by Noah Charney
In the middle of the room stood a wooden easel, on which lay a large canvas, blank except for a layer of white gesso. Daniela came up behind Gabriel and stood with her hands on his shoulders, as he sat on a stool, facing the canvas. Beside him, his work table contained a coffee mug full of brushes, all bristle-end up; a glass jar of swabs; and bottles of liquids, labeled in accurate capital letters, which his surgically precise hands manipulated. Coffin applied a sterile cloth, chemically soaked, to the waiting canvas and, with his gentle stroke, he peeled back the liquidy layer of gesso.
His first touch revealed the face of a young woman, her neck craned backward, as if surprised by her lover, who peeks in at her through the tiny window in the gesso wall that hid her secret.
Daniela exhaled. “Mary’s never looked so beautiful.”
“Funny how white obscures. It should be a semantic impossibility,” Gabriel mused. “Looks rather like she’s peering out a snowbound windowpane.”
“She’s been buried for a long time. Let’s leave her to rest for the moment. We have all the time in the world with her now. She must be tired after all that she’s been through.”
“All right. Just give me a moment alone with her.”
Daniela kissed the top of Gabriel’s head and left the small room, closing the door behind her.
Coffin turned to the gessoed canvas before him. The little, clean square revealed the face of Mary. She looked tired, and perhaps a little sad, captured in perpetuity, hearing the words of the archangel that imparted the cross onto her fragile, innocent shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered to her. “I’ll protect you.”
He stood and switched off the light.
Before he left the room, Coffin paused and turned back to the painting, nestled in the darkness. One thief was saved. He smiled.
“Trust in thieves.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All of my friends shape my creative process, and most will hear an echo of our shared experiences in the body of this novel. I hope that these allusions made you smile. But I would like to single out for special thanks those who helped most directly to make this novel what it is.
To David Simon, Michael Marlais, and Veronique Plesch, who made me an art historian. To Boylan and Mills, who taught me that what I write is of a merit greater than I conceived. To my friends and colleagues in the art and police worlds, particularly Bob Wittman, Bob Goldman, Dennis Ahern, Vernon Rapley, Silvia Ciotti, and Gianni Pastore who, through their confidence in me, propelled my voyage upon the uncharted seas of the study of art crime.
To my friends who helped me with their suggestions and edits, especially Sophy Downes and Patrick Tonks. To Katie Williams, for being the first professional to see promise in my work. To Peter Borland, who is an exceptional editor, the best friend a young novel could have. And to Lois Wallace, for taking me in as the youngest member of her legendary and exclusive client list…and because she rocks.
For more information on real art crimes,
and to learn how you can help to solve them,
please go to www.artcrime.info.