“Wow,” responded Anthony, sitting back in the booth, folding his hands under his chin, as if in silent prayer. “You certainly know how to start off a breakfast meeting with a bang.” He smiled. “I promise not to interrupt, that is until you tell me that it is all right to do so.”
She started by explaining what they had found about the di Bernardi Foundation, that it had assets of close to a billion dollars, most of which was in artwork and that Anthony was the sole benefactor. She explained that his signature and that of Daddi, Lippi and Berlinghieri were found to be close enough under forensic analysis to be considered evidence in court, and that, in all likelihood, they had been signed by the same person. She mentioned how she found it strange that he used the exact same palette of colors no matter which artist he was working on. She told him that they had talked with the director at the Ufizzi and he told them that Anthony Bataglia had started working as a restorer thirty-six years ago and that his best estimate was that he should be well into his sixties by now. She said that she wasn’t sure what was going on with the women with the elongated finger but she was sure there was something that tied it all together and connected Anthony to those paintings. Finally, she told him why she had left his apartment so quickly the other night. That she had seen the multiple copies of the various artists in his studio. She spoke for almost fifteen minutes with little more than a pause to sip her coffee. When she was done, she laid her hands flat on the table and looked at him.
“That’s what we’ve found. Do you have any questions?”
Anthony had remained relatively impassive during her presentation of the evidence. He had nodded at times, not necessarily in agreement, but in acknowledgement that he understood what she was saying. He rubbed his chin with the palm of his hand with a thoughtful expression as he assimilated all that she had said.
“I think that I only have one question at this point. When you say ‘we,’ who are you referring to?”
“I mentioned to you that my father was a lead detective and had recently retired. He’s been helping me work through all of this, with some support from friends on the police force.”
“I see. That makes sense,” he nodded. “I am not sure if I have any questions. You have pieced together an amazing amount of information. I applaud your diligence and intuition. What does it all mean?” He looked at her inquisitively.
She had hoped that he would just admit to it, own up like they did on detective shows like Murder She Wrote when the suspect knows they’ve been caught. It was wishful thinking, she knew.
“Unfortunately, I’m left with the conclusion that you are someone who has taken the name of a respected art restorer named Anthony Bataglia, that you are working with an international art ring that is defrauding museums around the world out of millions of dollars each year, and ultimately, that you are a forger.” There, she said it, as much as it pained her. “Finally,” she added, “I believe that you know that we’ve been getting close to the truth and that you or someone from your organization tried to scare us yesterday morning with a not so subtle warning.”
“Oh my,” exclaimed Anthony with surprise. “I have no idea what you are referring to in terms of a warning. I certainly would never threaten anyone, especially you. But with regard to the other things you have mentioned, I can understand why you would come to that conclusion. It is very reasonable and logical given the information that you have presented. If I was in your shoes, I would think the same thing.” He paused, clasping his hands in front of his face, and gently bouncing his fists against his lips while he thought.
“There is no easy answer to what you have presented. In fact, the truth is even more convoluted and disturbing than the conclusion you have so eloquently arrived at.”
“If you’re not a forger, then how do you explain all of this?” asked Mackenzie, clearly exasperated.
“I am not ready to explain anything at this point. But I can assure you that I am not a forger, nor am I working with any international art forgery ring. On that, I give you my word,” he said in earnest.
“I’d like to believe you, but words are cheap and the facts are what they are. You’re going to have to do more than that to convince me.” Her anger at being deceived by him in the first place was coming to the surface.
Anthony thought for a moment without responding and then replied calmly, “I am not sure how I can completely prove to you that I am not a forger. But what we can do is authenticate the paintings that we have restored so far, as well as some that I have in my personal collection. You could use Ariadne for the job. I will personally pay for her authentication fee as long as you coordinate it. I will have no contact or interaction with her at all and everything she shares will go directly to you. That way you can at least feel comfortable that the paintings we have been working on are originals. I am not sure if I can come up with a better solution. Does that work for you?”
Mackenzie now was the one forced to think. She sat for a minute mulling over his solution. It seemed quite reasonable. It wouldn’t completely exonerate him, but it would go a long way. She wished she could consult her father, but at the moment that wasn’t possible. All the same, she didn’t have to give him an answer right now. She could buy herself some time and run the proposal past her father.
“It sounds like a good approach. Give me tonight to think about it and then I’ll let you know my thoughts tomorrow at work.” There, she thought, the best of both worlds. Like her father said, if Anthony really was a master criminal, he would be one step ahead of her anyway. Putting both of their heads together should at least reduce the risk of getting taken. That said, this step still wouldn’t explain the roomful of paintings she had found at his house that were clearly reproductions of original masterworks, nor would it provide an answer to the women with the long pinkie finger or the similarities in the signature. She would cover those issues once the authentication results came back.
Anthony nodded. “That sounds fair to me.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, if it is all right with you I would not mind ordering breakfast.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin. “It would be nice to expand our eating repertoire beyond potato chips and nuts.”
She couldn’t help herself and had to smile. “Of course, I’m starving myself. Since I invited you, it’s my treat.” She decided that until the analysis came back from Ariadne she would treat him as innocent until proven otherwise. It felt better that way.
“In that case I might need to get an extra order of bacon,” laughed Anthony.
They made idle conversation for the next thirty minutes, trying to avoid discussing any of the things that she had brought up earlier. It was strained but cordial. It was hard for her not to like him, even if he might be a forger. After all, she thought, Danny Ocean was a very likable thief, especially when George Clooney was playing the role.
Chapter 31
After going over Anthony’s proposal with her father, Mackenzie told Anthony that she thought that it was a legitimate way of at least determining whether the paintings they had worked on together were forgeries or not. Anthony also agreed to supply four paintings from his personal collection, chosen by him, to be authenticated. He took responsibility and covered the cost of transporting the artwork to the Cloisters, as well as all the fees for Ariadne’s services, which, when all was said and done would be upwards of $50,000.
Anthony also handled the communication with Simon, whom he felt had a right to know that they would be using the Cloister’s facilities, as well as Ariadne’s time, albeit outside of her normal working hours, to authenticate some paintings that he had, as well as to ensure that there were no doubts about the Daddis, Berlinghieris, and Lippis in their collection. Simon offered to cover the fees for the paintings in the Cloister’s collection, but Anthony insisted that it was more for his own peace of mind than about any serious concerns about the paintings’ authenticity.
While Simon likely found the request odd, he respected Anthony enough to let it go through withou
t any complications. He did insist, however, that the Cloisters would receive an official copy of any authentication for the paintings in their collection conducted by Ariadne, which Anthony agreed to without hesitation. He also told Simon that he would be receiving a FedEx envelope from him in the next day or so. He asked Simon not to open it but to simply hold onto it until the authentication was completed. Once the authentication was complete he asked him to personally deliver the envelope to Mackenzie. Simon agreed to this as well, no matter how odd it must have seemed. Simon had dealt with artists all his life and knew that they were indeed a peculiar breed.
The entire authentication process took almost a full month. Following Anthony’s recommendation, Mackenzie asked Ariadne not to share any of her findings until all of them were completed. She also asked for formal documentation of the results for all of the paintings.
Finally, on a day in late September while Mackenzie was working at her station, reviewing documents for a restoration she was going to work on with the Japanese restorer, Takeshi Inada, Ariadne tapped her on the shoulder. Mackenzie turned and saw Ariadne standing there with a thick, three-ring binder in her hand. While she had been anxious to see the results, the weeks had passed and Mackenzie had begun focusing more of her attention on her own work. She hadn’t forgotten about the project, but it was not on the top of her mind anymore. She hadn’t worked with Anthony on any restorations during the interim and, though the two had exchanged polite greetings, they had not spent any significant amount of time together since Ariadne had started. Now, her excitement and, frankly, her anxiety returned. What if all of the paintings were forgeries? Not only would it mean that the past two years she had spent at the Cloisters would have largely been a complete waste of time, but it would also mean that the man she had trusted and harbored legitimate feelings for was a criminal. In some ways, it was easier not to know the results. But here she was, ready to be faced with the hard, cold facts.
“Hi Mackenzie, I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I thought you’d like to know that I’ve finished your project.” Ariadne set the binder down on the worktable. “Sorry it took a bit longer than I thought, but there were quite a few paintings and I had to squeeze this in after hours. Nonetheless, it is done.”
Mackenzie swiveled in her stool to face Ariadne. “There’s no need for you to apologize. If anything, I should be the one apologizing because I know how busy you are. I really appreciate you doing this. I know it was a lot of work.”
Ariadne nodded. “Let’s hope you’re just as happy when you get my bill.” She motioned to the binder. “Would you like me to go over the results with you?”
“Of course, that would be great. Do you have the time?”
“Yes, I think that we can go over everything in an hour if that works for you. Then, if you have any questions, you can ask me at your leisure.”
“It definitely works for me.” Mackenzie pulled another stool over to the table. “If you don’t mind, we can go over it right here.”
“Works for me,” agreed Ariadne.
Over the next hour, Ariadne went through each painting in detail. There were a total of ten paintings, six from the Cloisters collections that had been restored by Anthony and Mackenzie, and four from Anthony’s private collection. Ariadne had not been informed beforehand of which paintings belonged to which collection.
Ariadne was able to authenticate and certify nine of the ten paintings, including all of the paintings that Anthony and Mackenzie had restored thus far, which included three Lippis, two Daddis and a Berlinghieri. She was also able to certify three of the four paintings from Anthony’s private collection: Edgar Degas’s The Blue Dancers, Giotto di Bondone’s Joachim’s Dream, and Paolo Veronese’s Apollo and Daphne. There was only one of the ten paintings that she identified as a clear reproduction, Giovanni Bellini’s Portrait of Doge Leonardo Loredan, which was originally painted in 1501. The one she had analyzed had been painted within the past five years. It was an excellent reproduction of the original, but it was painted on canvas that was less than eight years old, whereas the original had been painted on a wood panel. In addition, she dated the oil paints used to be between five to ten years old. There was no question that this one was a reproduction of an original.
At the end of the hour, Mackenzie thanked her again for her time and then sat by herself to go through the pages of the report one more time. She had mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was relieved. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if the past two years had been spent restoring forgeries. She was also relieved that, at least based on this sample of paintings, there was very little evidence that Anthony was a forger. She was perplexed about the Bellini reproduction, though. Anthony must have known that it was not an original. Why had he submitted it for analysis when it appeared that he had many other originals in his collection? She was also left wondering where to go with all of the other bits of information that had puzzled her and her father. She needed to go over this report with her dad and chart a course for moving forward.
Chapter 32
Anthony and Mackenzie met for lunch in the enclosed garden of the Cloisters. They sat on a stone bench surrounded by vibrant fall colors. The Japanese maple in the corner wore a stunning bright crimson robe and swayed in the crisp fall air, proudly sunning itself under the clear October sky.
Anthony sipped the sweet, creamy Earl Grey tea that he brought in his thermos and nibbled on the tuna fish sandwich he bought at Pret A Manger earlier that morning. Mackenzie sipped her coffee and ate a salad she brought from home. Earlier in the day Simon had handed Mackenzie the FedEx envelope that Anthony had sent to him a little over a month ago. She brought it with her, along with the binder with Ariadne’s report. The envelope was still sealed. They exchanged light chitchat while they ate.
After finishing their lunch, Anthony asked her what Ariadne’s analysis had turned up. She explained the findings as Anthony nodded, sipping his tea.
“Based on that, can we conclude that I am not a forger?” he asked her.
“Well,” she paused, “I think we can conclude that these particular paintings are not forgeries. Except for the one, which is clearly a reproduction. I was confused as to why you included it as part of the four paintings you submitted. The other three are clearly originals and worth a fortune. Were you aware that the Bellini wasn’t an original?”
He laughed. “Before I answer that, please open the FedEx you got from Simon and take a look inside. As you can see on the mailing label, this was sent to him from me before the authentication process began. To my knowledge it has not left his care and has not been opened until right now. That is, unless you opened it already.”
“No,” replied Mackenzie shaking her head. “Simon mentioned that per your instructions I wasn’t supposed to open it without your approval.”
Not sure what she would find in the envelope, she ripped open the seal at the top and pulled out a single sheet of handsome fiber paper that one found at the finest stationary stores, which were unfortunately disappearing in the digital age. There was a single paragraph of handwritten text on the page.
Mackenzie, you will find that all of the paintings that we restored are originals. You will also find that three of the four paintings from my collection, Degas’s The Blue Dancers, Giotto’s Joachim’s Dream and Veronese’s Apollo and Daphne are originals. Finally, the analysis will show that Bellini’s Portrait of Doge Leonardo Loredan is not an original. In fact, it was painted about five years ago. I should know. I painted it.
Anthony
She set the letter down on the envelope and looked up at Anthony.
“If you knew it wasn’t an original, why did you pay all that money to have it analyzed?” she asked quizzically.
“Call it playful curiosity. I wanted to make sure that Ariadne’s analysis was accurate. Admittedly, it was a pretty low hurdle to jump over given that it was painted on new canvas with new oil paints. But I always thought that I did a nice job on that pa
inting and wanted to see what she would say.”
“But what about all of the paintings I saw in your studio? I know that some of them are clearly reproductions because there were two that were only partially finished.”
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “I enjoy painting a great deal and I like to try my hand at painting works by some of the great masters. Some are quite challenging to me. Vermeer, in particular causes me some of my greatest consternation. But it also provides a great sense of achievement when I have painted one well.” He paused, looking at the ground. “They are just hobbies, like many things in my life. They bring me peace.”
Looking at him now, she saw a quiet, contemplative man who had done her no wrong, and whom she had falsely accused. “Anthony,” Mackenzie started, trying to find the right words. “I’m so sorry that I accused you of being a forger. I had no right to do that. You’ve been so nice to me and I betrayed your kindness by accusing you.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Anthony looked at the small Japanese maple for a few seconds. It had become his favorite tree in the garden. He then looked back at her.
“I accept your apology,” he said quietly. “You clearly dug up a lot of peculiar evidence that pointed in the direction of something strange going on. I can see why you would come to the conclusion that I was a forger. It is a logical deduction based on the evidence you found. At the same time, it was important for me to prove to you that I am not.” He paused, “But I understand that does not answer all of your questions, does it? The long finger appearing in multiple paintings, and the commonality of the signatures across those artists, including mine, are hard to reconcile.”
He crossed his hands and set them under his chin, placed his elbows onto his knees and leaned slightly towards her.
“What you have found here is quite interesting and quite puzzling as well. Before I tell you my thoughts, what do you think is going on? Now that you know that I am not a forger, do you have an alternative hypothesis?”
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