“Wow, it’s hard to imagine the powerful and mighty George Lisbon in a position of weakness.”
“Yup, it was hard to grasp,” she nodded in affirmation. “He always projected such confidence and gave you the feeling that we’re all in good hands when he’s in charge . . .”
“Come on, Sharon, we’re never in good hands when it comes to our politicians.”
“You’re probably right.” She displayed a gloomy grin and continued with her story, “At first, he tried to resist, but then I told him we have undeniable evidence of his involvement: incriminating testimony against him along with his fingerprint on the murder weapon. He had no way to evade the truth,” she summarized. “I explained to him that he had one chance to cooperate with us and turn himself in, or he’d be arrested officially and publicly, with all that it entails.”
“It was nice of you to give him a way to end this with some dignity,” observed Chris.
Sharon thought to herself that if her boyfriend had known that George Lisbon had tried to arrange her assassination just a few days earlier, he probably wouldn’t have commended her courtesy toward the former politician.
“It wasn’t for him. It was for all the cops in the NYPD community who see him as a role model. When this goes public tomorrow, many of us will be terribly disappointed.”
Chris nodded understandingly. “What did he choose?”
“When he realized he had no other choice, he confessed to everything. Lisbon described his unstable and destructive relationship with Tracy, the impossible ultimatums she had given him, and the feeling of being trapped. Like the slick politician that he is,” Sharon scowled with aversion, “while giving his statement, embellished and elaborated, he phrased things to present himself as a man pushed into a corner, who had acted without a choice. I’m sure that’s how he will present his story to the jury.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Not for a second.” Sharon shook her head decisively. “George Lisbon is a cold-hearted and calculating man. He arranged Tracy’s murder because she’d threatened his interests, and he decided that killing her would be the best way to get rid of that threat.” She added as an afterthought, “He didn’t snap or lose control; rather, he planned her death in a meticulous and well-thought manner. He doesn’t deserve the jury’s sympathy.”
“I only hope they can examine things with as sober of an approach as you are and see who George Lisbon really is,” said Chris.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I already contacted the DA. I have a few tips that can help her build a strong case . . .” Sharon flashed a mischievous grin while her thoughts wandered to the web of shady connections she had revealed between the deputy mayor and the infamous mobster, and the incriminating phone call she had recorded on her cell phone.
“You little justice warrior, you,” he teased. “Should I shave for all the paparazzi that’ll be waiting outside your building tomorrow?”
“Don’t even joke about it.” Sharon cringed in discomfort. “Rob already notified me that, with the commissioner’s consent, two reporters from The Post and The Times will be arriving at the station tomorrow. As though this whole story hasn’t received enough media coverage as it is,” she sighed. “Now, when the killer’s identity is published, there won’t be a single person who doesn’t know Tracy’s Navarro’s name.”
“At least this whole thing is behind you,” he tried to cheer her up.
Sharon nodded agreeably but then thought about the blue bag from Tiffany’s, patiently waiting in her desk drawer at the precinct.
“Almost,” she let out a little smile. “I just have one last thing to take care of.”
CHAPTER 65
September 27, 2013. Manhattan, New York
Sharon moved up West 53rd Street and, in the distance, caught sight of the MoMA initials – Museum of Modern Art – on the big sign hanging outside the imposing building. The evening was a bit chilly, and the light jacket she’d brought didn’t help much although it complemented her and showed her slender figure. She wore skinny black trousers that matched the tailored style of the jacket and a green lace singlet that highlighted the color of her eyes. Her voluminous hair was carefully gathered with a silver brooch, letting the golden ponytail gently fall on her left shoulder, its bright color beaming in contrast to the dark suit. The overall look was simple yet extremely elegant and enhanced her delicate beauty.
By now, she had reached the building’s entrance, where two burly guards in suits were standing and asking each guest to show their invitations. Her hand instinctively browsed inside her pocketbook, where the precious diamond necklace rested peacefully, but then she recalled that she didn’t have an invitation.
She approached one of the guards. “Good evening. I don’t have an invitation, but Will McKenzie told me that my name would be on the list – Sharon Davis.”
Upon the mention of the multimillionaire’s name, the guard arched an eyebrow. But after a short glance at the guest list, he gestured for Sharon to enter. “Of course, have a good evening, Ms. Davis.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him and strode through the transparent revolving door.
The magnificent museum lobby was crowded and lively. Distinguished guests in their finest clothes, holding drinks in their hands, were standing and conversing with one another. Immaculately-dressed waiters were passing among the attendees, offering delicious hors d’oeuvres while lovely classical pieces were being played by a live string quartet, establishing the perfect setting for this high-class gathering. There was no doubt that William McKenzie’s benefit was a tremendous success and probably was raising a large figure for his charity. Sharon looked around and felt like a fish out of water. She couldn’t wait to return the necklace to Will so she could just be done with this whole thing and go home to Chris and her pajamas.
She recalled their conversation earlier that day:
“I read Lisbon was arrested last night. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Will. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“And now that this whole story is behind us, I guess I won’t be needing this awfully expensive necklace stashed in my desk drawer.”
“Me neither, you can keep it – preferably around your neck.”
“Come on, Will. Thank you for the gesture, but you know I can’t accept a gift like this.”
“I know you’re very stubborn, but I like it.”
“At least you’re right about one thing. How about I pass by your office later today and return it to you?”
“I have a better idea. Come to the MoMA tonight around eight. I have to attend a charity event, and I’m sure that a visit by the most famous detective in town will open the contributors’ hearts and wallets.”
“Sounds fun, only unlike you and the rest of New York’s elite, I’m not invited.”
“That won’t be a problem, considering that I’m the one who’s hosting it. Just give your name at the entrance, trust me.”
“Well, all right.”
“And one more thing, Sharon, leave your jeans at home – it’s a black-tie event.”
Now Sharon was passing slowly among the dozens of guests, politely declining the waiters’ tempting food offers. If Chris were with her, he would have probably found something to joke about to make her feel slightly more at ease. But this would have involved telling him about the gift she’d gotten from the handsome millionaire – a piece of information she preferred not to bring to his attention. In any case, she convinced herself, this was a work-related errand, that’s all. Once she returned the necklace to its rightful owner, she could hurry back home. Her eyes were searching for Will’s dark mane.
Not only is he a multi-millionaire, but he also has great hair.
After a few minutes of meandering, Will’s impressive image magically appeared before her. The millionaire was holding two glasses of Champagne, and he looked remarkably dreamy. His black charcoal tuxedo suited him perfectly and was clea
rly custom-made. For a brief moment, Sharon felt slightly uneasy in light of her relatively modest choice of clothes, but then her eyes met Will’s enchanted gaze; he didn’t even seem to notice.
“I’m glad you came, Sharon.” He offered her one of the glasses.
“You didn’t leave me much choice.” She smiled playfully and clinked her glass with his.
“Here’s to having choices,” he whispered in her ear. Will took a sip from his glass and did not take his eyes off her.
Sharon felt her cheeks burning and took a larger sip than she had meant. “Everything looks incredible. You did a great job, Will.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he winked at her. Will linked his arm with her free arm and led her among the crowd. As they strolled, Sharon felt curious eyes turning toward her; many were intrigued by this strangely familiar beauty who was dangling on the arm of the handsome millionaire.
They marched together toward the inner courtyard. One of the photographers stopped them and signaled for them to smile while adjusting his camera lens. Sharon tried to decline and turned her head to the side – but this only seemed to inflame his curiosity, and he aimed his camera right at them.
“Come on, Sharon, do it for the children. It’s important that the public knows that the NYPD makes an effort to be involved.”
Sharon saw right through the cheap trick, but she didn’t have a choice but to accept Will’s and the photographer’s implorations and smile directly at the camera. She thought about Chris seeing this picture and wanting an explanation – i.e., why had she neglected to mention that not all the millionaires she’d interrogated were old geezers.
Just what I needed . . .
When they arrived at the patio, Sharon realized that the impressive lobby had only been a preview of the main event. The entire courtyard was decorated with colorful light bulbs, gleaming in the moonlight like hundreds of tiny stars. Ancient sculptures stood in every corner. Special lighting by the koi pond illuminated the vibrantly-colored fish swimming around. Another band was playing in the open space, but now the classical music was replaced by more contemporary and upbeat tunes to which quite a few people were dancing.
“May I have this dance?” asked Will, oozing masculine charm.
“I’m sorry, I really don’t have much rhythm for dancing,” she declined elegantly.
“Don’t be shy, it’s just one dance.” He sent her a luring smile.
“Will,” she glared at him, “I came here to return your necklace and thank you for your help with the case. That’s all.”
He looked at her disappointedly. “I know, but still, it was worth a shot,” he replied with a self-deprecating smile that came off as charming. “But before you go, I want to show you one last thing.”
CHAPTER 66
September 27, 2013. Manhattan, New York
Will and Sharon advanced toward the escalators, trying to avoid the camera flashes of the intrigued photographers. The sounds of the party became increasingly muffled as the escalator moved up, eventually becoming nothing more than a light hum.
On each floor they passed, Sharon noticed guests strolling around the rooms, enjoying the art that surrounded them. Will McKenzie had arranged for the museum to remain open to the exclusive guest list. Perhaps the late-night cultural experience – especially after a few drinks – would arouse their generosity.
If it were possible, Sharon would have stopped on each and every floor. It had been a while since she’d had the chance to visit a museum, and the late hour actually fit her schedule. But Will seemed determined to continue upwards.
When they arrived at the sixth and final floor, she was surprised to discover that it was empty except for two security guards standing at the entranceway. Will noticed Sharon’s puzzled look.
“The sixth floor shows special exhibitions on a higher security level,” he explained, “and therefore isn't open to the public outside the museum’s normal operating hours.”
“What’s the current exhibition?” asked Sharon.
“I’m glad you asked.” Will gave her a mysterious grin. “Starting tomorrow, the new exhibition will be focusing on René Magritte’s work. Have you heard of him?”
Sharon studied the sign that was set at the entrance to the main hall:
Magritte: The Mystery of the Ordinary.
“Sounds familiar, but I’m not sure.”
“Well, since this exhibition doesn’t officially open until tomorrow, the museum staff insisted on keeping it closed to the public to prevent any problems before the grand opening. And yet, I still have some connections in this place . . .” He nodded to one of the guards and gestured with his hand to Sharon, “After you.”
“You’re going to love this,” said Will as they strode among the impressive artworks. “Magritte is without a doubt one of my favorite artists. So far, I’ve only managed to acquire one of his paintings, but I would love to get a few more,” he asserted while gazing at the pictures in admiration. “Take this piece, for instance.” His index finger pointed at a framed painting of a wedge of old cheese that was under a transparent glass lid, the kind used to cover baked goods and pastries at cafés. “It always whets my appetite.”
Sharon read the name on the sign below the exhibit: This is a Piece of Cheese. An amused smile crept over her lips. It appeared that this René Magritte – as well as Will McKenzie – had quite the sense of humor.
They meandered among the surreal artworks: human figures, body parts, and still-life drawings represented in bizarre and magnificent manners, giving new and refreshing meaning to those same familiar objects. Each time, Will told her about a different piece. She enjoyed listening to him, acquainting herself with a new perspective beyond the short explanations presented next to each picture.
It seemed that Magritte especially liked to take ordinary and “boring” objects and re-represent them in new contexts that provoked the existing boundaries of reality. In a sense, it reminded Sharon of her own work, where she often had to think outside the box to decipher the right context that enabled her to see the whole picture and solve the case. She immediately fell in love with the bold and daring style that marked the works of this artist, who had tried to challenge the perception of reality through art. She liked it.
“Oh, the icing on the cake.” He gestured with his hand toward a picture that seemed particularly familiar though she had not yet figured out from where. The painting presented an enormous eye with a luminous, cloud-swept sky filling the iris. “This is ‘The False Mirror’. I just adore this painting.”
Sharon kept staring at the picture. Will’s voice trailed away as she scrutinized every detail in the familiar painting.
“You know, rumor has it that Magritte actually painted two pictures: one of the left eye, which is here before us, and the other . . .”
“Of the right eye . . .” Sharon completed his words in a murmur of comprehension as she recalled an amazingly similar painting she had only seen last week.
“That’s right,” continued Will, oblivious to the utter astonishment the famous painting had elicited from his companion. “I would love to get my hands on its twin painting even if that meant separating from a few good million dollars. But, unfortunately, it seems to be just an urban legend.”
“That was my mother’s favorite painting. She called it her little Garden of Eden,” Sharon recalled Becky’s words as they stood together in the living room of the family house in Fairland, looking at the picture above the mantelpiece of a humongous eye containing a biblical and mystical world, colored in luminous shades identical to the hues shining at her from the painting on the museum’s wall.
Emily Webber was a promising artist who had been given the task of hiding millions of dollars. To her, it was only natural to invest the money in what she had loved most – art.
The big picture appeared before her, literally.
Sharon flashed a wide grin, “Well, Will, sometimes fairy tales come true . . .”
CHAPTE
R 67
September 28, 2013. Brooklyn, New York
“Hello?”
“Start packing. We’re going to Oklahoma.”
“Miss the Southern humidity already?” asked Jacob.
Sharon chuckled, “Not really.”
“Then what, you won the lottery and couldn’t think of anywhere better to splurge your newfound wealth? ‘cause that’s quite an interesting choice for a getaway spot.”
“Something like that,” she said alluringly. “I know where Emily Webber hid the stolen money.”
A short silence took over the other end of the line. “Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“All right, I’ll reserve tickets as soon as possible.”
“Don’t worry, it’s already been taken care of.”
Sharon Davis, Jacob Stanton, William McKenzie, and Cole Evergreen were sitting in their comfy seats, ready to take off in the private jet. Cole Evergreen was a world-renowned expert in art forgeries, now commissioned by Will to check the authenticity of the mysterious painting. The odds that this was indeed the lost twin painting of “The False Mirror” were slim, but Sharon seemed very convinced. In any case, thought Will, it would be a nice and harmless little adventure.
“You want to tell me this plane is yours?” Will heard the marshal’s voice.
“Don’t be preposterous,” replied Will. “I borrowed it from a friend.”
“You have very generous friends,” the marshal noted with an ironic smile. “The most expensive thing I’ve ever borrowed from a friend was an electric drill.”
Will chortled, “Yeah, well, I guess it puts things into perspective.” He shrugged. “In the meantime, I propose we raise a glass.” He held his champagne glass and so did the rest of the group. “To lost treasures.”
The False Mirror Page 20