Murder 101: A Decker/Lazarus Novel (Decker/Lazarus Novels Book 22)

by Kellerman, Faye

  “Don’t look at me. I grew up around the block. Park and Sixty-Eighth.”

  “Why don’t I know you?”

  “Probably because I was shipped off to Phillips when I was a kid.”

  “Phillips Andover?”

  “Phillips Exeter.”

  “Oh. Do you know Joey Seldano?”

  “He was two classes below me. First string point guard. Did you play basketball?”

  “Yeah. Joey and I used to go one-on-one all the time.” Livingston looked at him. “You’re a cop?”

  “A Harvard-educated cop,” Decker broke in. “What else did Angeline tell you about Latham?”

  “Just what I said. He was some kind of university fellow.”

  “That part is true,” McAdams said. “He did win a fellowship . . . the Windsor Prize.”

  Livingston shrugged ignorance. “She also told me that he was connected.”

  “Connected how?” Decker asked.

  “She didn’t elaborate and to tell you the truth, I wasn’t that interested. I had other things on my mind.”

  “She must have told you something, Livingston,” Decker said. “Did she say he was rich, that he was political, that he had friends in high places . . . think!”

  “A novel concept,” Max muttered.

  “Please,” Decker pleaded. “What did she tell you about him?”

  “Just that he went to Oxford and was brilliant. That he knew a lot of really rich people. When I asked her to name names, she wouldn’t do it. I thought she was pulling the story out of her butt.”

  Decker thought a moment. “Do you know if Angeline ever worked in any city art gallery?”

  “I don’t know.”

  McAdams said, “I can make phone calls to some of the galleries.”

  “Yeah, we should do that.”

  Livingston said, “How was she killed?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I haven’t gotten the coroner’s report back.”

  “So how do you know she was murdered? Maybe she ODed or probably drank herself to death. She binged, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “So how do you know it was murder?”

  “Because where we found her was definitely a crime scene.”

  “God, that’s nauseating,” Max said.

  Livingston put his hand to his mouth and then looked at his watch. “Can I go now? I was just trying to be a Good Samaritan and as usual, it backfired.”

  Decker nodded. The kid got up unceremoniously, grabbed his coat, and was off. When he was gone, Max said, “I didn’t comport myself very well. I apologize. He gets under my skin. He gets under everyone’s skin.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance that he was in on the theft? It would make a difference in how we handled the investigation.”

  “Well, he came here to tell me about it. If he was in on it, I don’t think he would have done that.” He sighed. “What did you want to see me about?”

  “Can you spare me an hour?”

  “I need coffee and a nosh first. There’s a sandwich place around the corner.”

  “I don’t want to talk in a public place,” Decker said.

  “I’ll have Jill order out then.” Max rubbed his neck. “God, what a mess! And here I was worrying about a few Tiffany panels. How old was she—the girl?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “God, that’s terrible. Her parents know?”

  “Yes.”

  “My kids are little, under someone’s care all the time.” He regarded Decker. “How do you ever let them go?”

  “You pray a lot and hope for the best.”

  “And you think the girl’s murder is related to the theft?”

  “Yes, especially now that I found out that she knew about the Tiffany panels’ existence.”

  “So what’s the next step?”

  Decker said, “That’s why we’re here to talk to you. But get your food first. I’d love some coffee and a bite to eat. I’m sure McAdams would as well.”

  “Blueberry muffin if they have it and coffee would be fine,” McAdams said. “Cream no sugar.”

  “And you, Detective?”

  “Black coffee. Maybe fruit—apple, orange, or banana.” Decker fished out a twenty, then thought better of it. This was Manhattan. He fished out two twenties. “On the department.”

  “Sure. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll talk in my office.” He shook his head sadly. “Look, we can talk now. I can wait to eat.”

  “Max, I make it a rule to never talk to anyone on an empty stomach—his, yours, or mine.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THE OFFICE WAS cramped with desktops filled with paperwork. Max had cleared a small spot for the food and coffee. No coasters were needed. The furniture was weathered and scarred. As he ate a muffin, Max’s eyes scanned down the list of names. His expression was strained. “If the Rhode Island detectives didn’t find anything to indict the dealers on, I don’t see the point in adding to the rumor mill.”

  Decker kept his frustrations in check—almost. “You know we’re beyond locating the stolen Tiffany panels or solving the Petroshkovich icon thefts. We’re looking for dangerous people who slaughtered two human beings. We’re going to check out everyone on the list. I’m just asking you where to start.”

  Max played with the knot in his tie. “Check out Jason Merritt on Sixty-Third. Not that I think he’s done anything wrong. The Merritt gallery has been in family hands for almost a hundred years.”

  Decker waited.

  Max said, “His grandfather dealt in Russian icons. Like Armand Hammer, he was one of the few people who had access to Russia when it was dominated by Soviet rule. I’ve never heard that he looted anything, but he probably paid bottom dollar for religious items because postwar Russia was in shambles. People needed money and no one was interested in anything religious. Since the gallery still deals in Russian icons, it’s a good place to start.” Max turned quiet. “The second murder happened in Boston?”

  “Outside of Boston,” McAdams said. “In Summer Village near Tufts.”

  “I’m curious why you think someone in New York is responsible when both murders took place north of here.”

  “The Marylebone detectives also started in New York. But if you have something you want to tell me about other cities, I’m here to listen.” Decker regarded the man’s downward eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing. I’m just making a simple statement—that there are lots of galleries other than the ones in New York.”

  Decker said, “Max, people who are not psychotic or psychopathic murder for mundane reasons: to keep a secret, unrequited love, pathological jealousy, to usurp power—and money. You want to find a killer, go down the money trail. The New York galleries deal in the big money. That’s why I’m here.”

  “I can’t help you with a killer. That’s a fact.” Silence. “Detective, my family has spent a lifetime building up this gallery. I really don’t want to get involved in something pernicious.”

  McAdams said, “It was your father-in-law’s pieces that started the whole thing.” He shrugged. “You’re already involved.”

  “This is just a nightmare!” Max looked down. “I’m not accusing anyone of anything, okay. This is just a thought. Chase Goddard bought a Boston gallery two years ago. It is now the eponymous Goddard Gallery. Chase first opened a fine arts and antique store in New York in 2006 or 2007. Needless to say his timing was off because of the recession and he closed two years later. Then I heard he was up in the Boston area.”

  “What kind of art does the Goddard Gallery deal in?”

  “Not Russian icons.” Stewart shrugged. “If it’s similar to his New York gallery, it’s mostly small antique pieces, but some fine arts. I’ve never been there so I don’t know what he specializes in.”

&n
bsp; “What did he sell in the New York gallery?”

  “It featured eighteenth- and nineteenth-century genre paintings, English and continental antique furniture, and smaller objets d’art of the period. A few twentieth-century pieces . . . nothing to write home about. In the main, it was a little of this and a little of that.”

  McAdams showed Decker his smartphone. He had pulled up the Goddard Gallery website. “A little of this and a little of that.”

  “Can I see?” Max asked.

  “Sure.”

  Max perused the website for a minute. “Yeah, like his New York place.”

  Decker said, “If Goddard folded shop in 2007, where did he get the money to buy the new gallery?”

  Max bit his lower lip. “Some people were asking the same question. Chase not only bought out the lease, but a good portion of the old inventory, which, judging from the website, isn’t superpricey. But there’s a lot of it.”

  “Okay.” Decker sipped coffee. “What else?”

  “What makes you think there’s a ‘what else’?”

  “I read people for a living. You’ve come this far. Don’t stop now.”

  “Chase would buy from a lot of different sources,” Max said. “That’s not unusual. We all do. Our inventory depends on many different sources. But Chase had a reputation of skirting around provenance.”

  “He bought hot items?” Decker asked.

  “I didn’t say that. Just that he wasn’t as meticulous as maybe he should have been. We all slip up. We all get burned. Chase seemed to have more incidents of slipping up. I have nothing more to add. I’ve given you a starting point—several starting points. Good-bye and good luck.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  But Max didn’t move. He bit his thumbnail. “The panels are still missing and now there are two murdered people. Do I have any reason to be concerned for my safety?”

  Decker held up the list. “I’m just checking out art dealers who were in the Petroshkovich file. No reason it should come back to you.”

  “The Goddard Gallery isn’t on the list,” Max pointed out.

  “Latham’s murder took place up north. So it’s reasonable for me or Summer Village PD to check out galleries in the area.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “I understand. You have security at the gallery. It might make sense to beef it up until we know more.”

  “Could I ask a favor of you? Could you not come here anymore? I’ll talk on the phone but unless you have something urgent, could you stay clear of my family?”

  “No problem. Thanks for your help.” Decker got up. “Maybe the next time we talk, I’ll give you good news.”

  “That can be done on the telephone as well.”

  They shook hands and left it at that.

  Decker and McAdams walked out the door and into a blast of cold. It was five-thirty in the evening, dark, frigid, and depressing. The kid rubbed his gloved hands. “What now?”

  “It’s too late to go over to the Merritt Gallery. We’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s walk back to my stepson’s apartment and go over the Petroshkovich files.”

  “I see you don’t believe in cabs?”

  “It’s a ten-minute walk.”

  McAdams had to pick up his pace to keep up with Decker’s long stride. “Do you think he’s in danger?”

  “Max?” Decker shook his head. “Not really. But if he wants extra security, why not? If anyone’s in danger, it would be us. We’re the ones stirring up the pot.”

  “Peachy!”

  Decker smiled. “No one forced you to join up, McAdams.”

  “Greenbury is the new Mayberry. Nothing ever happens there.”

  “Until it does.”

  “Thank you for allaying my fears.”

  Decker laughed. “I’m just messing with you, Harvard. Just about every detective I’ve ever known has retired safe and sound with a good pension. If anyone gets whacked, it’s usually the poor patrolman on a routine traffic stop.”

  But McAdams remained troubled. “For the record, how often do detectives get whacked because of what they’re investigating?”

  “Rare.”

  “Can you quantify your answer more precisely?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever gotten shot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me it happened in ’Nam.”

  “No, it happened when I was chasing down some stupid kid around twenty-five years ago. I was shot in the shoulder.” Decker lifted and rotated his arm. “All healed.”

  “This is not reassuring.”

  “If you’re nervous, you know I can go it alone. You’ve got nothing to prove with me, Harvard. Do I think anything will happen? No. Can I guarantee it? No. But if it’s going to prey on your mind, you won’t be able to concentrate. You have my blessing to remove yourself from the case, no judgment and I mean that sincerely.”

  “You’re not worried?”

  “I’m a drug addict, Tyler. I thrive on adrenaline. This is the happiest I’ve been in six months.”

  The kid was quiet. Then he said, “I’m here as long as you want me here.”

  “Okay. But if you change your mind, no harm, no foul.”

  “The truth is, Decker, for the first time in my life, I’ve actually felt useful. I feel energized and the danger only adds to it. Yeah, I’m a little scared. But what really disturbs me is I like being a little scared.”

  “A little scared is good. It keeps you on your toes. It’s when you’re cocky that bad things happen.”

  “What if you’re cocky and scared?”

  “Then you’ve just described the ideal homicide detective.”

  WITH A GLIDE in her walk, Nina McAdams came in on the arm of her stepgrandson. She was thin, blond, and beautiful, wearing a black chiffon skirt and a silk top. What was truly humbling was that she was only ten years older than Decker. While he’d just gotten used to working with people young enough to be his son, he was now working with someone who was young enough to be his grandson.

  The woman looked around the crowded table filled with Decker’s children, stepchildren, spouses, and significant others as well as Yasmine and two of her roommates, Jenny Lee and Katy Bera.

  “My Gawd, this isn’t a dinner, it’s a party.” Nina regarded Decker. “Are all these yours?”

  Tyler said, “Behave yourself.”

  “Why should she,” Jacob said. “No one else does.”

  “We are happy to claim ownership to all of them,” Rina told her.

  Nina sat between Tyler and Decker. After all the introductions were made, Nina patted Decker’s hand and said, “You have a veritable UN here.”

  Tyler turned red. Decker smiled. The woman spoke the truth. Koby was from Ethiopia, Yasmine’s family was from Iran while her two roommates, Jenny and Katy, were from Taiwan and India, respectively. Hannah’s fiancé, Raphy, was a Colombian Jew.

  Rina said, “If the state ever mandates diversity within families, we will have complied.”

  “Have a drink, Nina,” McAdams told her. “Or . . . maybe not.”

  “How about we all have a drink?” She picked up the wine list and perused the selections. She sniffed. “I don’t believe I know any of these labels.”

  “Probably because they’re kosher wines,” Rina said. “A lot of them are very good.”

  “How about this one?” She pointed to the most expensive bottle. “Herzog To Kalon? Did I pronounce that correctly?”

  “You did.” Rina winced. It was over two hundred dollars a bottle. “Sure, let’s get a bottle.”

  “One bottle? Let’s get four. And don’t worry, young lady. I’m paying.”

  “Told you,” Tyler said to Decker.

  “We invited you, Mrs. McAdams,” Decker said.

  “It’s Nina and p
ish on that. I know what poor Tyler makes. It’s appalling! And even with your pension from somewhere, this is a large crowd. It would be my pleasure and I won’t hear of anything else. So let’s spend a lovely Wednesday night eating, drinking, and being merry.” To punctuate her sentence, she picked up a menu and everyone else did likewise. Within moments, the table buzzed with conversation.

  Decker spoke across the table to Cindy and Koby, “Thanks for making the trip.”

  “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammad . . .”

  “I’ll come. I promise. I’m dying to see my boys again.”

  “They miss Grandpa,” Koby said. “I miss him as well.”

  Decker smiled. “Who’s watching the boys?”

  “My partner, Mary, and Koby’s classmate, Alicia,” Cindy said. “They met at a party at our house and are now an item.”

  Nina said. “So you have the gay thing covered as well.”

  Tyler put his hands to his forehead. Sammy said, “This is nothing.” He cocked a finger at Decker. “You should meet his mother.”

  “Leave Ida alone,” Rina said. “She’s lovely.”

  Rachel said, “I think I’m getting the short ribs.” She looked at Jacob’s girlfriend, Ilana. “You want to split it?”

  “Sure, I’ll split it with you.”

  Jacob banged a spoon against some stemware and stood up. Everyone looked at him. Hannah said, “Make it quick, Yonkie.”

  “Just a few words.”

  “It better be, Yonkie, I’m hungry,” Sammy turned to Tyler. “He likes to make announcements.”

  Hannah said, “He’s sentimental.”

  Cindy said, “In all fairness, how often are we all together?” She looked at Yasmine. “You’re here along with Gabe’s spirit.”

  “I’ll fill him in when he gets home.”

  “Where is he?” Hannah asked.

  “Uh, Japan . . . Osaka.”

  “A lovely place,” Nina said. “Especially compared to Tokyo.” She turned to Rina. “Have you been?”