Murder 101 (5 page)

Despite himself, McAdams smiled. “Maybe that can be arranged.” He pulled into the station’s parking lot. “Okay. Happy hunting. And what do I do while you’re out there making suspect lists and checking them twice? Practice shooting jelly beans out my nose?”

“Can you really do that?” McAdams rolled his eyes and Decker said, “Think about it, McAdams. You tell me. What useful things could you do?”

“Quit this job and do something that will exploit my many talents?”

“Does that include law school?”

A pause. “Eventually.”

“How about if you look up past crimes of cemetery theft? If nothing shows up nearby, branch out using Greenbury as the center of the circle. Lots of fancy mausoleums in the area. I’m sure this has happened before.”

McAdams sighed. “Fine.”

“Too exhausting for you, Harvard?”

“I just think it’s stupid.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we both think it’s a professional theft, especially because the original panels were replaced with forgeries. The probability of finding those stolen panels is very low. It’s a lot of effort for very little or no outcome.”

Decker shook his head. “Man, you really are in the wrong field. What the hell were you thinking when you signed up?”

McAdams gave the questions some serious thought. “My main motivation for taking this job was pissing on my father’s expectations. He is really into my going to Harvard Law. Stalling a couple of years is making him nervous and that makes me happy.”

“So here’s the deal.” Decker put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I can handle this all by my lonesome. So if you want to just fart around, I’m okay with that. No one will have to know. You tell me, Tyler. What do you want to do—if anything?”

“I know I’m acting like a dick.” McAdams rubbed his forehead. “I am a dick. I don’t like being a dick, but I don’t know how not to be a dick. I guess being a dick is better than being a tool. Although I guess I’m kind of a tool, too.” He looked up at Decker. “Some people just don’t have winning ways.”

“Do you know how many different and difficult personalities I’ve had to work with over the years?” When McAdams didn’t answer, Decker said, “Yes, you’re a little obnoxious, but nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, I don’t care about personalities. I just care about getting the job done and I need to organize my time. In or out?”

“If it would be useful to you, I will look up art thefts on the Internet.”

“It would save me time so, yes, it would be useful. And while you’re on the computer, find out what you can about Tiffany and, specifically, those panels. See if they were ever mentioned in any book or loaned to a museum for a traveling exhibition.”

“I’m not sure I can do all that with just a laptop.”

“It’s called research. You never wrote a term paper in college?”

“I had all of Widener at my disposal.”

“There are five colleges about a mile away that are highly regarded. I know they have libraries.”

“You know if I start doing that, word might get around that I’m researching Tiffany and grave robberies.”

“I’m not too concerned about that, Harvard. You’re town, they’re gown. Never the twain shall meet.”

CHAPTER 5

W
AN AND OUT
of breath, he forced himself to walk calmly down the hallway, knocking on her door instead of banging. As soon as Angeline answered, she took one look at him and asked what was wrong. He came in and gently shut the door. Then he began to pace: hard to do in her tiny one-bedroom apartment.

“
What?
” she asked. “Tell me!”

Panic in her voice. He managed to get it out. “They’re onto us. They know about your forgeries.”

Angeline felt her heart race. “
My
forgeries?
Our
forgeries, okay.”

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever. This is a partnership.” She rubbed her forehead. “Oh my God, are you sure?”

“Yes.” More pacing. “That fucking lock. I knew it was too cold to go out. I knew that there was a chance that the metal would freeze and the key would break off.”

“So why did you go out?”

“I figured it was so cold that no one else would be out and I could work without being bothered.” He knocked his fist against his head. “Shit! I’m so damn stupid! Wasting all this energy and time and risk for something so insignificant. Serves me right for being greedy!”

Yes, he was greedy, but her main concern was calming him down. His voice was getting louder and louder. She put her finger to his lips and spoke in low tones. “It’s like one in the afternoon. Let’s sit down and maybe we can work out a plan.”

“That’s it! No more. I can’t take the chance any longer. Not when such big things are at stake.”

Angeline tried to take his hand but he pulled it away. She said, “Sit down and let’s talk.”

Eventually he plopped down on her futon. She sat down next to him, putting her hand on his knee, hoping to make him feel a little bit more relaxed. “Are you sure they know about us?”

“Positive.”

“Your client told you this?”

“No, he doesn’t know anything about this, thank God for that. I just saw them today at the graveyard at the Bergman mausoleum around an hour ago. I saw the dumbfuck watchman talking to Ken Sobel and his son or son-in-law. It’s not good, Angeline. We have to stop.”

Not as dumbfuck as you thought.
“I guess if you change out the locks and the watchman does his job, discovery was a possible outcome.”

“I was going to replace it back with the original. It took me a while to get the fragment out. I couldn’t exactly take it to a locksmith.”

“That’s true.” Angeline took a deep breath and let it out. “When you say they’re onto us . . . do you mean
us . . .
or the
forgeries
?”

He looked up. “The family knows about the forgeries . . . I’m not positive about us.” A pause. “I’m sure they don’t know about us. If they did know, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“So there you go.” Angeline felt calmer.

“They can link me to the forgeries if they know my client. But I don’t see how that would be possible. You don’t even know my client. Unless . . .”

“What?” He always did that. Calm her down to make her nervous again. “Unless what?”

“You have the stained glass that was used in the forgeries. So . . . we need to get rid of the glass.”

“Right.” She smiled. “You’re thinking more clearly than I am.”

“And we should do that immediately.”

“Okay. So why don’t you grab a beer from the fridge and catch your breath and let me pack up my leftover crap. You think about where we should hide the stuff until things cool down.”

“I’m not going to hide it. I’ll dump it when I go back up north.”

“No way. It’s top-quality glass and I still have over a thousand dollars’ worth of material. I’m not throwing it away.”

“It’s not wise to hang on to it, Angeline.”

“Just . . . chill.” She got up and looked at him. Slim, dark, sultry, brilliant, a little bad boy, a little evil and a great fuck. “Think about a plausible story so if the cops pay me a visit, I don’t sound like a moron.”

“Why would they visit you?”

“Because they’ll probably talk to everyone in Littleton—me, my friends, my professors. We’re an art college remember?”

“The cops don’t touch the colleges, Angeline. Upstate owns this town.”

He was right about that. Whenever student shit spilled into Greenbury, the colleges called up the police and cleaned up the mess so mommy and daddy were none the wiser. “True, but just in case, we should plan something.”

He was still in a very dark place but not nearly as panicked as he was a few minutes ago. As she started packing up the glass, he stood up and grabbed a beer from her minifridge. “If you think that there is any chance that the cops will talk to you and will somehow magically find out that you’ve done stained glass way back when, let’s get you some new glass altogether. So when they ask if they can have a sample of your glass, you can say sure.”

“Great idea!” She walked over and threw her arms around his neck. “Now you’re thinking.”

He gently extricated himself from her grip. “I’ll go check the Dumpster for empty boxes.”

It took him a few minutes to find two big empty boxes. Since the apartment building housed a lot of students, the Dumpsters were always filled with discarded cartons from college kids ordering useless shit. She took the boxes and began the tedious job of wrapping up sheets of glass, one by one by one.

He watched her as she worked, sipping his beer, thinking about how his client had specified paying once he had
all
four panels . . . which of course was no longer an option. Angeline’s artistic ability was fine when the panels were twelve feet off the ground. But it wasn’t good enough to fool a trained eye. He’d have to find a way to get to the original panels—impossible now—or find a craftsperson good enough to convince a dealer that the works were genuine. And if he commissioned any noteworthy artist to copy the window, he’d have to pay for all four of the panels, because any reputable glass person would ask him why he’d only want two of the four seasons. That would cost big time and in the end, it probably wasn’t worth it. When the big one went down, all the other jobs would seem like pocket change. He just needed to hold on and hold out. He wondered if he should tell his contact about the change of plans.

When she finally finished up packing, she stood up and brushed off her jeans. “You can take it out to the car, but be careful. It’s breakable and heavy.”

He hoisted the boxes and she followed him outside, watching him stow away the prettiest glass she had every worked with. It just broke her heart. She felt her eyes moisten.

He closed the trunk and turned to her. “Don’t worry, beautiful.” He kissed her lips. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m just pissed.” Her voice was soft. “I actually loved copying those windows. I was really good at it.”

Does the word delusional mean anything?
He said, “I’ll hide the glass somewhere safe. I won’t even tell you about it. If you’re questioned by the cops, you can honestly be in the dark. When things cool off, you can get your glass back. You’re graduating in June anyway. You’ll leave this dump and no one will be the wiser.”

“I can’t wait. I am so sick of small-town living. I can’t wait to go back to a real city.” Angeline kissed him passionately. “I want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you, too. But we have to be patient.” Once inside, he whispered, “You know I’m just as vulnerable as you are, Angeline. I still have the two original panels.”

She was flabbergasted. “You do? I thought you already sold them.”

“The client didn’t want to pay me in installments. The truth is I think he has an overseas buyer who will only pay for all four works. So he didn’t want the responsibility of having any until we had all four to give him.”

“Where are they?”

“Need-to-know basis, Angeline. Especially now.”

She was aware that he had several places to hide the stuff because he had given her keys—just in case. One bin she had even rented out for him. But as far as she knew, it was empty. But maybe not.

Need-to-know basis.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she told him.

He kissed her again. “You know you are my girl.”

“I sure hope so.” She broke away and sat on the futon, the cogs in her brain beginning to turn the wheels. She had spent almost all the money he had given her on her latest handbag. “Can’t we just sell the two panels we have?”

“We can’t do anything right now.”

“I know that. But maybe later.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now we’re in the weeds. First we have to get ourselves out of this mess and then we can move on. In the meantime, we just shut up and deny.”

“But, like, can’t we use the panels as leverage? Either your client buys them or we’ll get rid of them as we see fit.”

He glared at her. “Are you being deliberately thick-headed? We can’t touch the Tiffanies. They are stolen, Angeline! The police know they’re stolen! Have patience and then when we’re thinking more clearly, the solution will be evident.”

She nodded. “I guess you’re right. The panels aren’t going anywhere. I suppose somewhere down the line, we should be able to make a little money out of this.”

“Exactly.” He could feel his mojo coming back “I’ve been doing this for a while, babe. Long before you came into the picture.”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

He smiled. “You want to fuck before I go?”

She hadn’t penciled in fucking. She still had a paper to finish up and she was going to meet a couple of friends later in the day and get shitfaced at Morse McKinley: the best parties, the nicest RAs and the most lax on booze. She looked at her watch. She supposed there was enough time to rip off a quick one. She shrugged, sat on her twin mattress, and began to undress.

WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS,
a preliminary list from Ken Sobel had come through the station-house’s fax machine. Since most of the extended Bergman/Sobel family lived in Manhattan, Decker began to make preparations for an overnight into the city. That meant gearing up not only for the three-hour drive, but also packing a few gifts since he and Rina would be visiting the kids.

Rina’s oldest son, Sam, his wife, Rachel, and their baby daughter lived in a rented tiny one bedroom in Brooklyn. They could have rented a bigger place but the kids wanted to save up to buy something after they were done with their training. Jacob, Rina’s second son, had moved from Baltimore to Williamsburg where the kid, now in his thirties, was as comfortable with the Chasidim as he was with the hipsters. He and a college friend rented a modest two-bedroom flat that was party central. Hannah, Peter and Rina’s daughter, lived a few blocks away from Sam, sharing a place with three roommates. Decker’s oldest daughter, Cindy and her husband, Koby, lived in Philadelphia. There was absolutely no room to stay unless they wanted to share the nursery with the twins and sleep on an air mattress on the floor.

The days of roughing it were long gone. Decker was willing to stay at a hotel in Queens or some other borough that was cheaper than Manhattan. But this week they got lucky. Their foster son, Gabriel Whitman, owned a roomy two-bedroom condo bought by his father’s money, which was about the only thing that his dad had to offer besides good genetics. The place included a big living room with a piano, two bathrooms, and a refrigerator that was actually in the kitchen. It sat two blocks away from Juilliard right near Columbus Circle. At the moment, he was touring so he was more than thrilled to lend his digs to the Deckers. Not only was it quiet and spacious, Gabe was compulsive so it was cleaner than most five-star hotels.

Once the car’s trunk and backseat were packed with luggage and bags, Decker and Rina took off at four
A.M.
Monday in bitter darkness, hoping to beat Manhattan traffic. Rina had a cooler filled with fruit, cheeses, and Danishes and two thermoses filled with coffee. After the heat kicked in, Rina was comfortable enough to remove her gloves and hat and bulky jacket.

She saw sweat coming off Peter’s brow. “Do you want me to help you off with your jacket?’

“No, I’ve always wanted a portable sauna.”

“A simple ‘Thank you, darling. That would be lovely’ is sufficient.” She helped him pull his arms out and removed his parka and threw it on the backseat. “Coffee?”

“Will it burn my lip if I drink it while I drive?”

“I’ll test the waters.” She poured the coffee into a Styrofoam cup. “Something between lukewarm and hot.”

“Bring it on.”

She gave him the coffee and put on one of Gabe’s CDs. “If you get tired, I’ll be happy to drive. You’ve got work to do. I don’t.”

“I’m fine. I like to drive.”

“Great.” Five minutes passed without a word exchanged. Rina finally pushed her seat back and closed her eyes. Just as she was drifting off, she heard Peter talking to her. “Come again?”

“Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“I’d love to talk instead of sleep, but I know you use your time in the car to think.”

“Not much to think about. Just got a bunch of people to interview.”

“You want to talk about it with me?”

“Why not? You’re a captive audience.” Decker told her what he learned. When he was done, Rina said, “Interesting. Do you suspect someone in the family?”

“Can’t say until I interview them. But the extended family is very large and then there’s the daughter-in-law with a spending problem. The crime was calculated. We’ll just have to see how it shakes out.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“No, just enjoy the kids and grandchildren.”

He grew quiet and so did she.

Decker said, “The expert that Ken Sobel brought in—who also happens to be his son-in-law—has an art glass gallery in Manhattan. I looked up the website. That place has more Tiffany lamps than most museums.”

“Are you thinking that he stole the windows and is using the gallery to fence them?”

“Maybe, but the gallery has pieces way more valuable than the panels. And it’s been in the same two families for fifty years—Harrison and Stewart, two brothers-in-law. ”

“There’s always room for more profit.”

“True and that’s why I’d like to interview Max Stewart away from his father-in-law, especially since he’s the one who mentioned the spendthrift sister-in-law. It’s always interesting when someone points the finger at someone else. Plus he knows the Tiffany market.”