by Rayna Morgan
“And I was accusing Ida of having bats in her belfry!”
“C’mon, Mad,” Lea begged. “Which of your clients has a beautiful home filled with expensive paintings?”
“What about Art Patton?” Maddy said, referring to a local celebrity the sisters met on a previous case.
“He’s perfect. In fact, he will enjoy helping in our caper.” She added a note of reassurance. “Nothing will go wrong, I promise.”
Maddy raised her brows. “Forgive me for being skeptical, but I’ve suffered the consequences of your promises before. I swear, if I get in trouble…”
“You won’t.”
Against her better judgment, Maddy agreed. She called a number on the card Lea gave her, watching her sister eat while she made arrangements.
Moments later, she dropped her phone in her purse. “I’m picking up a picture from Art Patton later today. Ian’s appraiser will be at my house tonight.”
“Thanks, Mad.”
“You’re on the hook for more than this meal!” her sister snapped. “Be prepared to pay the fee for the appraisal.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I see you’re still here,” Tom told the receptionist at the insurance office. Again, she appeared flustered by the lieutenant.
“You must be doing a good job,” he told her, using her reaction to his advantage. “I’d like to speak with your boss.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked at an appointment book. When she responded, her tone was apologetic. “I don’t see you listed.”
Tom’s voice was as smooth as his approach. “That’s correct, but we only need a few moments of his time. Be a gem and let him know we're here.”
The receptionist stood up, straightening the skirt bunched at her waist. “I’ll ask. He just returned from lunch. He’s very busy.”
When she disappeared into the other office, Pat looked at the lieutenant and shook her head.
“I don’t always come on like gangbusters," he said in self-defense.
“There’s no denying, you can charm the women. Don’t think I’m complaining. It’s saved us from getting a warrant on more than one occasion.”
The receptionist returned. “Mr. Alexander will see you, but only for the short time you requested. He wants you to know he has a scheduled appointment at one o'clock.”
She emphasized the word scheduled.
Pat whispered in Tom’s ear as they made their way to the inner sanctum. “Don’t count on your charm working on Ian.”
The receptionist stared at the detective as he passed in front of her. “May I offer you coffee?”
He smiled. “Black, please.”
She blushed and hurried toward the kitchen.
“None for me, thanks,” Pat said to the girl’s retreating back.
• • •
A wave of impatience crossed Ian’s face waiting for the visitors to be seated.
“Are you harassing me, Detective? I’ve told you everything I know about Sandra’s murder.”
“Relax,” Tom said. “We’re here on an entirely different matter.”
Ian tilted his head from side to side, rubbing his neck. “What is it this time?”
“We need information in connection with a case we’re working involving thefts of high-priced paintings.”
Ian’s body stiffened. He leaned forward onto his elbows. “What information are you looking for?”
“I understand you specialize in fine art insurance.”
“Donna handles basic household insurance. I cover my clients for art, jewelry, and collectibles.”
“What falls under the category of collectibles?”
“Everything from antiques, furs, and wine, to golf clubs and comic collections.”
“Why does a person hire a broker who specializes as you do?”
“A specialist creates policies to protect valuables and assists with claims. I work on behalf of the client, not the insurance company.”
“Isn’t art covered under a homeowner’s policy?” Pat asked.
“The standard policy provides for personal contents, but limits protection for valuables. Additional coverage is required for expensive items.”
“Is there much call for this kind of insurance?” Tom asked.
“There’s been an increased need since returns from equities and real estate continue to fall. Collectibles, including art and antiques, have become popular with investors.”
He looked over the rim of his glasses. “Or don’t you keep up with the world of investments, Lieutenant?”
Tom returned the gibe. “So you’re cashing in on protecting your clients’ riches.”
“I simply encourage my clients to take out sufficient insurance for their assets. Obtaining inadequate coverage can be a costly mistake.”
“Give me an example.”
“Mishaps besides fire and floods may occur. I've seen claims for pencils going through paintings and red wine glasses flying onto canvases. A well written policy means the owner won't come out of pocket for damages caused by a drunken guest.”
“Do things like that actually happen?” Pat asked.
“I had a client whose grandson flew a remote control helicopter through a valued painting. Unfortunately, he didn’t take my word about the coverage he needed. He went to the insurer after the incident asking for restoration. He learned the hard way to insure his artwork before a flying toy rips a hole through it.”
“How costly a lesson was it?” Tom asked.
“He failed to get a dime of reimbursement for the ruined painting, valued at half a million dollars.”
“The grandson probably wasn’t invited back any time soon,” Pat mumbled.
The broker smiled. “Luckily for the boy, his grandfather is a rich man.”
“How do you decide the amount of coverage needed?” Tom asked.
“It depends on the value.”
There was a knock on the door which Ian answered by hollering. “What is it, Bridget? We’re in a meeting.”
The door opened and the receptionist appeared with a cup of coffee. “Sorry, sir. It’s for the policeman.”
“Yes, of course,” Ian said impatiently. “But no more interruptions, please.”
Tom accepted the cup with a smile and Bridget scurried out the door.
“I was explaining value,” Ian continued. “For tax purposes, value is the price a property sells for on the open market, as agreed upon between a willing buyer and seller. For art, this usually means auction price because auction is the predominant market of exchange. However, if the property in question sells only at retail—”
“You mean in a gallery?” Pat asked.
“That’s correct.” Ian gave her the nod of a teacher to a student. “In that case, an appraiser uses retail pricing, the price to buy the same, or similar item, at a gallery.”
“Doesn’t art change in value year after year?” Tom asked.
“That’s what makes me a good broker. I determine whether clients’ assets have changed at time of renewal to ensure adequate coverage.”
Tom smiled inwardly. I’d say, more than adequately covered in some cases.
“What happens when an artist dies?” Pat asked. “With musicians, albums double or triple in price. Is that true for art?”
“Those occasions can create havoc for anyone who opts for a set amount to be paid in the event of loss. If a painting you insure for ten million dollars is destroyed, ten million dollars is what you receive as payment for your claim. It's a windfall if the value of the painting has fallen to five million dollars since the painting was purchased. That's not the case, however, if the value has soared to twenty million dollars.”
“Is insurance value ever higher than retail value?” Pat asked, playing the part of an eager student.
“It may be somewhat higher to accommodate for shipping and other costs.” His response was abrupt, no longer the patient teacher.
Tom nodded at the rookie. She had set the man up perfectly.
“The insurance value was more than slightly higher in the case of the Johnson painting.” The lieutenant’s voice was firm. No one to be trifled with. “Substantially more.”
Pat matched Tom’s tone. “You’re familiar with that theft, aren’t you, sir?”
The question threw Ian off guard. He pushed his chair away from the desk and walked to the bar. “Would either of you care for water?”
Tom knew the ploy. The man was stalling for time, trying to collect his thoughts.
“An answer, please,” he responded.
Ian pulled a bottle from the small refrigerator and returned to his seat. “Of course. It was big news in the art world.”
Tom locked eyes with Ian. “A stolen painting worth twelve million dollars was big news in more than the art world. It was a sonic boom in the major crimes division.”
Ian squirmed. A beep sounded on his computer. “Is that all, Lieutenant? I’m receiving emails which require my attention.”
“One last question. What are typical claims for items you insure?”
Ian stared at the screen, weary of the conversation. “Most are for theft, but occasionally art is damaged in transit.”
“So far, our case involves theft, not robbery,” Pat said. “We’ve had no victims.”
Ian looked up from his computer, staring at her in disbelief. “No victims!”
Tom explained. “We don’t classify a crime as robbery unless something of value is taken from a victim using threats, force, or intimidation.”
“I beg to differ with your definition of a victim.” His tone was condescending. “If you were a collector, you’d know that anyone who loses a valuable piece of art feels victimized.”
Tom recognized an opportunity to drop a bomb. “That explains why a big reward has been offered for information leading to recovery of the stolen paintings.”
The detective watched as Ian turn pale.
“That may not help,” Tom continued, “but our phone lines will be jammed with leads.”
Ian looked at his watch. “I’m sorry. I have no more time. There are calls I must make.”
Tom whispered to the rookie as they left. “What I’d give for a wire tap!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lea called her father. “Do you have a minute, Dad? I’d like to pick your brain.”
He laughed. “You’re welcome to what’s left of it.”
“There was a burglary in our neighborhood last night.”
“Anyone you know?”
“Our neighbor, Ida Allen. You know her, too.”
“The woman your mother gossips with every time we visit you.”
“A valuable painting was stolen. An original Kinkade she showed me yesterday.”
“That’s too bad. I hope she wasn't hurt.”
“Thankfully, no, but it was frightening all the same. She’s an avid collector. Losing one of her treasures is like losing a family member.”
“I understand her feelings, but the theft doesn’t surprise me. Incidences of stolen art occur frequently at residences and pictures are the objects most often taken.”
“It brought to mind questions about her theft. I figure you've dealt with a case or two.”
He chuckled. “At one time or other during my career, I encountered every crime you could imagine. What do you want to know?”
“Ida is skeptical about the police recovering her painting. Is there reason for her pessimism?”
“From what I know of Ida, pessimism is a general frame of mind. Unfortunately, in this instance, she has grounds. There’s little chance of getting it back. Less than ten percent is recovered. Most stolen art is never returned to the rightful owners.”
“What happens to it?” Lea asked.
“It's sold by the burglars, usually for much less than its established value.”
“How much less?”
“Typically, ten percent of what it's worth. Five to seven percent for well-known pieces or those from heavily publicized thefts because of the difficulty concealing the origins of the pieces. Even at ten percent, it can still amount to a substantial chunk of change.”
“If Ida’s painting is found after she’s paid by the insurance company, will she have rights of ownership or will it belong to the company since they paid her claim?”
“I can relate my experience with one case I worked. A thief broke into a home and made off with a valuable piece of art. The homeowner reported the break-in, submitted a claim, and received payment based on the appraised value. Through a stroke of luck some years later, we recovered the painting and returned it to the owner. By that time, it was worth a million dollars, far more than what was paid in insurance proceeds earlier.”
Warren paused to allow his daughter to consider possible solutions. “What do you think, Lea? When stolen art is recovered, who owns it, the insured or the insurer?”
Lea thought a moment. “That’s a tough one. I suppose it has to do with the subrogation clause in most policies.”
“Good guess. Subrogation allows an insurance company to act as owner of the artwork to pursue the person responsible for their loss.”
“It doesn’t transfer ownership, does it?”
“No, it only allows the insurer to recover the amount of the claim paid to the insured.”
“But with art which has appreciated," Lea argued, "there's more at stake than the amount of the claim. From what I understand, the insured is prevented from double recovery. Is that correct?”
“That's right. If the insured party is paid for their loss, they aren’t also entitled to the full increased value of the art. That was the issue with the case I described. Both insured and insurer wanted the art itself since it had appreciated so much.
“The insurance company argued the claimant was made whole when the proceeds were paid. In effect, that the insured agreed to release interest in the piece and allow the insurer to step into his shoes once he received payment.
“In turn, the insured argued that the payment did not fully compensate for loss considering the increased value of the painting. He insisted he would pay back the insurance proceeds received years earlier to avoid double recovery.”
Lea waited, but there was only silence. “C’mon, Dad. I’m waiting to hear the outcome.”
“I later learned the outcome was favorable to the insured.”
“I appreciate your input. Hopefully, there will be a speedy resolution to Ida’s theft.”
“Burglary falls under Tom’s purview. You aren’t interfering in another of his investigations, are you?”
“I’m only trying to help a neighbor.”
“I know you. You can’t resist getting to the bottom of it. Need I remind you how your husband feels about your sleuthing?”
“Don’t tell Paul I was asking questions, okay?”
“As long as you don’t let him know where you get your answers.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lea drove to the address shown on Henry’s proposal. The bid gave her an excuse to visit his place of business.
She passed through the gated fence and parked in the yard, leaving the window open for Gracie.
“I won’t be long,” she told the dog.
Henry’s truck was gone. The only sound was hammering and grinding of sheet metal from the fabrication shop next door.
She walked to the front of the warehouse and peered at the gardening machinery and supplies. A small object scrunched under her shoe. As she leaned to pick it up, she heard a gruff, unpleasant voice.
“Are you looking for something?”
She spun around to face a short, muscular man wiping his hands on a greasy rag.
“I came to see Henry,” she offered meekly.
“He’s not here. Probably won’t be back today.”
She attempted a better start by extending her hand. “I’m Lea Austin. You must be Shorty. I’ve seen you in our neighborhood with Henry. You’re the one who works while he gabs.”
He grinned, displ
aying a large gap between his front teeth. His grip was sweaty and strong.
“Don’t let my boss hear you say that.”
“I’ve come to discuss his proposal to redo my garden,” Lea said.
He snapped his fingers. “You're the rose bush lady.”
“That’s me. I’m eager to get started before I kill any more flowers.”
“I’ll tell Henry to call you.”
“Thanks, Shorty. I hope to see you soon.”
As she moved toward her car, Gracie barked. The dog’s ears pricked forward and her lips pulled back, exposing sharp teeth.
Shorty backed up. “What’s wrong with your dog?”
Lea was surprised by her pet’s behavior. Even more surprised by his.
“A big guy like you afraid of dogs? Don’t worry. She’s being protective. All bark, no bite.”
He relaxed, but turned away. “I’ll let Henry know you came by.”
When they got to the street, Lea praised Gracie.
“Good job, girl. You confirmed my suspicions about the night Ida’s house was broken into. I knew you wouldn’t have barked at Henry. Now, I’m sure Shorty was with him. You saw him driving the car, didn’t you?”
She reached in her pocket and pulled out the shiny piece of metal she stepped on in the warehouse.
“More and more interesting,” she told the dog before dropping the sailboat trinket in her purse.
• • •
The barking dog put Shorty on edge. The woman accused him of being afraid of dogs. She was right.
Ever since he was chased by a neighbor’s dog when he was six years old. The mutt latched onto his shorts hard enough to draw blood. Everyone on the block was mad. It wasn’t the first time the errant canine bit someone, but this victim was a child. The neighbors moved away not long after. Shorty never heard what became of the dog.
He shook his head to erase the memory and decided to close up shop.
Knowing Henry, he’s already drinking at some bar. It will give me a chance to beat the commuters. Spend some time with my girlfriend.
He took side streets to avoid the congested freeway. It meant stopping for multiple lights, but was better than sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
