“Peter Decker.”
“Are you new? I don’t know you.”
“I came on the force about six months ago. Before that, I worked for LAPD.”
“LAPD.” A pause. “Have you ever worked an art case before or should I send in an expert in the field?”
“I was a lieutenant when I left LAPD. I ran a squad room of detectives so I’m familiar with every kind of crime imaginable, including art theft and forgery. But you can hire your own person as long as we communicate. I don’t have turf issues especially with something so specialized. You’re in Manhattan?”
“Yes.”
“So there are probably a lot of specialists in your parts. How about if we take it one step at a time?”
“I suppose that makes sense. What was your specialty?”
“As a lieutenant, I mostly supervised my detectives. I only worked the field if it was a very big and puzzling case. Before I was promoted, I was a homicide cop for twenty years.”
“Homicide! Let’s hope there’s no need for that!”
Decker smiled. “I agree.”
Sobel thanked him for calling and hung up. Decker gave the phone back to McAdams. They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they got to the house, Decker said, “Can’t say it was a hoot, but you showed some professionalism coming out with me in the cold.”
“Yeah, tell that to my frozen feet . . . and my frozen ears. I should have taken the car. If I come down with frostbite, I’m taking disability.”
Decker eyed him. “You know, McAdams, police forces are paramilitary organizations. Rule number one: no one wants to hear your bitching so suck it up. No guarantee they’ll like you any better, but when you don’t talk, you can’t get on people’s nerves. Do you want to come on Sunday? If you’ve got other plans, I can handle this alone. It might even be easier if I handle it alone. But it’s up to you.”
“I’ll be there. What time?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“So we have to wait by the phone twiddling our thumbs?”
“Remember what I said about sucking it up five seconds ago?”
McAdams sighed. Then he said, “Do you think the panels were stolen?”
“Ah . . . a work-related question. Good. I think it’s a distinct possibility.”
“So we have an art theft . . . and if Pellman said his key worked just a couple of days ago, it’s a recent art theft.”
Decker held up his hands. “Voilà!”
McAdams smiled. “I’ll see you on Sunday. Thank your wife for me.”
“This should be evident, but I never assume anything. You don’t talk about this to anyone. You should never talk about work, period.”
“No problem there, Old Man. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
IT SEEMED LIKE ages since Rina had to wait up for him to come home. In fact, it had only been months since Peter had retired and they had moved to Greenbury. She was fine with the move, but she suspected that Decker was less than thrilled. He didn’t talk about it and she hadn’t asked, but perhaps a taste of his old life would be a perfect lead-in.
When he walked through the door, Peter looked cold but not at all tired. His nose and cheeks were bright red. Rina got up from the couch and made two cups of tea in the kitchen using the hot water urn that she always set up before the Sabbath. When she returned, he was hanging up his jacket and scarf. He took off his gloves and hat. “Man, it’s good to get out of the cold.”
Rina set the hot tea on the coffee table. She was wearing thin pajamas. The radiator was spewing out puffs of hot air. “I finally understand saunas. You get hot, then cold, then the hot doesn’t feel so hot.” She fanned her face. “I’m ready to camp outside. I’m dying. Of course, it could be the M word.”
“Open a window.”
“I do. Then I get cold. No winning the war on hormones.”
Decker picked up his tea and sipped. “You look as young as the day I met you.”
“And you’re a smooth talker. You also have a gleam in your eye. Or is that an ice crystal? What’s the case, darling?”
“It wasn’t much but at least it was more than grabbing a cat from a tree.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“I just told the kid not to talk about his cases with anyone.”
“I’m your wife. I have Fifth Amendment privileges.”
Decker smiled. “It’s nothing much. Could be an art theft of Tiffany panels. There are glass panels still up there but we don’t know if they’re the originals. They may be forgeries. The owner is coming up with an expert on Sunday to authenticate them.”
“I suppose the next question is, who would steal them? Who’d even know about them?”
“Excellent. Can you be my partner instead of the kid?”
“How’s the kid?”
“Obnoxious as usual.” Decker took another sip of tea. “Tonight, I did see a glimmer of curiosity.”
“Ah . . . maybe all he needed was a little real police work. He did go to Harvard.”
“His brain is not the problem. He needs a personality transplant.”
“He seemed polite enough when he was here. Anyway, it’s good to see you grumpy. That means you’re happy. Do you know anything about Tiffany?”
“Not much. What about you?”
“I think he used to have a studio upstate. I think it was dismantled, though.” Decker was quiet. Rina said, “What?”
“I think there’s a museum in Orlando . . . what’s it called? See that’s why we shouldn’t be talking about business on Shabbat. Now I can’t look it up and it’s killing me.”
“It’s a Tiffany museum?”
“It has a bunch of Tiffany windows. I was there when I visited my uncle years ago . . . it’s an American art museum . . . it’ll come to me.” Decker finished his tea. “Is stained-glass Tiffany the same Tiffany that owns the stores?”
“I think it was a father and son. The son did the stained glass.”
“Louis Comfort Tiffany.”
“Yeah, right. Good for you.”
“So the jewelry guy was the father?”
“Yes, and I think Tiffany jewelry went corporate a long time ago.”
“I’ll look it all up after Shabbos.” Decker moved closer to his wife. “Right now, let’s just enjoy being together.”
“Ooh, I like it when you’re doing real police work. It makes you romantic.”
Decker was taken aback. “Have I been a slacker in the romance department?”
“You’re always romantic, Peter. But you’ve seemed to be at loose ends since we got here.”
He took a breath and let it out. “It’s been an adjustment. At times, I’m a little bored. That’s pretty natural after working with LAPD for all those years. But I don’t want to go back. I think I just miss the rush of a real case. That first blush of excitement. And even though this art thing is probably nothing, it gave me a little jolt. I’m fine. Honestly. It’s all just part of the process of adaptation, I think. Of aging . . . of getting old.”
“You are not old.”
“Not according to the kid. He calls me Old Man.”
“You’re not old.” Rina kissed him again. “Besides, there’s old . . .” Another kiss. “And then there’s vintage.”
CHAPTER 4
THE CEMETERY SEEMED quaint, much less foreboding in the daylight with old headstones carved with names like Whitestone, Potter, MacDoogal, and Hawthorne. The Bergman mausoleum seemed like a dowager, too grand for the neighborhood, but since it had been there for years, Decker supposed that it was now just part of the scenery. It was chilly but not cold, brisk but not blustery. The sun was immersed in a sea of deep blue.
The man who emerged from the Mercedes was in his late sixties, white haired but with a lively step. He was around six feet and had a ski-tanned
face, milky blue eyes, and a prominent chin. He was dressed in a cable-knit sweater and jeans, loafers but no socks. In tow was a younger, shorter man with brown eyes and curly brown hair. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and a red bow tie. On his feet were black Oxfords over black socks.
“Ken Sobel.” He pointed to the younger man. “This is Maxwell Stewart, owner of the famed Stewart and Harrison gallery. If you deal with him, you’d better have your game face on. The man is a shark.”
“Call me Max.” He appeared around forty. “Don’t pay attention to Ken. I never do.”
“Peter Decker. Thanks for coming down.”
Sobel said, “Are you a police officer or a police detective or . . .”
“I’m whatever the department needs. This is my partner, Detective Tyler McAdams.”
More handshakes. Then Sobel turned to Isaiah Pellman who was trying to disappear in nonexistent shadows. “What the hell happened, Isaiah?”
“Just like I told you, sir. The key didn’t work.”
“When was the last time you tried it?” Sobel asked.
“Last Tuesday. It worked fine.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Decker said, “Let me give you a recap of where McAdams and I came in and why I asked you to come down.”
Sobel said, “I know why you asked me down. You told me that over the phone.”
Stewart said, “Let the man finish.”
“Be brief,” Sobel said. “I’ve got a dinner engagement and it’s a three-hour drive.”
“It’s ten in the morning, Ken.”
“You know how brutal traffic can be.”
Decker gave a quick summary of the events of Friday night while McAdams rocked on his feet, no doubt feeling superfluous. At the end, Decker turned to McAdams and said, “Anything you’d like to add?”
“Not a whit.”
Decker turned to Pellman. “We’re going to need that ladder again. Mr. Stewart will need to look at the panels up close.”
Stewart said, “You want me to climb up a ladder?”
Sobel said, “It’s not that hard, Max. One foot over the other.”
“I’m wearing leather-soled shoes.” He turned to his father-in-law. “If I break my leg, you explain it to Natalie.”
“I’ll catch you if you fall.”
“I’d take them down for you,” Decker said, “but I don’t want to screw anything up.”
“It’s fine.” Max was clearly peeved. “If I had known I had to climb up, I would have worn sneakers. I really do think the old man likes to see me sweat.”
“Been there, done that,” McAdams muttered.
“That’s enough out of you, Harvard,” Decker said.
Stewart said, “You went to Harvard?”
“Graduated two years ago.”
“What house?”
“Cabot. And you?”
“Lowell.”
The two men started playing name game despite a decade of life between them. If McAdams was good for anything, it was building rapport with the Ivy League elite with second homes in the smaller towns along the Hudson. But that did nothing to endear him to the regular working stiffs of the town.
Pellman came back with a ladder and his flashlight. He descended the five steps into the crypt and unlocked the door. Everyone crowded inside. Decker turned on Pellman’s flashlight although there was plenty of sunshine coming through the windows along with bursts of iridescence coming from the stained glass.
Stewart looked upward. “Could you shine the light on that one?” Decker illuminated the autumn panel. Max said, “I can already tell that it’s a reproduction. Good glass, lousy work.”
Sobel swore under his breath. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How can you tell?”
“Ken, how can you tell when it’s time to dump stocks? It’s my business.”
He waved off his son-in-law and then started pacing. “Goddamnit, how did this happen?”
“What about the others?” McAdams asked Stewart. “What do you think?”
Sobel suddenly remembered there were three more panels to evaluate. “Yeah, what about the others, Max?”
“Could I have the light?” Stewart asked.
“Sure.” Decker handed him the battery pack.
The dealer studied each panel, and then he said, “Okay. To my eye, summer is also a fake. The other two . . . I’m going to have to climb up and take a closer look.”
Sobel continued to swear and mutter to himself as Decker and McAdams balanced the ladder against the wall, going as close as they could to the window containing winter. Stewart shook his head then scaled the risers. When he was eye level with the panel, Decker stepped up two risers and passed him the battery pack. Stewart studied the work for a long time. “This is real.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Sobel mumbled.
Carefully, Max climbed down and went over to the spring panel. “Legit.” Stewart climbed down again and dusted off his pants. “Two and two, Ken.”
“Goddamnit! What the hell is someone going to do with two panels in a set of four?”
Decker said, “I take it that the panels are valuable on their own.”
“Of course,” Max said. “But as a set, the value goes up exponentially.”
Decker said, “You should take the real panels out of the crypt and put them in a more secure place.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Stewart said.
“How involved is it to remove them?”
“Not too hard normally. The chains just hook into the loops in the frame but it looks like the links were tightened around the loop, which isn’t the original design. It would help to have two people up there. One to detach the panel from the frame and another one to hold the tools.”
Sobel was still swearing. McAdams turned to Pellman. “Do you have another ladder?”
“Let me check.” He came back with a shorter ladder. “This is all I had.”
“That’ll work.” Decker turned to Stewart. “Shall we?”
“Let’s.”
IT TOOK LESS than an hour to remove all four panels, another hour to remove the chains and the ceiling pieces. At straight-up twelve, the two original panels and chains were bubble wrapped and then blanket wrapped and sat in the backseat of the Mercedes. The two forgeries would be entered as evidence of a crime. Sobel jangled his keys as he turned to Decker. “Now what?”
“I’m going to need the names of everyone who has a key to the crypt or even knows that the panels exist.”
“That’s a long list,” Sobel said. “A long, long list.”
Stewart leaned over to McAdams’s ear and whispered something. When McAdams smiled, Sobel said, “Can you tell me what could be even remotely funny?”
“Just two Harvard guys shooting the shit, Ken.”
“Well, shoot the shit some other time, okay.” Sobel was irritated. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Start with your relatives,” Decker said. “Any of them have money problems?”
“That would be my sister-in-law,” Stewart said.
“Cut it out, Max,” Sobel told him. “She doesn’t have money problems.”
“My brother-in-law is a good guy. Why he married Melanie is the family mystery. Well, I know why he married her. She’s beautiful. But she’s also unpleasant and a shopaholic. And don’t look at me that way, Ken. They’re going to ask their questions anyway, right?”
“Right,” McAdams said.
Sobel was angry. “I guarantee you that none of our relatives stole the panels.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Sobel,” Decker said. “But I have to start somewhere. Anyone innocent won’t mind talking to me.”
“Sure, talk to Melanie, talk
to whoever you want, I don’t care.” Sobel turned to his son-in-law. “You don’t really think that Melanie stole the panels.”
Stewart put his arm around his father-in-law. “Honestly, no. That would be a new low even for her.”
“Make us a list and we’ll take it from there,” Decker said. “Also, what about locally? Anyone in town know about the panels?”
“Just Pellman here and the other watchmen.”
“We put all the mausoleum keys in a lockbox, Mr. Sobel.”
“That doesn’t mean one of you didn’t use it.” When the caretaker blanched, Sobel said, “I’m not accusing you, Isaiah. Just saying out loud what the police are thinking.”
McAdams snapped his fingers. “What about anyone at the colleges? Maybe an art professor knew about them from your parents’ time? Littleton has been around for a while and back in my dad’s time, it was noted for bringing in local experts on regional painters and craftsmen from the area. Tiffany’s studio wasn’t all that far from here.”
The boy had a brain. Decker said, “That’s a good thought.”
“I never had any dealing with the colleges,” Sobel said.
“We can find out,” Decker said. “Would you know if the panels had ever been loaned out to a museum exhibition or recorded in a book on Tiffany?”
“Or any other art glass book?” McAdams asked.
“I don’t know,” Sobel grumped. “You don’t know how depressing this is for me.”
Stewart put his arm around his father-in-law’s shoulders. “The good news is we know the panels weren’t destroyed, Ken. They were taken by someone who wanted them because he knew what they were. And the panels can’t be sold in a reputable auction house, because there’s no provenance of ownership. So if the thief is going to sell them, he’d have to use the black market. We’ll find them. If not, you’ve got insurance.”
“I don’t want insurance. I want the works.” The man teared up. “They were my grandparents’ legacy. My grandmother commissioned them from Tiffany Studios.”
“I know.” Max kissed his cheek. “At least, we salvaged two of them. And if we need to do a facsimile of the others, I’ve got artisans who are just as talented as those at Tiffany Studios although almost anyone could do much better than those pieces of dreck.”
Murder 101: A Decker/Lazarus Novel (Decker/Lazarus Novels Book 22) Page 4