” He turned away, and Eddie followed him out of the room.
I looked at the signature on the Landers. “Nice painting.”
“My brother gave it to me for my birthday,” Jodi said.
“He’s an art curator,” I said mildly.
“Yes, he told me this is an investment for me.”
Should I tell her? She looked uncertain, but not frightened.
Eddie came back with Daniels, who was scowling, but ready to travel.
“Neil, I don’t understand,” said Jodi. “What about dinner?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll call you if I’m going to be late.” He faced Eddie. “Should I drive my car?”
“Ride with us,” said Eddie. “Someone can bring you back.”
“Are the Lexington Art Museum’s new paintings in your car?” I asked.
He turned and stared at me, then said, “In the trunk.”
“They should be safe,” I said.
*****
We drove in silence with Daniels in the back seat, and at the station we went in through the garage to the foyer. Cheryl Yeaton waved at me through the security window. I punched the elevator code, and we went up.
“Let’s sit in here, sir,” Eddie said pleasantly, opening the door to the interview room. Neil sat at the table, and Eddie sat opposite him. I hit the video cam switch and stood near the door.
“Mr. Daniels,” Eddie began after giving the date and our names, “you’ve been named by Eric Stanley as having received stolen artworks from him during the last few months. This is a very serious charge.”
“Are you arresting me?” Neil asked.
“At this point, we just want to hear what you have to say. Are you acquainted with Eric Stanley?”
“I’ve met him. He makes himself known to people in the art world.”
My cell phone rang. I excused myself and stepped out into the office.
“Harvey? It’s Beth. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Where are you? It’s after eight o’clock. Jennifer’s very worried about you.”
“I’m sorry, Beth. I told her I’d be late. We had a break on a case, and I had to stay. Is she with you?”
“Yes, I’m at your house,” Beth said. “She called me an hour ago. She was scared to be alone.”
“Oh, boy. Where’s Abby?”
“She had to go to work at three o’clock. She’s starting a new shift.”
“That’s right. I’m so sorry. Eddie and I have a man we’re questioning right now. Let me talk to her for a second.”
Jennifer came on the line, tearful and shaky.
“I’m sorry, Harvey. I didn’t think I ought to call, but Beth was mad.”
“No, it’s my fault. I should have called you again. I forgot Abby was going in early tonight. Honey, everything’s okay. We’ve got a break on the art case, and Eddie and I are here together working on it.”
“Have you arrested someone?”
“Not here. That Eric Stanley guy we met at the exhibit was picked up in New Hampshire, and now we’ve got someone else in here for questioning. He may have bought stolen goods from Eric. We’re making progress, but I may be a while longer, gorgeous.”
“That’s okay, as long as I know you’re safe.”
“I am. Beth said you were a little nervous tonight.”
“I shouldn’t have been, but I couldn’t help thinking about that man grabbing my foot, and it got dark and you weren’t here, and we don’t have an alarm yet.” She was crying bigtime, which really wasn’t like Jennifer. I put it down to hormones and the recent trauma. “Did you wear your Kevlar vest?” she choked out.
“No, baby. We didn’t have anything like that tonight. It’s been very routine. We just went to pick a guy up and brought him in for questioning.”
“He didn’t shoot at you?”
“No, he was very polite. He works for a museum. On the surface, he’s very respectable. He wasn’t running away, we just had a little trouble locating him.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just ask Beth if she can stay with you a while longer. I may be another hour. If it’s going to be any more than that, I promise I’ll call.”
I put the phone in my pocket with a sigh. On my desk was the framed photo of Jenny on the breakwater in Rockland. I picked it up. Her hair swirled around her in the ocean breeze. Her eyes shone with eager happiness. The day I proposed.
Foster’s touch had unnerved her for sure, but would it have disarmed her so if Neil Daniels hadn’t shattered her security three years earlier? Jennifer shouldn’t have to live with fear. I had wanted badly to shield her, to provide an atmosphere of invulnerability for her and our baby. I should be home, holding her securely.
I put the picture down and went back into Interview.
“You seem to know a lot about me,” Neil was saying.
Eddie had Nate’s folder open in front of him on the table. “Yes, sir, we’ve compiled quite a lot of information on you.”
I sat down quietly.
“So, am I free to go now?”
Eddie said, “What are your plans?”
“I was going to spend the night at my sister’s and go back to Lexington tomorrow. I was going to return to work Thursday, but since I was able to purchase the paintings, I’ll deliver them to the museum tomorrow.”
Eddie looked at me, and I could read his eyes. Daniels had denied everything, and would go back across the state line. The Massachusetts State Police might look into it, or they might not.
“Sir, what about the Landers painting?” I asked.
“What painting is that?” Neil’s eyes widened, but his lips narrowed.
“The one hanging in your sister’s living room.”
He was quiet a moment, then said, “I purchased it for her as a birthday gift last month. She hasn’t been in her present position long and doesn’t have much money. I gave it to her as a start toward decorating her own home for the first time.”
“That’s nice. And where did you buy it?” I asked.
“From a dealer.”
“What dealer?”
He hesitated too long. I followed up with, “And do you have a receipt?”
“I—of course. Someplace. At home. In Lexington.”
“You’re not married,” I said.
“No, what does—”
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
“So, there’s no one at your house who could locate the receipt and fax us a copy?”
He looked bewildered.
“Name the dealer you bought it from,” I said evenly.
“Nicholas Dore.”
“I know him,” I said.
He shrugged a little.
“Eddie, go pull up Arnie’s notes on the case, please, and pinpoint the last Landers theft.”
While he was gone, I said, “Mr. Daniels, I can’t figure out why you would do this. Was it the money?”
“I didn’t do anything.” A sheen of sweat shone on his forehead.
Eddie came back in. “Stolen September twelfth, here in the city. Rooftop with clipper ship weatherv
ane.”
Neil sat very still.
I took out my pocket notebook, flipped through it, and handed it to Eddie, “Please call Nicholas Dore. His gallery and home numbers are right there. Ask him if he’s sold a Landers lately. If he has, I want the date, the seller, the buyer, and a detailed description.”
Eddie went out of the room again, and I said, “Mr. Daniels, you’d better pray he comes back here describing that weathervane.”
Neil said nothing, but stared at the cheap landscape print on the opposite wall. The interview room was the only place we pretended to have art in Priority, and it was a K-mart special.
When Eddie returned, he said, “Mr. Dore hasn’t had a Landers in six months, and the last one was a boy in a rowboat. He says he knows Mr. Daniels by sight, but doesn’t recall doing business with him.”
I didn’t say anything for five seconds, waiting to be sure my voice would be under control. Then I said, “Detective Thibodeau is placing you under arrest.”
Neil stirred. “May I call my sister?”
“You might do better to call an attorney.”
“I wouldn’t know who to call. I’ve never needed one.”
Eddie stepped forward and started reading the Miranda. I went out and left the door open. A quick phone call put in motion the process of getting a search warrant. I walked over to the corner beside my desk and looked out over Franklin Street, at the lights and the traffic.
“Can I call my sister now?” Neil asked when Eddie brought him out in handcuffs.
I picked up the receiver of my desk phone. “What’s the number?” He gave it, and I pushed the buttons and handed the receiver to Neil. I turned back to the window.
“Jodi, it’s me. I’m not going to be able to come back tonight. No, no, it’s just—this is going to take longer than I thought.”
I heard Eddie say, “You should tell her. She can help you make bail or call you a lawyer.”
“Jodi, listen. They—they’ve arrested me. Oh, it’s all a mistake, but you need to help me out. Can you come to the police station? And please call Dad. No, don’t call them. No, no, Jodi, just—please, call Dad. Then come down here. Okay.”
Found Art (Maine Justice Book 3) Page 24