Читать книгу Murder 101 - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 8

With the Bergman crypt once again secured by a padlock courtesy of Glenn Dutch’s Hardware, they left the crypt at 11:30. It was late to be making calls, but if it had been Decker’s crypt, he would have wanted to know right away. He handed a slip of paper to McAdams. “This is Ken Sobel’s number—the one who was up here most recently and seems to be in charge. You can do the honors.”

“Me?”

“You’re my superior.”

“So I’m assigning you to the task of making the call.”

“It’s my Sabbath. Can you do me the favor?”

“It’s late.”

“I know. But I still think we should call him.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the proper procedure. Pellman has already told him that there was something wrong with the lock. He’s probably waiting to hear from him.” A pause. “Look, if you don’t feel comfortable—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” McAdams took out his phone. “I’ll do it.”

But he didn’t do it. Decker said, “Start by introducing yourself.”

“I know how to handle this, okay.” Decker didn’t answer and McAdams regarded his phone. “How much should I tell him? I mean, what if he ripped the panels off himself? Aren’t we giving him a heads-up that we’re suspicious?”

“Let’s just stick to what we know, okay.”

“We don’t know anything for certain so why are we even calling him?”

“We’re calling him to let him know that everything looks fine, but we’d like for completeness sake to have him authenticate the panels. But you’ve got to lead into that conversation. First tell him that everything looks okay. Then compliment the panels, then ask if they’re real Tiffany—”

“I get it!” Abruptly, McAdams shoved the phone into Decker’s hand. “You’ve obviously got some script in your head. Just do it and get it over with, okay. I’m freezing … beyond freezing. I’m numb everywhere.”

“I’ll make the call but could you at least punch in the numbers for me?”

“I don’t think I can move my fingers.”

“Give it to me.”

“I’m kidding, Old Man.”

Decker said, “Put it on speaker so I won’t have to repeat the conversation.” McAdams was sulky—his pride was wounded—but he did as told. Decker waited for the line to connect. The two of them were walking back to the house in a cold that had turned positively polar. He usually paced while talking on the phone. At least this time, his movement had a purpose.

After he heard the hello, he said, “This is Peter Decker from the Greenbury Police Department, I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m looking for Ken Sobel.”

The voice on the other end was alert. “This is Ken Sobel. What took you so long? What’s going on up there?”

“We broke the lock on the crypt, sir. From what I could see, everything appears in order.”

“Phew! Good to know. It would be really ghoulish if someone had broken into the mausoleum and did some mischief. So why didn’t Isaiah Pellman’s key work?”

“We don’t know. Could someone else in the family have changed the lock?”

“Not to my knowledge. I’m usually the only one who bothers to go up there … except for the funeral six months ago. I was up there about four months ago and everything was in perfect order.”

“Who else besides you has a key?”

“My sister … some of my other cousins.”

“Mr. Pellman checked the lock about four days ago and it worked. So if anyone had changed the lock, it had to have been in the last few days.”

“I assure you that none of my relatives have been up in the last few days.”

“Okay. I do have a question or two if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I’m here.”

“There are four beautiful stained-glass panels inside the crypt. The scenes look like the four seasons. I even got on a ladder and looked at the autumn panel. I found a Tiffany signature. Are they real Tiffany?”

There was a pause on the other end. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m a suspicious guy, which is a good thing for a detective. When I first talked to Isaiah Pellman, it sounded to me that someone broke the original lock on purpose. And then I saw those panels. If they’re real Tiffany, they’re worth stealing.”

“But you said everything looks in order.”

“It does.”

“So I’m confused.”

“Are the panels Tiffany?”

“Yes, and they do represent the four seasons. My grandmother commissioned them at the turn of the century.”

“Okay. It might be a good idea to send someone up here and have them authenticated. Or my partner suggested that maybe someone from one of the colleges could authenticate them with your permission, of course.”

“That’s ridiculous. Of course, they’re real!”

“I’m sure they were at one point.”

“What?” A long pause. “You think someone broke in and replaced the panels with forgeries?”

“Mr. Sobel, I’m certainly no art expert. But I did climb up on a ladder to get an up-close look. That’s how I found the Tiffany signature. And I only looked at the autumn panel, sir, so I don’t know about the others. But on that panel, someone had painted the two soldered loops on the lead frame that secures the two chains that hang from the ceiling. The loops were painted dark brown to match the patina. The paint flaked off on my hand. Did you do a repair on that work?”

“No, I did not! And it would be absurd to think that Tiffany Studios would paint something to make it look like old patina. Because when they did it, it wasn’t old. Furthermore, the glass is held in place by copper channels, not lead. It was a very expensive way of doing stained glass. Tiffany invented it as far as I know. So when it was new, it would have been shiny.”

“Tell him about the perfect glass,” McAdams whispered.

Decker nodded. “Also the stained glass in the panel was in perfect shape. My partner says that with authentic Tiffany, it’s more usual than not to find a crack or two somewhere.”

“I don’t fucking believe this!” Sobel said. Decker heard a female voice in the background. Sobel was talking to it in an angry muffled voice. “Someone may have ripped off our Tiffany panels … yes, in the crypt!” Back to Decker. “Are you sure about this?”

“Not at all. It’s up to you on how you want to proceed.”

Sobel was still muttering curse words under his breath. “I’ll bring someone down … I can’t do it tomorrow. Is the crypt secured?”

“Yes, we put a new padlock on it.”

“I’ll see if my appraiser—better known as my son-in-law—can come down with me on Sunday. His place is closed so he’ll do me the favor for gratis. Well, not quite gratis. I’ve spent a fortune at his gallery … figure it benefits my grandchildren. Does Sunday work for you?”

“Sunday would be fine. I’ll give you my phone number and my partner’s phone number.” After he gave Sobel the digits, Decker said, “Feel free to call either one of us. In the meantime, I’ll make sure that the watchmen check the crypt lock during their work hours.”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Peter Decker.”

“Are you new? I don’t know you.”

“I came on the force about six months ago. Before that, I worked for LAPD.”

“LAPD.” A pause. “Have you ever worked an art case before or should I send in an expert in the field?”

“I was a lieutenant when I left LAPD. I ran a squad room of detectives so I’m familiar with every kind of crime imaginable, including art theft and forgery. But you can hire your own person as long as we communicate. I don’t have turf issues especially with something so specialized. You’re in Manhattan?”

“Yes.”

“So there are probably a lot of specialists in your parts. How about if we take it one step at a time?”

“I suppose that makes sense. What was your specialty?”

“As a lieutenant, I mostly supervised my detectives. I only worked the field if it was a very big and puzzling case. Before I was promoted, I was a homicide cop for twenty years.”

“Homicide! Let’s hope there’s no need for that!”

Decker smiled. “I agree.”

Sobel thanked him for calling and hung up. Decker gave the phone back to McAdams. They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they got to the house, Decker said, “Can’t say it was a hoot, but you showed some professionalism coming out with me in the cold.”

“Yeah, tell that to my frozen feet … and my frozen ears. I should have taken the car. If I come down with frostbite, I’m taking disability.”

Decker eyed him. “You know, McAdams, police forces are paramilitary organizations. Rule number one: no one wants to hear your bitching so suck it up. No guarantee they’ll like you any better, but when you don’t talk, you can’t get on people’s nerves. Do you want to come on Sunday? If you’ve got other plans, I can handle this alone. It might even be easier if I handle it alone. But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll be there. What time?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“So we have to wait by the phone twiddling our thumbs?”

“Remember what I said about sucking it up five seconds ago?”

McAdams sighed. Then he said, “Do you think the panels were stolen?”

“Ah … a work-related question. Good. I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

“So we have an art theft … and if Pellman said his key worked just a couple of days ago, it’s a recent art theft.”

Decker held up his hands. “Voilà!”

McAdams smiled. “I’ll see you on Sunday. Thank your wife for me.”

“This should be evident, but I never assume anything. You don’t talk about this to anyone. You should never talk about work, period.”

“No problem there, Old Man. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

It seemed like ages since Rina had to wait up for him to come home. In fact, it had only been months since Peter had retired and they had moved to Greenbury. She was fine with the move, but she suspected that Decker was less than thrilled. He didn’t talk about it and she hadn’t asked, but perhaps a taste of his old life would be a perfect lead-in.

When he walked through the door, Peter looked cold but not at all tired. His nose and cheeks were bright red. Rina got up from the couch and made two cups of tea in the kitchen using the hot water urn that she always set up before the Sabbath. When she returned, he was hanging up his jacket and scarf. He took off his gloves and hat. “Man, it’s good to get out of the cold.”

Rina set the hot tea on the coffee table. She was wearing thin pajamas. The radiator was spewing out puffs of hot air. “I finally understand saunas. You get hot, then cold, then the hot doesn’t feel so hot.” She fanned her face. “I’m ready to camp outside. I’m dying. Of course, it could be the M word.”

“Open a window.”

“I do. Then I get cold. No winning the war on hormones.”

Decker picked up his tea and sipped. “You look as young as the day I met you.”

“And you’re a smooth talker. You also have a gleam in your eye. Or is that an ice crystal? What’s the case, darling?”

“It wasn’t much but at least it was more than grabbing a cat from a tree.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I just told the kid not to talk about his cases with anyone.”

“I’m your wife. I have Fifth Amendment privileges.”

Decker smiled. “It’s nothing much. Could be an art theft of Tiffany panels. There are glass panels still up there but we don’t know if they’re the originals. They may be forgeries. The owner is coming up with an expert on Sunday to authenticate them.”

“I suppose the next question is, who would steal them? Who’d even know about them?”

“Excellent. Can you be my partner instead of the kid?”

“How’s the kid?”

“Obnoxious as usual.” Decker took another sip of tea. “Tonight, I did see a glimmer of curiosity.”

“Ah … maybe all he needed was a little real police work. He did go to Harvard.”

“His brain is not the problem. He needs a personality transplant.”

“He seemed polite enough when he was here. Anyway, it’s good to see you grumpy. That means you’re happy. Do you know anything about Tiffany?”

“Not much. What about you?”

“I think he used to have a studio upstate. I think it was dismantled, though.” Decker was quiet. Rina said, “What?”

“I think there’s a museum in Orlando … what’s it called? See that’s why we shouldn’t be talking about business on Shabbat. Now I can’t look it up and it’s killing me.”

“It’s a Tiffany museum?”

“It has a bunch of Tiffany windows. I was there when I visited my uncle years ago … it’s an American art museum … it’ll come to me.” Decker finished his tea. “Is stained-glass Tiffany the same Tiffany that owns the stores?”

“I think it was a father and son. The son did the stained glass.”

“Louis Comfort Tiffany.”

“Yeah, right. Good for you.”

“So the jewelry guy was the father?”

“Yes, and I think Tiffany jewelry went corporate a long time ago.”

“I’ll look it all up after Shabbos.” Decker moved closer to his wife. “Right now, let’s just enjoy being together.”

“Ooh, I like it when you’re doing real police work. It makes you romantic.”

Decker was taken aback. “Have I been a slacker in the romance department?”

“You’re always romantic, Peter. But you’ve seemed to be at loose ends since we got here.”

He took a breath and let it out. “It’s been an adjustment. At times, I’m a little bored. That’s pretty natural after working with LAPD for all those years. But I don’t want to go back. I think I just miss the rush of a real case. That first blush of excitement. And even though this art thing is probably nothing, it gave me a little jolt. I’m fine. Honestly. It’s all just part of the process of adaptation, I think. Of aging … of getting old.”

“You are not old.”

“Not according to the kid. He calls me Old Man.”

“You’re not old.” Rina kissed him again. “Besides, there’s old …” Another kiss. “And then there’s vintage.”