He went on to explain that Grassini had encountered Bianchi during a business deal, and, learning of Grassini’s cache of art, had approached him for help facilitating the sale of the brothel tokens on behalf of a capo in the Sicilian Mafia. Grassini had cheated Bianchi out of payment, claiming that the tokens wee fakes and that he had discarded them. The day of Bianchi’s death, the Sicilian had come to Grassini’s apartment to challenge him. My brother and I were accidental witnesses to their confrontation, and to Bianchi’s death.
Grassini had admitted that in the course of his negotiations with Jesse Venable over the sale of Ragazzi al Mare, he had made arrangements with Venable to sell the coins to a private buyer in the U.S., one whom Venable would not name. Frank Sena’s interest in the painting had provided a safe vehicle for transport. Venable had assured him that the courier for the painting was beyond reproach, and should have no problem bringing it, with the coins in the frame, into the country.
Did that mean Venable had broken through my cover to know I was an FBI agent? That implied Frank Sena had told him. Or he could have mentioned a gay red-headed accountant to someone at a bar, who might have fingered me.
Or maybe I had done a really good job of appearing honest and trustworthy?
It made me wonder exactly what Frank Sena had said about me. If Frank was a party to this illicit deal—perhaps getting a cheaper price on the painting for his cooperation—he could have told Venable that I worked for the Bureau and would be a perfect patsy as a courier.
My blood began to boil as it had when I thought Vito was holding out on me, but once again, I forced myself to calm down. I’d have to see what Vito and Miriam cooked up and whether they suspected Frank Sena of being involved.
Foa asked that I arrange to photograph the brothel tokens and send him the pictures. Miriam and I were to hold onto the coins as evidence in the case against Grassini, and whoever had stolen the coins from the villa.
I returned to Miriam’s office and told her what I’d learned from Foa. “An FBI agent would certainly get less scrutiny at Customs than an ordinary citizen,” Miriam said. “Especially if you identified yourself and said that you were recovering stolen property.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But if anyone questioned you, you would have,” Miriam said. “A perfect cover. And you say that the only party to this deal who knew you are an agent is Mr. Sena?”
I nodded, though it made my heart hurt. “There is also the possibility that Jesse Venable broke my cover and didn’t confront me,” I said. “It wasn’t very deep to start with.”
“Either way, you’re going to have to take the painting to Jesse Venable as you promised. You’ll have to get him to pry off the back panel. If he indicates the tokens are missing, then he admits knowledge of the transport of stolen goods, and we nail him.”
Miriam and I replaced the discolored back panel, using the same nails to secure it in place. Then we wrapped the painting back up exactly as the Venetian shipping company had. I returned to my office, where I emailed Jesse Venable and made arrangements to take the painting over to his house that afternoon. About an hour later I walked down to the lab, where Wagon hooked me up with a recording device under my shirt. Good thing I wasn’t planning on going swimming with Jesse Venable that day.
Then I drove to Venable’s house. I felt a weird mixture of emotions. I was excited that my efforts might save refugees a world away. But I had gotten Venable to trust me, and now I was going to betray him and send him to jail.
I drove more and more slowly once I was in his community, reluctant to face him and my betrayal. But I pulled up in front of his house, grabbed the painting and locked my car.
Once again, he was waiting at the front door for me,. I handed him the wrapped package, and closed the front door behind me, careful to leave it slightly ajar so that Miriam and the other agents she would undoubtedly bring with her would be able to get in easily. Then I followed him into his dining room, where he placed the package carefully on the table.
He got a switchblade knife from a drawer in the armoire and carefully sliced away the wrapping paper so he could pull it off the painting. “You can just call Frank Sena and verify that it’s the right painting, and he’ll transfer the commission to you, can’t you?” I asked. “And then I’ll take the painting over to him this evening.”
“I’ll take care of getting the painting to him,” Jesse said. “You can go now, Angus. Thanks.”
“I told Frank I’d bring the painting over to him after I showed it to you,” I said. “So I’ll just take it with me now.”
He turned on me, and I could see the venom in his eyes. “I said I’ll take care of that.”
I couldn’t walk out without getting something from Venable on the tape. “There’s something about the painting you should know,” I said. “There’s a damage to the back of the frame.”
He flipped the painting over, and I could tell by way tried to glance at the frame without letting me see that he knew those brothel tokens had been placed in the frame by Remigio Grassini. How could I get him to admit it, though? “When my brother and I saw the painting in Venice, we were worried about that, so we had Mr. Grassini pry the back panel off. You know, just to make sure there was no damage to the painting itself when the frame was repaired.”
He glared at me again, and I thought Larry Kane had been pretty stupid to challenge a man as dangerous as Venable – something I’d just done myself.
“You took the frame apart?”
“Just that loose piece on the back. You can pry it off yourself.”
He flipped the knife in his hand to a different, deadlier blade, and used its edge to remove the loose piece. “Son of a bitch!” he exploded, when he saw that the cavity inside the frame was empty. “Did you steal those coins from me, Angus? I swear to God I’ll kill you if you did.”
He rushed at me, moving surprisingly quickly for such a big man. I jumped back, pulling my Glock from its holster and aiming it at him. “Back off! I am a Federal agent and I am armed!”
A boom at the front door startled both of us, and we turned to see Miriam Washington striding in, with two burly guys from the SWAT team behind her. “Jesse Venable, you are under arrest for trafficking in stolen property,” she said.
He brandished the knife. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Special Agent Miriam Washington from the FBI,” she said. “Put down the weapon, Mr. Venable. This will go much easier if you cooperate.”
Venable turned to me. “You fucked me over, Angus. I won’t forget this.”
He let the knife clatter to the table, and I was grateful that his contact in Italy, Remigio Grassini, was in police custody. At least I hoped Grassini was his only contact.
27 – A Bitter Pill
Miriam read Venable his rights, then led him out to the Bureau SUV she’d arrived in. I packed up the painting once more and followed them back to the office. By the time I parked and walked in, I had a text from Miriam. “Venable invoked his right to an attorney. Meet me in my office.”
When I got there, she was on the phone, but as soon as she hung up she said, “Venable’s attorney should be here within the hour. In the meantime, he can cool his heels in the interview room.”
“What about Frank Sena? Should I let him know what’s going on?”
“Do you believe that he was part of this operation?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think he had any idea about the coins in the frame. But it’s his painting, after all, and I promised to bring it to him as soon as I could.”
“Call him and let him know you’re going to be delayed. But don’t tell him why.”
I stepped out of Miriam’s office to call Frank. “You’re on your way over with the painting?” he asked.
“Not quite yet. I got hung up on something at work. But I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.”
He sighed. “I waited this long to see it, I’m sure I can wait another few hours.”
When I went back to Miriam’s office, we were joined by an Assistant District Attorney named Caleb Lewin. He was a couple of years younger than I was, probably fresh out of law school, and he looked about as comfortable in his suit and tie as I usually felt. I went through everything I had learned about Venable, including our suspicion that he was connected to the smuggling of watches and refugees out of Turkey.
“All we have is a shipping manifest addressed to a private mailbox leased by the LLC that operates Venable’s booth at Trader Tom’s market,” I said. “Not enough to bring charges. But if we can get him to flip on whoever he buys the watches from, we have a chance to track down not only the manufacturer of the counterfeit watches, but whoever is shipping them out of Turkey and at the same time putting refugees in mortal danger.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lewin said. “It looks like we have a strong case against Venable for the smuggling of the gold coins. It’s going to be tough to trade that for anything less than solid evidence against this smuggler.”
“Larry Kane, who worked for Venable, died about a week ago, and in his effects I found the name Evren Kuroglu, who has some connection to watch manufacturing in Turkey. That might be your key.”
I hurried back to my office, and emailed the material I had on Kuroglu to both Miriam Washington and Caleb Lewin. By the time I got back to Miriam’s office, she walked me down the hall to a door beside one of our interview rooms. Inside it, a mirrored window looked into the room, and I could hear everything that was said.
Venable sat facing me at a wooden table. His attorney, Alfredo Sandler, a brusque middle-aged man with a strong Spanish accent, sat beside him. I watched as Miriam went through the basics of why Venable had been arrested. “We know about the gold brothel tokens, Mr. Venable. A conviction for trafficking in stolen artifacts could land you in federal prison for a long time.”
“My client had no knowledge of any gold in the frame of the painting. He was simply brokering a deal between Mr. Frank Sena and Mr. Remigio Grassini.”
“We have your client on tape admitting to knowledge of the coins,” Miriam said. “And Grassini has already admitted to making a side deal with your client about these tokens, Counselor. He has supplied the Italian police with an email chain confirming the deal.”
Venable’s face paled, and he leaned over to confer with Sandler.
After a moment’s conversation, Sandler said, “Mr. Venable can admit to knowledge of the gold tokens in the picture’s frame. But once again, he was simply brokering a deal for someone else. He did not know the history of the tokens or where they came from. Mr. Grassini knew of Mr. Venable’s work as a dealer in gold, and approached him during the negotiations for the Italian painting. He indicated that a contact had some gold coins to sell and asked if Mr. Venable could assist in the transaction.”
Lewin nodded. “Go on.”
“Mr. Venable approached several past customers and found someone who was interested.”
“Name?” Lewin asked.
Venable looked at Sandler, who nodded. “Evren Kuroglu,” Venable said.
I pumped my fist and mouthed a quiet “Yes!”
“If this was a legitimate transaction why smuggle the coins in the picture frame?” Miriam asked.
“Mr. Venable’s customer preferred to keep the transaction sub rosa,” Sandler said. “Mr. Venable’s understanding was that Ms. Kuroglu wanted to avoid calling attention to the purchase.”
“And paying the appropriate import duties?” Lewin asked.
Sandler pursed his lips together. “My client has no knowledge of Ms. Kuroglu’s financial situation.”
“Other than that she can afford a hundred thousand dollars for a purchase of stolen antiquities,” Miriam said. “Or was the price lower because of the illicit nature of the transaction?”
Venable simply shrugged, and Sandler stared ahead.
I sent Miriam a text asking if Venable had bought his counterfeit watches from Kuroglu. I saw her look down at her phone, then show it to Lewin.
Then she looked at Venable. “Your relationship with Ms. Kuroglu was more a mutual buyer-seller relationship, wasn’t it? Ms. Kuroglu bought gold from you. And you bought counterfeit watches from her to sell at your booth at Trader Tom’s.”
Venable’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t say anything,” Sandler said to him. He turned to Miriam and Lewin. “Can we call a brief recess to these negotiations so I can speak with my client?”
They agreed, and I met Miriam and Lewin in the hallway. “Venable’s got to be very careful because he doesn’t want to get implicated in the death of Larry Kane,” I said.
“There’s no way I’m giving immunity for murder in exchange for art theft,” he said. “Just so you know.”
“But if Venable can implicate Kuroglu in smuggling those watches, she in turn could lead us to the immigrant smugglers,” I said. “People die in those boats every day.”
“Kuroglu’s name is not unfamiliar to me, Agent Green,” he said. “But is she responsible for the immigrant smuggling? And can Venable give her to us if she is? That’s a lot of ifs in a row, and more than any judge is going to want to see.”
“We don’t know even that Venable was responsible for Mr. Kane’s death,” Miriam said. “And unless he or an accomplice confesses, we have no evidence against him. So I doubt it’s going to get that far.”
Which meant that there would never be justice for Larry Kane. I had to remind myself that there was still a possibility, however slim, that his death had been accidental, and that it wasn’t my job to lock down the circumstances.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one I knew I had to.
28 – The Glitter of Gold
Sandler came to the door of the interview room and invited Miriam and Lewin back in, and I returned to the other side of the one-way mirror. When they were all seated again, Sandler said, “My client invokes his fifth amendment rights against self-incrimination.”
“Then he has nothing to deal with,” Lewin said. “Here’s what we have so far. Your client agreed in writing to facilitated the smuggling of stolen artifacts into this country. That’s a felony. And there are sixteen of these tokens, which means sixteen felony counts. That’s going to add up to serious jail time.”
Lewin sat back in his chair. “Now, there are ways to reduce that.”
Sandler looked at Venable, who nodded slightly. “We’re listening.”
“In the grand scheme of things, Mr. Venable is a bottom feeder. He sells counterfeit watches at the flea market. Who suffers from that? A bunch of big corporations who make the legitimate watches, and a bunch of fools who think they’re getting a bargain. Not a big deal to me.”
He banged his hand on the table, startling all of us. “But there is a much bigger fish out there. In addition to manufacturing these watches and arranging to get them to the United States, Evren Kuroglu has picked up a side trade in smuggling refugees into the European Union. People who die because they trust one of her minions to get them to safety, and often get stuck on flimsy boats or sent crashing into the shore because the pilots don’t want to get caught.”
Venable would not look up so I couldn’t see his face, but I’d read body language enough during my years behind the bar to know he knew he was done.
Lewin took a deep breath. “And those deaths are a big deal to me. If you can give us Ms. Kuroglu, then all the charges against Mr. Venable are open for negotiation.”
Sandler leaned in to speak with Venable again. While they did, I looked at Lewin, who had just proved the old saw about appearances being deceiving. I liked him for it.
Venable and Sandler appeared to be arguing, but eventually Venable won. He turned back to us. “I don’t know anything about smuggling people. I see that kind of shit in the newspaper and it makes me sick. If what I tell you helps some of those refugees, then I’m ready to talk.”
“In exchange for consideration in charging Mr. Venable with any crimes,” Sandler added.
“Definitely on the table,” Lewin said.
Venable described meeting Kuroglu a few years before, building a relationship that involved buying cartons of fake watches and reselling them through his pawn shops and his booth at Trader Tom’s.
“She bought gold from me now and then,” Venable continued. “Anything antique that came in, I called her, and if she was in town she came over and looked at it. If she wasn’t, I put it away until she could see it. She was a good customer. When Grassini told me he had this collection of gold coins I was interested right away, and I thought of Evren.”
He took a swig from the water bottle in front of him.
“I didn’t know where the gold coins came from and I never had any concrete evidence that they were stolen. You know, don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“That’s not a legal defense,” Lewin said drily. “But continue.”
Venable didn’t have much more to offer. But we did have what I’d been looking for since I began this investigation – a link to the woman who ran the smuggling operations. Evren Kuroglu.
Through the window I watched as Lewin led Venable out of the room, followed by Sandler. I walked out into the hallway as Venable was passing.
“I trusted you, Angus,” he said.
“Because you knew I was an FBI agent, didn’t you?”
“Don’t say anything,” Sandler said, but I could tell from the slight nod of Jesse’s head that he had known.
Venable was a crook, and he should have known better than to trust a Federal agent to keep his secrets. That made me feel better – but only a little.
I watched as Venable and Sandler followed Lewin down the hall. I’d worked hard to get Venable to like me, and as Katya had prophesied, I had betrayed his trust. I had to remind myself that he must have betrayed or hurt a lot of people on his journey to that fancy house in Weston with its glittering pool.
Karma was a bitch, and all I could do was hope to stay on her good side.
Survival Is a Dying Art Page 18
