Merritt sniffed. “Even the repro is magnificent in its craftsmanship. One can only imagine what the original was like. It must have been unworldly remarkable.”
McAdams said, “What’s unworldly remarkable is that two major countries had to form a pact against Sweden.”
The art dealer managed to crack a smile. He said, “Everyone knows the room was dismantled by the Nazis. Twenty-seven crates were moved to East Berlin and then the crates went underground in Konigsberg, supposedly destroyed in a fire.”
“You have doubts?” Decker asked.
“I do. If for no other reason, it’s a romantic notion.”
McAdams was still pulling up information. “This article says that the original cartons may now be located in the bunker in Auerswalde near Chemnitz, Germany.”
“Perhaps the boxes will magically surface. You should go to St. Petersburg, Detective. See it for yourself.”
“You’re the second person who’s told me that within twenty-four hours.”
“It’s a fascinating city, specifically in its scope of grandeur.”
McAdams said, “The whole city is like Park Avenue on steroids.”
Decker said, “I was told that most of the great artworks of the Hermitage were stored in the basement of St. Isaac’s and remained there until the end of the war.”
“That’s true,” Merritt said. “Most of the great pieces survived, specifically the two Da Vinci masterpieces, but there was looting. The Hermitage did get its ounce of revenge, however.” He smiled. “Inside the museum, there are several out-of-the-way rooms entitled the Hidden Treasures. You have to look for the rooms to find them. They display marvelous works of impressionism and postimpressionism. So why aren’t the works with the Hermitage’s spectacular permanent collection?”
Decker thought a moment. “Stolen art?”
“The Russians would call it disputed art.”
“Depends whose ox is being gored.”
“You’re correct about that. It is clear that the paintings were looted from Germany. For fifty years, they sat in the basement of the Hermitage until the museum decided to do the audacious and display the pieces. Whenever the German government starts making waves about the ownership, the Russians come back with the Amber Room.
“There are quite a few people out there whose full-time occupation is recovering looted art. Most of the time, the art is hiding in plain sight. Look at the Gurlitt collection in Munich. Everyone around knew about Hildebrand Gurlitt for years, including the German government. But no one said a word. What is really needed is for violating countries to start fessing up.”
“That’s not going to happen,” McAdams said.
“I agree with you,” Merritt said. “The Vichy government looted thousands of pieces. Most of the paintings never made it back to their rightful owners. It’s rumored that billions of dollars of art is languishing in the basement of the Louvre. The museum can’t display it for obvious reasons. They won’t even admit they have it. And France was an Allied country. You’d think it would rush to do the proper thing. But where money is concerned, ethics fly out the window.”
“Politics and art,” McAdams said. “In the case of Soviet art, they’re one and the same.”
Decker nodded. “Does the name John Jeffrey Latham mean anything to you, Mr. Merritt?”
The dealer appeared to give the questions some thought. “No, I don’t think it does. Who is he?”
“How about Angeline Moreau?”
“Neither name is familiar. Who are they?”
“Could either one be a client?”
“Spell them for me, please?” When Decker complied, Merritt sat down at his computer and typed on the keyboard. “Not on my current list. What do they have to do with your case?”
“Supposedly, Latham was an expert on Soviet art,” McAdams said.
A long silence. “You used the past tense,” Merritt said.
“Our case has branched out from stolen Tiffany.” Decker gave him a brief and startling recap. “We know the theft isn’t big enough to warrant two bestial murders.”
“That’s . . .” His face was white. “Just horrible.”
“That’s why we need any help we can get.”
“I can’t help you at all. Nor do I think that I want to get involved.”
“A few more questions then we’re out of your hair,” Decker said. “Just give us some direction. What would be worth murdering over?”
“Murder is not my area of expertise, Detective.”
“But art is. What, in your opinion, what art is worth murdering over?”
“That question is obscene.”
“So is homicide. Help me out.”
Merritt sighed. “There are tens of thousands of priceless masterpieces out there.”
“I’ll narrow it down for you. What kind of Russian art work could lead to murder?”
“Oh dear . . .” He sighed. “Since we’ve been talking about Nazi looting . . . I suppose if you had the crates that contained the original Amber Room . . . well, it’s something that would be very near and dear to many a Russian heart.”
CHAPTER 21
AFTER NUMEROUS CALLS, neither Decker nor McAdams could find a connection between Angeline Moreau and any of the New York galleries. The same was true with John Jeffrey Latham. No disappointment because Decker didn’t expect anything, but it was a procedural step that had to be done. He and Rina spent Shabbat with the kids in Brooklyn, sleeping on a pull-out sofa, while McAdams luxuriated at his grandmother’s apartment on Park. The trio left the Big Apple on Sunday evening at nine, arriving in Greenbury a little before midnight. He and Harvard had switched off driving while Rina slept in the backseat.
The colleges were beacons of light in a little dark town. As Decker drove past the campuses, he heard the punctuation of drunken shouts as party-hard students wended their ways back to the dorms. A light flurry of snow was falling, enough to use the windshield wipers. As soon as Decker pulled up in front of Tyler’s house, Rina woke up and took a quick intake of air. “How long was I out?”
“About two hours,” Decker said.
McAdams opened the passenger door and in came a gush of cold air. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Old Man. Have a good night, Mrs. Decker.”
“You too, Tyler.” Rina got out of the car and moved to the front seat. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep. Now my schedule will be all messed up.”
“Maybe you needed sleep after caring nonstop for your grandchildren.”
“Isn’t that the truth? There’s a reason for having children when you’re young.”
“You are young, especially compared to me.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Your mother is ninety-three. You have many more years on this planet . . . if you don’t wear out your engine with homicide cases.”
“I hear you.” Decker parked in front of his house and killed the engine. Outside was deadly silent. “We’re going up to Summer Village tomorrow. I’m hoping the detectives had better luck with Latham because I’m not getting anywhere.”
“You can’t just call them?”
“I’ve already called them. They don’t tell me anything over the phone. I need a face-to-face. I’ve got an appointment with Chris Mulrooney. After him, I want to start looking into some of the Boston galleries since New York was a bust.”
“Are they open on Monday?”
“Some of them are. The one I’m interested in, isn’t open usually, but I have an appointment.”
“So you really think the murders have to do with the art theft?”
“Right now, it’s the only thing I have to go on.”
They both got out of the car and went into the house, Decker flicking on the hallway light. He hung up his jacket and Rina’s jacket as well. He took off his boots, his scarf, and his mittens and turned on a living
room lamp. Inside it was warm and cozy. Greenbury was beginning to feel like home. Rina had put on a kettle. “Tea?”
“Love some.” He sat down on the couch and threw his head back.
Rina sat down and put her hand on his knee. “Tell me where you are in the case.”
Decker explained what he knew so far. “Now that we have the connection between Angeline and the panels, I can at least go forward. If she and Latham were fencing stolen material, they’d need a middleman. Since Latham lived up north, I’ll try hunting around the Boston area.”
“You can do that without stepping on Summer Village’s toes?”
“That’s why I want to see them personally. We can compare notes and since they’re busier than I am, maybe they wouldn’t mind a little help.”
Rina nodded, and then she went into the kitchen to fetch the tea. They sipped a while in silence, watching the snow fall from the living room picture window. There was a light outside the house emphasizing the delicate white flakes: a live screen saver. She said, “Are you taking Tyler with you?”
“It always helps to have another point of view.” A pause. “Before we left for New York, Tyler was in the middle of searching for valuables that could be stolen from a library: things like old reference material with original prints or vintage maps or collectors’ books that could be sold on the black market. If they were stealing from graveyards, I wouldn’t put it past them to steal from libraries.”
“Makes total sense.”
“The problem is none of that material is worth killing over. Even if their fence was caught, the most he’d get is a slap on the wrist. So far I have nothing that says that Angeline was anything more than a two-bit hustler. I have nothing on Latham. I’m going to exhaust all my leads very soon. I’m missing something.” The room fell silent. “It’s times like this when I really miss Marge.”
“You do own a phone.”
“I don’t want to bother her.”
“While Ventura is a bigger city than Greenbury, it isn’t LAPD. I’m sure she’s going through ‘homicide withdrawal’ as well. And I know she loves hearing from you. It’s not late on the West Coast and you know she’s not working on Sunday. Call her up.”
Decker checked his watch as if to verify the time. “Why not? At the very least, it’ll be nice to talk to someone who doesn’t call me Old Man.”
HALFWAY THROUGH THE ride to Boston, Decker said, “I spoke to my old partner last night.” A beat. “Not my old partner, my former partner. She’s younger than me.”
“Isn’t everyone?” McAdams snapped.
Decker raised his eyebrows but said nothing. It appeared that he had hit a jealous nerve in the kid. It was always surprising what set people off.
The kid fidgeted. “Why’d you call her? Never mind. It’s none of my business. Unless you were talking about the case. Then it is my business. Aren’t you the one who told me to keep my mouth shut?”
Decker ignored his ’tude. “Her department isn’t nearly as big as LAPD, but it’s in a major city and she has access to a lot more databases than we do. I’ve asked her to look into any art crime that might have involved homicide within the last five years. It’d be interesting to see if she comes up with anything new.”
McAdams was silent. He sipped coffee from a thermos.
“Anything left in that thing?” Decker asked.
“Dregs.”
They drove for five minutes without speaking. Then Decker spotted a Dunkin’ Donuts. “Let’s get a refill.”
“Doughnuts and coffee. Very cop of you.”
“You want something to eat? I’m going to get a bagel.” When McAdams remained silent, Decker said, “I’ll take that as a no.” It took him five minutes to make the round-trip. When he came back, he unwrapped his bagel and took a bite. “Sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m fine, okay?”
“Sure.” Decker continued eating.
McAdams blew out air. Then he got out of the car and came back a minute later with his own bagel and a cup of coffee. “Did she have anything illuminating to add to the case?”
“She’s smart enough not to offer opinions without having the facts in front of her. Mostly she just listened to my frustration. She agrees with us, that it has to be something more than just a couple of Tiffany panels.”
“Insightful, that woman is. What’s her name again? Maude?”
“Marge Dunn. She and her fiancé may come out in the summer to visit.”
“How old is she?”
“Marge is a little older than Rina’s age . . . early fifties. We both left LAPD at the same time. I don’t miss the department, but I do miss her. You’re with someone that long, it’s like a marriage.”
“Was she your little piece of action on the side?”
Slowly, Decker smiled. “No, she was not my little piece of action on the side. I don’t have action on the side. I’m a true blue guy. But I thank you for the compliment: that I could get action on the side . . . had I wanted it.”
McAdams just shook his head. “You are absolutely unflappable.”
“I’ve asked Marge to look up Jason Merritt, Maxwell Stewart, and Chase Goddard. See if any of them has ever been in trouble before. It would help to know Goddard’s background before we see him.”
“What’d she tell you?”
“I called her last night.” Decker checked his watch. “It’s seven in the morning on the West Coast. I’m hoping to hear from her in a couple of hours. In the meantime, we can talk to the Summer Village PD, a guy named Chris Mulrooney. They’re done with the search of Latham’s apartment. Mulrooney was generous enough to share what they found . . . which doesn’t look like much so far. We’re meeting with him at eleven.”
“What about Latham’s computer?” McAdams asked.
“The dees didn’t find his computer. They’re trying to find his e-mail server via his phone service but that takes a warrant. They’re hoping to have it today or tomorrow along with his phone and text logs. If he was using a throwaway phone like Angeline, we probably won’t find much, but no stone unturned, right?”
The kid rubbed his eyes. “Do we know that Angeline was definitely using a throwaway phone?”
“We do. Ben Roiters texted me last night during dinner. He found the mobile phone store where she bought her throwaways. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”
McAdams’s face darkened. “No prob, boss. What I think doesn’t matter anyway.”
Decker shrugged and finished his bagel. He wiped his hands, put the key in the ignition, and started up the engine. “There’s a CPR class at the hospital this Sunday. It’s given by the local Red Cross. I could use a refresher. Want to come with me?”
“No, I don’t . . .” McAdams stopped himself. “Yeah, sure, why not. I’ll come. Never can tell when a date might choke on a potato chip.” He stared out the window. “Next thing I know, you’ll be asking me to come down to the shooting range.”
Decker pulled the car onto the highway. “I’d be happy to give you a few pointers.”
“I don’t own a gun.”
“That can be remedied. I’m most comfortable with a Beretta 92FS or 92F 9 mm: they’re standard LAPD issue. Do you know anything about guns and ammo?”
“Mike taught me a few things about slugs and casings and bullets from different types of guns. Since it hasn’t been remotely relevant to anything I’ve done here, I don’t remember much.”
“It won’t take you long to learn if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested.”
“What about going to the range with me?”
The kid sighed. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll get a gun for you and we can start whenever you want.”
McAdams clenched his jaw. “I’m having a hard time figuring you out . . . whether you’re friend or foe.”
�
��I’m, neither, Harvard. I’m a professional. I want a partner who knows CPR in case I choke on a potato chip. As far as the guns go, I don’t expect it to happen, but should we ever be in a situation with our backs to the wall, I’d prefer a partner who could shoot. And I do apologize for not telling you about Ben’s text. It was during the family dinner and Rina said no business. And then because I’m senile, I forgot to tell you.”
“I know I’m being touchy and obnoxious.” A pause. “So you consider me your partner.”
“I’ve been assigned to ride with you, so yes, you are at present my partner. And for a rookie who hasn’t had much formal police training, you’re not half bad. And if you’d lose the chip on your shoulder, you could be very good because you’re not only smart, you’re organized and that’s even more important than smart. And since you are my current partner, I’d appreciate if you stopped calling me Old Man. I don’t need to be reminded of my age.”
McAdams tried stifling a smile. It didn’t work. “I don’t mean anything by it, but if it’s important to you, I’ll stop.”
Decker waited a beat. “Maybe I’m being touchy. I’ll stop calling you Harvard if it bothers you.”
“It did bother me at first . . . like you were mocking me.” A pause. “Were you mocking me?”
“Of course.”
“You can call me Harvard although it’s not such a badge of honor. Lots of mediocre minds there.” A smile. “I’m just not one of them.”
Decker smiled and pointed to the kid’s iPhone. “As long as I’m driving, start phoning the Boston galleries on the list. They should be open by now. Let’s get a schedule going so we won’t be wasting time. We can start meeting with them at around 12:30. Our appointment with Chase Goddard isn’t until 3:00.”
“I can do that.” McAdams picked up the phone and regarded the list the two of them had prepared. “A lot of them are on Newbury Street. I’ll start there and pick up as many as we can do on foot. Parking is terrible. Once we find a spot, we’ll want to camp out as long as we can. I know you don’t mind walking. You certainly do a lot of it.”
Murder 101: A Decker/Lazarus Novel (Decker/Lazarus Novels Book 22) Page 22