Murder 101

“That’s why you need to call up Marylebone and get the names. Then I’ll call up the old-timers and pump them for info. I can relate better than you.”

“That’s for sure. You know if these guys are still alive, they must be like eighty.”

“Haven’t you heard, McAdams? Eighty is the new sixty.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

After walking through a sally port, Decker and Rina walked into a mirrored-wall gallery fronted by display cases filled with gems, jewelry, and objets d’art. A twig-thin blonde of forty was perusing the wares, her face and eyes registering indifference at the pieces being shown to her. Decker supposed it would take something massive to compete with the rock on her finger. As he regarded her face, he thought about the difference between the coasts. It wasn’t that L.A. didn’t have its fair share of “look at me” gals, but the women seemed to relish their bling. This Park Avenue princess seemed to delight in her disinterest.

On the black velvet tray was a mine’s worth of ice that had been set into earrings, bracelets, and necklaces. Maxwell Stewart looked up and gave Decker a nod. He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and plaid bow tie. As the woman talked, he listened and brought out another piece of serious sparkle. He seemed professional but not fawning. A minute later, he pressed a button. Another forty-year-old woman, wearing an emerald dress and pearls, came through the back. She had curly red hair and a big, white smile.

Max said, “Could you excuse me for a moment, Dawn? I have an appointment that I can change but I have a feeling that Detective Decker can’t.”

“Detective?” Dawn’s face finally registered an emotion: a speck of curiosity. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing important.” He smiled at Decker. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Dawn looked Decker up and down, her eyes completely ignoring Rina.

Max said, “Jill knows the inventory better than I do. She can help you find whatever you want.” He lifted up the countertop and came over to Decker and Rina. “Welcome to the gallery.” His eyes on Rina. “Maxwell Stewart.”

“Rina Decker.” She held out her hand. “We can wait until you’re done with your client.” Her lips formed a big smile. “We don’t mind browsing.”

“Speak for yourself, Lone Ranger,” Decker grumped.

“You could get into a lot of trouble here,” Max said.

“Thankfully I’m limited by my wallet.”

“Nonsense. We have something for everybody.”

“Let’s hear it for jewelry ecumenicalism,” Rina said. “Why don’t I have a look around while you two gentlemen talk? There’s a lot here to keep me occupied.”

“Enjoy yourself. But I feel compelled to tell you that our best pieces are downstairs.”

Decker said. “Is that where you’re hiding all those Tiffany lamps that I saw online?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Max said. “This is not a museum. Everything is for sale. That’s how I pay my mortgage. Would you like a tour?”

Decker looked at Rina who said, “Sure, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not that we can buy anything,” Decker said.

“Not right now but there’s always the lottery,” Rina said.

“Exactly.” Max was already headed down the stairs. “And when you do strike it rich, remember me with fondness.” He flicked on the lights and the modern world of technology suddenly gave way to an elegant life of yesteryear.

Dozens upon dozens of Tiffany lamps in all shapes, patterns, and sizes, some of them geometric in design but more of them highlighting nature. The shades included, but were not limited to, dragonflies, lilies, daffodils, poppies, peonies, dogwood, cherry blossoms, woodbine, lemon leaf, and the graceful blues and purples of the draping wisteria vine—one of the most desirable shades, Max explained. The swirling glass was infused with rich colors, fashioned with such precision that the final work had depth as well as sparkle. Each one was spectacular: as a gestalt, it was eye popping.

The lamps were set on tabletops designed by masters of art nouveau furniture: the free-flowing signature pieces of Louis Majorelle along with the precise inlay work of Émile Gallé. Cabinets and display cases contained Tiffany desk items in all kinds of patterns. Original Alphonse Mucha posters, featuring images of girls with swirling hair and free-flowing gowns, hung on the walls. Along with the artwork was a poster of a painting by Gustav Klimt—odd because it was mass produced.

Max said. “It’s one of my favorite works. If I can’t own the original …”

While Decker was taking in Max’s lecture on Tiffany, Rina stole away and took a closer look at the poster of The Kiss by the Austrian master. Amid the swirls, squares, and starbursts of color and gilt was a very erotic painting, the man smothering a beautiful woman’s face with a passionate kiss on the cheek. She studied it until she heard her husband’s voice.

“Are you with us, darlin’?”

Rina scooted over to his side. “Sorry.”

Max said. “The original Kiss is in Vienna. But if you want a close-up look at one of Klimt’s masterpieces, the Neue Museum on Fifth has the original portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I. If you haven’t seen it, you should.”

“I have seen it,” Rina said. “I just forget how arresting he is. You have to wonder how a mind works to have created something so beautiful … dreamlike.”

Max said, “He was influenced by a lot of ancient art, specifically the Byzantine mosaics at Ravenna.”

Talk about perfect timing. Decker raised his eyebrows. “St. Vitale Church. The mosaics of Justinian and Theodora.” When Rina and Max stared at him. “Imagine commissioning all that artwork in a capital where they never even lived.”

Max said, “You’ve been to Ravenna?”

“No, but it’s on my bucket list.”

“Since when?” Rina asked. “Where is Ravenna? Greece?”

“Italy,” Decker said. “It was once the capital of the western Roman Empire.”

“Now you’re just showing off,” Rina said.

Decker smiled. “Impressed?”

“You had me at St. Vitale Church.” Rina turned to Max. “Thanks for showing me your unbelievable pieces. I think I’ll go upstairs and stare at the bling. I promise I won’t interfere with your client.”

“Dawn?” Max gave a dismissive wave. “She’s one of those women who’s status rich but cash short. We’ve been working together for years. She buys a piece from me retail and then sells it back to me wholesale in order to buy another piece … which she pays retail. It’s a happy arrangement. I make money and she appears to have an extensive jewelry collection. As far as her friends are concerned, she is dripping in diamonds because she never wears the same piece twice.”

After Rina had left, Max gave a sly smile. “So where’d you pull that rabbit out of your hat? Or is art history a secret love of yours?”

“We detectives are tricky folk.” Decker walked over to a green Majorelle love seat. “Can I sit down or …”

“The furniture is not only beautiful, it’s usable. Be my guest.”

“Thanks.” He gingerly put his rear on the cushion. Max sat opposite. Decker said, “I interviewed your sister-in-law.”

“No love lost, correct?”

Decker’s shrug was noncommittal. “After doing hundreds of these kinds of things, you get feelings when someone is lying. She’s not lying. She didn’t have anything to do with the theft.”

“I believe you. Did she implicate me?”

“Not seriously.” Decker took out a notebook. “So if it’s not you and it’s not her, give me some direction with the list.” He handed it to Maxwell who studied it for a few minutes.

The dealer finally said, “I’m really sorry, Detective. Nothing is jumping out at me.”

“No ne’er-do-well with an addiction problem?”

“Oh, I see where you’re coming from.” He pointed to a name. “Rubin and Anne Sobel. Rubin is a first or second cousin to Ken. Both of their kids have had some substance abuse problems as teens. Campbell is doing all right from what I last heard.”

“Is that a boy or girl?”

“She’s twenty. I think she’s at Hampshire. Her older brother, Livingston, has been in and out of rehab. I don’t know if he even lives in the New York area anymore. But just because he’s had problems doesn’t make him a thief.”

“Of course not. Did he go to college?”

“Dropped out after a year.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Uh … Brown, I believe.”

“So inherently, he’s a smart guy.”

“Yeah, he is smart. I see him more of an Occupy Wall Street guy than a thief. Honestly, Detective, it would surprise me if it were someone in the family.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m working with amateurs,” Decker said. “If it were amateurs, they’d steal all four panels at once. And they certainly wouldn’t bother making replicas. But if it were a truly professional job, it wouldn’t have been done piecemeal like it was. So I’m looking for something in between, which makes it hard for me to get a handle on what is truly going on.”

“Any ideas?” Max asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. Put yourself in my shoes. Where should I be concentrating my efforts?”

Max was silent. Then he finally said, “Well … the thief was definitely trying to hide the crime with those poor replicas. He or she didn’t want anyone to notice.”

“Okay. That’s a lot of work to go into hiding a theft. Why would someone do that? What outcome would be worth that much effort?”

“For one thing, it would buy time for the thief to sell the panels to the highest bidder,” Max said. “Also if the theft wasn’t reported, an auction house could conceivably buy them, which would give the thief more options.”

Decker started to scribble in his notepad. “That makes sense. So who would you be looking for if you were me?”

“Usually dealers who dabble in stolen art don’t sully their hands directly. I’d say the dealer definitely hired out.”

“So you think it’s a dealer?”

“Possibly.”

“Is there anyone in the family who’s an art dealer?”

“Besides me?” When Decker smiled, Max said, “Do I like where this is going?”

“I’m talking to you about it. I’m being very up-front.”

“We’re the only gallery in the family. And since I didn’t steal them, I have no idea who is calling the shots.”

“Okay. Let’s put that aside for a moment. If the guy hired out, who would he hire?”

“Obviously someone who could do stained glass. Or maybe he’d hire someone who would hire someone who could do stained glass.”

“Put a little distance between him and the theft.”

“Exactly. From the looks of the pieces, I’d say maybe it’s a hobbyist or an art student.”

Decker nodded but didn’t say anything. It very well could be a student who was hard up for money. “Do you know which institutions teach stained glass?”

“All the art schools I would imagine. What about Littleton in the Five Colleges? That’s in your own backyard.”

“It’s on my list. But as you so aptly pointed out, I may also be looking for a dealer. If you could give me a list of dealers with … how can I put it … questionable morals … maybe you’ve heard some rumors for instance?”

“You always hear rumors. We’re in a venal business.”

Decker laughed. “Anything that you could do to help me would be appreciated. In the meantime, I still have to run down the list of family members.”

“Even though you don’t think any of them had anything to do with it.”

“I have to keep an open mind. Maybe someone in the family teamed up with a dealer for quick cash.”

“I don’t see it. I can’t even see Melanie doing that. She isn’t capable of that much executive planning. Besides, her husband makes a fortune.”

“What does he do?”

“Hedge fund. They did very well last year. I should know. I have money with him. And I know that Rick got a huge bonus.”

“Okay … so let’s leave the family aside for a moment. I want to go back to art thefts. Is that a problem for you—people breaking into your gallery?”

“Not yet, thank God. My security is excellent!”

“What about thefts from other galleries in the area?”

“You mean like Mark Lugo?”

“Who’s he?”

“He lifted a Fernand Léger from a local gallery in the Carlyle. Wasn’t the first time he stole. He lifted a Picasso in San Francisco.”

“He was a dealer who sold the pieces for profit?”

“No, he was a sommelier who kept the paintings in his apartment in New Jersey.”

“A sommelier?”

“Yes, and I bet he had an extensive wine collection as well. That one popped into my mind because it’s recent, but there are probably dozens of them. You can probably look up gallery thefts on the Internet.”

“Getting back to our case. What about other thefts from graveyards or mausoleums?”

“Sure, there are people who steal from graveyards all the time. The most famous theft that I know of was Alastair Duncan who was convicted of stealing a five-hundred-pound Tiffany window and selling it to a Japanese collector for over two hundred thousand dollars. He was teamed up with someone who lived in Queens.”

“Anthony Casamassima. Salem Fields Cemetery. He claimed he was liberating broken-down treasures in very poor condition. That one was solved using an undercover FBI agent.”

Max stared at him. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

“It’s all at the click of a button, Max. My partner also found a very old art theft from a Russian Orthodox church in Marylebone, Rhode Island. That one interests me a little more because it’s still unsolved and the thief took items in the art nouveau period. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“The Petroshkovich icons. That was before my time, but I do remember my dad talking about it. It was a big deal.” A pause. “Now that was a professional job.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because the thieves only took the Petroshkoviches, nothing else in the church. There were things that were a lot flashier. They knew what they wanted.”

“Just like the thieves knew that your father-in-law’s pieces were real Tiffany.”

“I do not deny the value of Tiffany … Lord knows that’s how I put bread on the table. But the Petroshkovich icons are way more valuable because they’re rarer. When did the theft take place? It must have been around thirty years ago.”

“Yep. It’s an old case and a cold case, but it’s still wide open. And that makes it interesting.” Decker folded his notebook and stood up. “I don’t even need wide open, Max. I have confidence in my skills. All I need is just a toe in the door.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Once outside the gallery, Decker and Rina walked glove in glove down Fifth Avenue, dodging the crowds of shoppers, executive and middle management suits, and tourists who didn’t mind braving the cold to get the winter discounts at the hotels. There were a couple of kosher restaurants nearby and it was around twelve-thirty, so lunch was in order. They nabbed one of the last tables at a meat restaurant in Midtown. Erelong, there wasn’t a chair to be had. Service was slow, but that gave Decker a chance to make a few phone calls, confirming interviews with other Sobel family members.

Forty-minutes later, the waiter served two hamburgers that were slider sized at prime rib prices. Still, it felt good to get out of the small town. He could actually feel his pulse rise. “How’s your food?”

“It’s tasty … perfect if it were a first course.”

“And therein lies the rub.”

Rina smiled. “Once when I was visiting Sammy, I went out to lunch with an old friend while he was busy. I ordered a niçoise salad appetizer. I needed a magnifying glass to see it.”

“Yeah and a pair of tweezers to pick it up.” Decker was trying to figure out how to eat the burger in more than two bites. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“You’re welcome. Not that I learned anything juicy about Max or anyone else for that matter.”

“So what did you learn?”

“Gallery has been around for years. I asked if Max owns it and Jill said he works there side by side his father, Keith, whom I met.”

“Nice guy?”

“He was running out the door when I was introduced. He seemed fine. Also, there’s a cousin who mostly does the jewelry buying. Her name is Katy Mendel. Jill says she’s lovely.”

“Any strife between any of the relatives? Or you probably didn’t ask.”

“No, I didn’t ask.” Rina picked up a pickle that was bigger than the burger. “Jill didn’t give off any vibes of conflict. She’s been working there fifteen years. Are you still considering Max a suspect?”

“I can’t see him stealing four small Tiffany panels, ruining his name, and committing a crime, when he has such a vast inventory to steal from. And he could probably alter the books without anyone noticing for a while. So for the moment, he’s near the bottom.”

Rina said, “So what’s your plan now?”

“I’ll go down the list of family members and people who knew about the panels and see what I can dig up. What’s the jewelry woman’s name again? Katy what?”

“Mendel.”

“Thanks.” Decker wrote the name on his notepad. “I did find out from Tyler that stealing from graveyards isn’t unusual. The most likely culprits are the caretakers and people who live around the cemeteries.”

“What do they take when they’re not stealing Tiffany?”

“Planters, urns, statues, architectural decorative elements, lawn mowers, shovels, even gravestones.”

“So maybe your thief is closer to home.”

“Whoever did this put time and money into replacing the panels so no one would notice. He probably had a buyer lined up before he stole the first panel.” Decker regarded his empty plate. His hand made a beeline for the breadbasket.

Rina stopped him. “You want to split another hamburger.”

“Not at these prices. And plus we’re taking the family out tonight. I’d like to go home with some money in the bank.”

“We can afford another hamburger.” Without asking, Rina summoned a waiter and ordered another burger. She gave him a wide smile. “Tell them to be a little more generous on the beef. You’re not feeding supermodels, okay?”

Decker laughed as the waiter huffed away. “Before we leave Manhattan, I’d like to check out the Met. They have Tiffany glass panels that I’d like to see. Also there’s a place … Emanu-El? Do you know it?”

“Sure. It’s been around since the mid-1800s. It’s reform.” She began playing with her phone. “Started by German Jews. Prime example of Moorish Revival … ah, there’s a Tiffany window there. That’s why you want to see it.”

“Not that I need to see it, but as long as I’m here I figure I should educate myself.” He looked up. “Want to come with me?”

“I’d love to.” She stowed her phone back in her purse. “So are you going to tell me how you suddenly became an expert on Byzantine mosaics?”

Decker smiled. “McAdams gave me a history lesson about fifteen minutes before we met to go to the gallery.”

“Why?”

“It had to do with an art theft that happened thirty years ago. Four mosaic icons from a Russian Orthodox church in Rhode Island made by an artist named Nikolai Petroshkovich. What was stolen was done in the style of the mosaics at Ravenna. The timing couldn’t have been more advantageous.”

“You sounded casual but very impressive. What does an old art theft have to do with your case?”

“Probably nothing. I asked McAdams to look up all major art thefts around our town and I’m not about to punish him for being thorough.”

“For once.”

“Yeah, for once. Mostly he just clocks in the hours. Why he signed up for Greenbury Police is still a mystery. He seems to hate everything about his life there.”

“I’m sure there’s a backstory.”

“My opinion? I think he’s secretly writing a screenplay and that’s why he joined any police force that would take him. The guy is pure Hollywood to me.”

“I’m sure it’ll all come out one day.”

A pause. Decker said, “I’d like to talk to the detectives who worked that Rhode Island case if they’re alive. Find out the steps they took to attempt to trace stolen art. I’m hoping that they still live in the area.”

“Maybe we should extend our visit to another day to give you a little more time.”

“You mean more time with Lily.”

“And more time for the twins, too. There’s nothing wrong with that.” The second burger came. Rina pushed it toward her husband. “You take the whole thing. I’m full.”

“You’re just being nice.”

“Honestly, I’m okay.” She took her husband’s hand. “Peter, we moved back east to be closer to the kids. Also, you retired from the big city so we wouldn’t be so rushed about everything. We could stroll instead of jog. It’s so lovely that we’re going to see the Met and Emanu-El together. Please try not to slip into LAPD work mode just because you finally have a real case. Besides, you have Tyler to handle the slack.”

Decker picked up his miniburger and managed not to eat the entire thing in one bite. “You’re right. There is work I can do here and an extra day wouldn’t hurt. I’ll call Mike. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Decker said. “But let me tell you something, woman. If there’s a cat in a tree that doesn’t make it because Tyler’s too lazy, I’m going to put the blame squarely on your shoulders.”

After seeing Rina off, Decker made several phone calls while sitting on a park bench. Temperatures had climbed to the high thirties with no wind: practically spring climate compared to the icy conditions and gray skies in Greenbury. The fresh air felt bracing on his face and woke him from his usual afternoon torpor.

His aim was to narrow the playing field by crossing off as many members of the Sobel family as he could. First to go were the distant relatives who had professed ignorance about the family mausoleum in Greenbury. Next, he spoke to those who did know of the mausoleum’s existence but had never stepped foot in the town. All their claims were verified by quick calls to Ken Sobel. Then he called up Katy Mendel—the jewelry buyer for Max Stewart. She also seemed to be a straight arrow. His leads were disappearing as he checked off each name on his list.

He’d been sitting for over an hour and the chill was starting to get to him. He walked back to his car, cranked up the heat, and spoke from his office on wheels, ignoring the honks and the pleading eyes of motorists aching for his parking spot.

The most interesting group was close family members: those who had been at the funeral last summer and probably knew about the expensive glass panels inside the vault. On the surface, they seemed like poor candidates for hands-on criminal enterprise. Most of them appeared to have the trappings of wealth: good jobs, stable marriages, and tony addresses. When questioned, they seemed appalled by the thefts and even more outraged that he was looking at them with a detective’s eye.

Between phone calls and interviews with the family, the Met and Emanu-El were perfect places to visit with Rina. The museum was open until six. The temple was open tomorrow between ten and four and visitors were welcome without an appointment. Then it was off to Philadelphia to see Cindy, Koby, and the kids.

It was close to six in the evening when Decker headed back to Brooklyn for the family dinner. He was also starved so he hoped that wherever Rachel and Sammy had chosen, the place believed in large portions. The minihamburgers had long been digested, leaving a raw ache inside his stomach. At this point it was all about quantity rather than quality. As he drove, he started thinking about the theft, wondering if McAdams had dug up anything since the last time they spoke.

Arriving in Brooklyn at the kids’ apartment, he was tired and grumpy, but the baby’s smile cheered him up. Soon the space began to shrink as the crowd grew. It was wonderful to see everyone. There were hugs, kisses, and lots of laughter and that was before dinner. Finally, everybody was assembled and Rachel had finished giving the babysitter last-minute instructions. The brood stepped out into the cold night air, Decker’s children walking ahead, catching up with one another’s lives. They talked about movies, songs, and television series that left Decker in the dark.