Vengeance Is Personal (A Colton James Novel, Book 2)

by Thomas DePrima

  "Somewhere between Milan and San Francisco, the twelve artwork transportation cases containing the paintings were opened, the paintings removed, and dummy substitutes inserted." I knew that the entire cases had actually been substituted, but I didn't want to share that information with anyone yet.

  "That's impossible. The only place the cases would have been accessible would have been at the customs station at Newark. And nothing of that sort could have taken place there."

  "And yet, the paintings were indeed stolen somewhere between Milan and San Francisco while in the care of your company."

  "Are you making a formal accusation, Agent James?" Mangini asked.

  "Not at this time, Mr. Mangini. And when I make a charge, there's never any ambiguity about it. Thank you both for your time. Good day."

  As I rode back to my hotel in a cab, I thought about the discussion. I didn't know if either of them was involved, but it never hurt to stir the pot just a little to see what floated to the top.

  ~

  Once back in my room I ordered two pots of coffee. I expected it to be a marathon session as I tried to identify all the players in this heist. It might be impossible if they had never met face to face, but I had to try. At the very least I needed to identify who was in possession of the one painting in Oakland, so I worked on that first.

  It didn't take long to learn who had possession of the painting that had been separated from the others. I didn't even try to suppress a laugh. The individual was a quite famous congressman, having retired and moved from his home state to California. I laughed because who was more likely to buy a stolen painting or commission its theft than someone used to believing they were always above the law?

  I'd read that in at least one state in the Midwest, the police can't even arrest a sitting politician for other than a capital offense. As long as they continue to get reelected, they have the ultimate in immunity. Judging from the number of politicians at the federal level who have been tried and sentenced to jail terms, no such protections were afforded to them, except for the President and Vice-President, who could only be impeached.

  Learning who had the twelfth painting concluded the easy part of the investigation. Trying to associate the dynamic duo who actually committed the crime with the person pulling the strings seemed an impossible task. I did learn that the woman was the brains of the duo. But watching her day and night by skipping ahead five minutes every few seconds for the weeks before the theft produced nothing but bloodshot eyes. She spent a lot of time on the phone, but almost all calls were incoming on one of the old style landline phones without a display. The outgoing calls were not to any one person or business.

  After several days of making no progress with the thieves, I changed tactics. I went back to the robbery and wrote down all the information I could see on the phony cargo container outfitted as the hiding and storage place of the two thieves. It was too dark in the plane, so I jumped back to before it was loaded and examined it from every angle.

  The information necessitated another trip to see Mrs. Weinwright. She was a little more cordial this time, perhaps because her supervisor wasn't there. She took the container information and ran the numbers through her desk computer.

  "This container record is confusing. According to the file, the container had been damaged and removed from service at the Newark terminal. But then it was scheduled to be sent here, where it was to be put into storage."

  "And was it?"

  "Yes, according to the records it traveled on the same plane as the art shipment, and after being unloaded it was taken to our rehabilitation area where we fix containers and put them back into service."

  "And has it been returned to service?"

  "No, not yet."

  "Would it be possible to see it?"

  "Of course. Come with me."

  Fifteen minutes later we were at the reclamation area and the supervisor was conducting a search for the container. After having a clerk check the computer and a member of his staff perform a physical check in the yard, he accessed the computer personally.

  "It doesn't seem to be here, Mrs. Weinwright," he said finally. "And there's no record of it ever coming in or going out."

  "Come on, Pete. The computer inventory says it was sent here for evaluation and rehabilitation."

  "Your information comes from the transportation files, and that database does, in fact, state that it was sent here. But the rehab file is a separate database, and there's no record of it ever being logged in here."

  Mrs. Weinwright turned to me and said, "I'm sorry Agent James. It appears we have a missing container. Perhaps it will turn up at some point. I'll have IT put a flag on that number in the transportation database, and if it is ever used again, I'll let you know."

  "Okay, Mrs. Weinwright. Thank you for your efforts today."

  "May I ask how you came to focus on that container number?"

  "I'm sorry, but I can't discuss the details of my investigation at this time."

  "I simply thought that if I knew more, I might be of more assistance."

  "I wish I could share, but I can't. I'll continue to investigate the matter, and when I find your missing container, I'll let you know. Good day."

  I was trying to make it appear that I was solving the case through real investigative work, so I was following the procedures I believed other investigators would employ. If the SFPD was still following up on my investigation, they'd learn what I just had. They wouldn't know how I'd learned about the missing container, but they would now know about it being missing and put two and two together. If they found it and were able to associate it with the two thieves, they might also learn about the private garage where the eleven paintings were stored. If the thieves had been smart, they would have rented the garage under an alias, but dumb crooks were what allow the police to stay in the game, considering all the rules that handicapped their ability to solve crimes. In any event, it was time to tell Saul about the garage.

  ~

  Before I called Saul, I verified that the eleven paintings were still in the garage in the Fillmore District. They were, so I placed the call. It was after company hours, but I had his private number so I could reach him at any time, just as he had mine.

  "Hi, Saul," I said as he answered.

  "Colt, tell me you have good news."

  "I have good news."

  "You've recovered all of the artwork?"

  "No. I have to leave the recovery to you. But I can tell you where you'll find it. At least most of it."

  "How much is most of it?"

  "I believe you'll find eleven of the twelve pieces."

  "And do you know where the twelfth painting is?"

  "Not yet, Saul, but I thought this information might get the Board off your back. They'll see that you're making real progress."

  "Yes, yes, thank you. They've been driving me crazy."

  "I think this was a 'steal to order' case like the one in Boston, so the missing painting has been sent on to the person who ordered it."

  "What about the thieves?"

  "I've just sent you an email that contains the names of the two thieves who actually performed the heist, the address where they live here in San Francisco, and the address of the garage where the eleven paintings are currently located. I'd have the police pick the thieves up before recovering the paintings so they don't hear about the recovery and take off."

  "Yes, definitely. So you know how the theft was accomplished?"

  "I believe so, but I'm still trying to fit some pieces into the puzzle. I'll keep working on it and keep you updated as I learn more."

  "Great. Thanks Colt. I'm going to get our legal staff here involved and working with the San Francisco Police that's investigating the crime so they can round up your two suspects and get a search warrant for the garage."

  "Okay, Saul. Good night."

  I decided it was time to track the phony cargo container from the time the plane landed to learn when the paintings were actual
ly removed for transportation to the storage location and to learn what had happened to the container. The ability to jump around in time had meant that I didn't have to watch everything in chronological order as I used the gizmo, and I had gotten used to taking shortcuts so I had the most important information as soon as possible.

  When the phony container had been removed from the plane, it was temporarily placed with all the others. I saw the armored truck arrive and collect the substituted cases from the genuine container, then leave. The phony container just sat there as activity in the area slowed to almost nothing in the hours following. I would have expected the other containers to be emptied and their contents sorted and stored away somewhere, but I guessed that would be done when the first shift arrived in the morning.

  It was almost five a.m. when a forklift came and picked up the phony container. The operator took it around the side of the building and placed it onto a waiting flatbed truck. I used my smart phone to take a picture of the forklift operator. I also tagged him and would learn later who he was. I then photographed and tagged the security guard who opened the gate so the truck could leave the area and tagged the truck driver after making a note of the license plate number.

  Many times the minions had no idea what was really going down. They only knew that somebody had given them a week's pay for doing five minutes' work they could later deny knowing anything about. Sometimes they got away with such behavior for years but then got caught and wound up with a criminal record that ensured they were never able to get a position of trust again.

  It was the part of law enforcement I hated— prosecuting the little fish while the big fish just hired more guppies. Of course, sometimes the guppies knew more than the big fish was aware they knew and were able to help bring down the kingfish in exchange for a get-out-of-jail card, and sometimes they simply disappeared, never to be heard from again unless their body floated to the surface.

  The truck driver took the phony container to a small warehouse with a garage door large enough to accommodate the truck and its load. As soon as the truck came to a stop inside the building and the door was closed, a forklift lifted the container off the truck and lowered it to the floor.

  As the forklift backed away, a man walked to the container and rapped his knuckles on the top in a sequence that suggested a pre-arranged code. I zoomed in to catch the signal, but I missed it. I would have to back up at some point to learn the code.

  As the man stepped back out of the gizmo image, the top rose and the smiling face of the male half of the robbery team appeared. I pulled back and watched as the duo passed the cases and all of their equipment out of the container. They used a flashlight to make sure they had everything, then hopped out and closed the top lid. After smiles and congratulations all around, eleven of the cases were put into the back of small van. One of the cases was put into the trunk of a car. I knew exactly where that was going.

  The forklift driver then picked up the container and put it back on the flatbed truck.

  As the truck driver backed the truck out of the warehouse, I decided to stay with the truck and come back to the warehouse later. The sun was up and people were heading to work, so traffic was getting heavy.

  After crossing over the San Mateo Bridge, the driver dropped the phony container off at a recycling center in Union City. I jumped ahead and learned that the container was still there, although it was half buried under a growing pile of recycled stuff. I wondered if the driver had been told to dispose of it where it would never be found but had then decided he could get a few more dollars by recycling it. It didn't really matter as long as the container was still there when the police arrived to retrieve it.

  I spent the next several hours learning the identities of all the people I had witnessed playing a role, however small, in the robbery. I was glad it wasn't my job to decide on the charges that would be pressed or on the innocence or guilt of the people involved.

  ~

  It was after two a.m. when I finished typing up my complete report on my laptop. I was beat and glad to be finished with this case. I sent a copy to Saul's email address at the insurance company and went to bed. Since it was after five a.m. in New York City, he'd be reading it in a few hours.

  ~ ~

  I usually got up early unless Mia and I had partied too much the previous night, but I slept in the next morning because I had worked so late. I was awakened by someone pounding on the door.

  I pulled on a robe, grabbed my Glock 23 from the holster, and opened the door a crack. It was the cop from the zoo that I had briefly spoken to at the giraffe pen.

  "Yeah, what is it?"

  "Special Agent James, my captain would like to see you."

  "Sure. Send him in."

  "He'd prefer you came to him."

  "What time is it?"

  "Nine twelve."

  "Okay, tell him I'll see him at eleven."

  "He's waiting to see you now."

  "Are you placing me under arrest?"

  "I hope I won't have to do that."

  "What would you charge me with? Oversleeping while you had to be at work?"

  "Look, will you please come with me."

  "Yes, but first I have to shower and shave."

  "How long."

  "Half-hour."

  "I'll be back."

  "I'm sure."

  I didn't hurry, but I didn't dawdle either, so I was dressed and ready when the detective came back. When I opened the door part way, I said, "May I see your ID, please?"

  After looking at it, I opened the door the rest of the way and let him see me slip my Glock 23 into the shoulder holster under my left arm.

  "Were you expecting someone else?"

  "I always expect the unexpected. It keeps me breathing. People have tried to punch my ticket a few times."

  "Yeah, we don't make many friends in this business, other than our brother and sister officers."

  "For sure. Okay, Detective Lt. Hooper. Shall we go?"

  "For sure, Special Agent James."

  ~

  "Good morning, Special Agent James," Captain Fasko said. "Thank you for coming in."

  "My pleasure, Captain. How can I help you?"

  "We received a request overnight to detain two of our citizens as suspects in the theft of priceless paintings. According to the request, you identified them as the people who actually committed the theft. Can you tell me how you know that?"

  "Did you also get a request to search a one-car garage in the Fillmore District?"

  "Yes, we did."

  "And did you search the garage?"

  "Not yet. We just received the search warrant this morning. We had to wait until a judge was available."

  "That's too bad. The evidence you seek was there."

  "Was?"

  "Since it's taken you so long to get the search warrant, it may be long gone. Did you arrest the suspects? Or at least bring them in for questioning?"

  "Not yet."

  "Hmm. I wonder if they're still in the city."

  "Why do you believe the art is gone and the suspects have fled?"

  "Simple. This robbery has shown us that the thieves had access to the inner circle of people involved in the transportation of the paintings. In other words, they're connected."

  "Connected to what?"

  "It's connected to whom. And I'm simply saying that they've had access to highly confidential information. They may have already received orders to get out of town as fast as possible, or at least to go into hiding."

  "You're saying that someone in my department would have warned them?"

  "Would it be the first time someone on a police force, or at least someone with access to such information, was in the employ of criminals?"

  "I don't like your inference, Special Agent James."

  "I don't much care for it myself. But that doesn't mean it isn't accurate. It's easy to prove or disprove. Simply send someone to bring them in for questioning. If they're gone, their apartment will prob
ably show signs of a hasty departure."

  "Getting back to my initial question, why do you suspect these two individuals were involved?"

  "Did you check their criminal history records?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why is it you don't suspect them of being involved? Their arrest records clearly show them as decidedly recidivistic and both capable of pulling off this theft."

  "In San Francisco we must have probable cause. So far you haven't provided any."

  "Your probable cause is, or at least was, in that garage."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I'm not prepared to name my sources."

  "Then I'm not prepared to waste the time of my officers."

  "What kind of a department are you running here, Captain? You can have your officers waste their time following me around the city hoping to learn how I solve crimes, or coming to my hotel to wake me up and bring me here so you can learn how I know what I know, but not arrest repeat felons and bring them in for questioning after I've identified them as the thieves who committed a major crime?"

  "The two people you identified are citizens of this community. You're an outsider." With a slight sneer he added, "From New York City."

  "Fine. If enforcing the law doesn't interest you, I'm wasting my time here."

  * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I turned and left Fasko's office, then walked briskly to the building exit. I hailed a cab on the street and fumed all the way back to my hotel. But there was nothing I could do. If the police captain wouldn't detain suspects because he was afraid someone else would be credited with solving the case, especially someone from New York City, I was wasting my time talking to them.

  When I reached my floor and walked to my room, I found Hooper standing in the hall outside.

  "You made good time, Detective," I said.

  "It's the flashing lights and siren. They make all the difference."