Restrike

by Reba White Williams

  “The London police have told the New York police that the Dürers Bain bought for the Print Museum were almost certainly stolen from the Baldorean, a country-house museum near Oxford. The Baldorean Dürers—the same four images, unstamped, and in superb condition—are missing. There’s no way of proving they’re the ones Bain bought, but it seems probable. Once again, an unidentified bearded man is the suspect. They have a Polaroid of him, and he used the name Ravenscroft at the museum,” Rob said.

  Coleman’s eyes widened. The Dürer thief had to be Simon.

  “Rachel Ransome, formerly Ravenscroft, identified Simon from the photo, but no one agrees with her identification. They’re checking to see if he has an alibi,” Rob said.

  Coleman was the first to speak. “Could you get me a copy of the photo of the guy at the Baldorean? If Rachel Ransome thinks the guy is Simon, she must have a good reason.”

  “Sure.” Rob made a note.

  “What do we do now?” Dinah said.

  “I think we should talk to Heyward Bain. He has a lot at risk. The public embarrassment and the financial losses are his, and he brought both Simon and Ellen Carswell into this.”

  “I agree,” Coleman said.

  “Me, too,” Dinah said.

  “It’s okay with me,” Jonathan said.

  “I suggest I make an appointment to see him as soon as possible,” Rob said.

  “I want to go with you,” Coleman said.

  Rob looked at Jonathan and Dinah.

  “If Coleman wants to go, I think she should,” Dinah said.

  “I think so, too,” Jonathan said.

  “Okay, it’s the two of us,” Rob told Coleman. “On another topic, I called Ellen Carswell about Ms. Isaacs as soon as I got back to my office. I taped the conversation. Want to hear it?”

  “Absolutely!” Coleman said, just as Dinah said, “Oh yes,” and Jonathan said, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  He turned on the tape recorder, and they heard Rob’s voice:

  “Ms. Carswell, did you make a job offer to Tammy Isaacs?”

  “Yes. She approached me when she heard I was launching the magazine. She told me she’d like to join me, and we agreed on terms. She’s to start here after her marriage in April, working out of Chicago.”

  “Did you ask her to steal Coleman Greene’s article ideas and give them to you?”

  “Of course not. Tammy made a few suggestions for articles, but the ideas were hers.”

  “Ms. Isaacs admits that she has been stealing ideas from Ms. Greene, and she says it was at your request.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe that. Why would she say such a thing? I must speak to her and put a stop to this nonsense.”

  He turned off the tape recorder and was about to speak when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, and withdrew to the kitchen.

  “I think we should get in touch with Rachel Ransome,” Dinah said.

  “Why? Do you have something specific you want to ask her?” Coleman said.

  “No, but like Bain, she has a lot to lose. Rachel Ransome believes Simon stole the Dürers. We should join forces.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Rob, who’d come back in the room, said. “Why don’t you call her, Dinah? Meanwhile, does anyone here think Simon is not guilty on all charges?”

  “Absolutely not,” Coleman said.

  “I think he’s guilty of something. I just don’t know what,” Dinah said.

  “I’ll go along with Dinah and Coleman. I don’t know him, but they do, and that’s enough for me,” Jonathan said.

  “Well, whatever he’s guilty of, it isn’t the theft of the Dürers. He was in New York when the beard was at the Baldorean. The call I just took was to give me that information,” Rob said.

  Coleman raised her eyebrows. “With Carswell again? Anybody think she might be lying?”

  “When the Dürers were stolen, he was with a group of print dealers,” Rob said.

  “I guess that’s that, although I still can’t believe it,” Coleman said. “Is it definite that Carswell is the owner of the Artful Californian? Because if so, she’s the person trying to ruin ArtSmart.”

  “She owns the magazine and several other businesses, but I don’t agree that anyone is necessarily out to ruin your magazine. Don’t you think it’s possible Carswell just took advantage of a situation that presented itself when Ms. Isaacs approached her? But talking of the Artful Californian reminds me that I told Zeke and Bethany to leave the bug at ArtSmart in place. I have some ideas about how to use it. We’ll talk about that at our next meeting.

  “But you’ll have to excuse me. Coleman and I have a dinner reservation. Coleman, are you ready to go?” Rob stood up, and held out his hand to Coleman. Moments later, they were gone.

  “Well, I never!” Dinah said when the door had closed behind them. “Coleman detested Rob! She didn’t want to hire him. I wonder why she didn’t tell me she’d changed her mind?”

  Jonathan laughed. “She probably hasn’t had time. It sounds like she had a busy day at the office. Can you imagine it—Zeke and Bethany playing detective, and Ms. Isaacs having a fit? And Zeke joining ArtSmart. Too bad Coleman doesn’t drink. This would be a night to tie one on. Speaking of that, I’m going to have another glass of wine. Is dinner nearly ready? Something smells good.”

  “Roast chicken keeping warm in the oven. Would you carve it, and toss the salad? I want to send Rachel Ransome an e-mail.”

  He smiled at her. “Sure. Let’s make an early night of it, why don’t we? Why should Rob and Coleman have all the fun?”

  To: Rachel Ransome

  From: Dinah Greene

  Subject: Print Crimes

  Dear Mrs. Ransome,

  My friends and I are investigating a series of crimes in the NY print world. We’ve heard about the Lautrec and the Dürers. Would you call me at your convenience to see if we can help each other?

  “Have you recovered from this morning?” Rob asked, after they’d ordered. He couldn’t take his eyes off Coleman. She looked like a daffodil in a lime green jacket and skirt and a pale yellow silk blouse.

  She smiled, her blonde curls gleaming in the candlelight. “Oh, yes. By the end of the day I could even see how funny the debugging was. I won’t get over the loss of Chick for a long time, but I’m feeling a little better about that, too.”

  Rob toasted her with his wineglass. “I’m glad. I know that the problems at your office have been deeply troubling you. The idea I wanted to try out on you: how about using the bug in the conference room for disinformation? Maybe get revenge on whoever is listening?”

  “Oh, what fun! I’d love it!” Coleman laughed, and several heads turned to look at her. Her laugh wasn’t loud, but nearby diners smiled when they heard it.

  The patrons of Leopard apparently found Coleman as irresistible as Rob did, and he was smitten. Even the playful nymphs in the Howard Chandler Christy murals decorating the walls of the restaurant seemed to smile on Coleman. Rob wished he and she hadn’t gotten off to such a bad start. He hoped he could make it up to her.

  “Good! We can have a lot of fun with it. We might even be able to find out if you’re right about Artful trying to ruin ArtSmart.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m right about that, even if I’ve been wrong about Simon—and I still can’t believe that. I’ve wasted time getting angry, but I’ve decided that if I can figure out how to do it, I’m going to get even with the Artful Californian crowd. I hadn’t thought of using the bug—that’s ingenious.”

  Rob looked into her eyes, his face serious. “Coleman, I can’t tell you how much I regret not getting it right about Jimmy La Grange’s murder. You tried to tell me, and I wouldn’t listen. I apologize.”

  Coleman, who’d called him an ass and worse, and had said she never wanted to see him again, dropped her eyes and flushed. “It’s okay,” she said.

  “Not okay, but I hope to make it up to you. Tell me about yourself. Mind you, I’ve read all about you in articles. I kn
ow you grew up in North Carolina, and came north to graduate school after Duke. Then what?”

  “I wrote for several art magazines, some freelancing, but mostly on staff. Along the way I read a lot and I took courses trying to learn how to manage or run a magazine. My last job before buying ArtSmart was as editor of a small magazine, and by then, I thought I could do it all.” She laughed. “Maybe that doesn’t surprise you?”

  He smiled. “Then what?”

  “I looked for a magazine in trouble, but with potential. When I found ArtSmart, I bought it with borrowed money—Jonathan helped me finance it.” She shrugged. “That’s my story. What about yours?”

  He told her about being a cop, studying law, and the interest in art crime that led him to open his own business. “My parents are dead, I’m divorced, no kids, and my wife remarried and moved upstate.”

  “I’ve never married, never lived with anyone, never been engaged,” Coleman said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like men?”

  She smiled. “I do, but in small doses. I have flings, and that’s all I want. I love living alone. I love my work.”

  “Are you warning me off?”

  “If you’re shopping for a wife, or even a roommate, I am. I have a dog and she’s the only live-in companion I can imagine.”

  “Where is the famous Dolly?”

  “In my pouch under the table.”

  “I’d never have guessed. She’s very well-behaved.”

  “She’s also a good friend. She thinks I’m perfect, listens to my every word, and doesn’t talk back.”

  He smiled. “Back to your flings: when can I see you again?”

  Thirty-Eight

  Thursday morning

  New York

  Coleman awoke in a good mood. She’d had fun with Rob, and she was glad that Tammy had confessed and left. She was relieved that Chick had been cleared, although sad about his death. She no longer had to worry about the leak, or Jonathan taking over the magazine. Zeke was on board to help her at ArtSmart. She’d promised herself not to think about Heyward Bain; she was far too busy. Anyway, his image, which had dominated her consciousness for months, had dimmed. She had a meeting with him and Rob coming up—the first time she’d have spoken to Bain in months—and she wasn’t even excited. Strange. Bain was the fling that never happened.

  “Dinah, Mrs. Ransome is on the phone.”

  “Mrs. Ransome, thank you so much for calling.”

  “It is good to speak with you, Ms. Greene, but I regret that we are speaking in such unhappy circumstances. How may I help you?”

  Dinah told her everything that had happened in the New York print world since October. “A bearded man keeps turning up, and we all thought it was Simon in disguise, but Simon always has an alibi. We hoped you could help us. We’re up against a stone wall.”

  “I had not heard about the two deaths, nor the attack on your cousin, nor the Rembrandt plates. I am so very sorry. As for Simon, I believe he is capable of anything. I was certain it was he who stole the Dürers. I am still certain he planned the theft.” She paused.

  Dinah thought she had finished speaking and was about to reply, but Rachel continued, her voice harder. “There is much I should tell you about Simon, but I do not think it should be on the telephone. Will you come to London? I urge you to come immediately. The attack on your cousin concerns me. It is possible that she remains in danger.”

  Dinah frowned. Why did Rachel think that Coleman might be in danger? After Simon was cleared of Coleman’s mugging, Dinah had dismissed it as attempted theft. When Coleman had identified Simon’s scent as the source of her certainty that Simon was the attacker, Dinah had assumed that others wore it. She’d mentioned the attack on Coleman to Rachel only because Coleman was so certain it was connected to the print crimes, not because Dinah, or anyone else, agreed. Was Rachel suggesting Simon was involved? How was that possible?

  “I’ll talk to my husband and Coleman and I’ll get back to you later today,” she said. When she reached Coleman, she repeated Rachel’s warning.

  “I can’t get away,” Coleman said. “I’m short of staff and swamped.”

  “Come on, Coleman, don’t miss a trip to London because of work. It’s only a weekend. Suppose she’s right? If your mugging is connected with the art crimes, you could be in danger.”

  “I’m in danger of having a nervous breakdown if I don’t get caught up,” Coleman said.

  Heyward Bain had agreed to see Coleman and Rob at his house on East Sixty-Fifth Street. When they arrived on his doorstep, a grizzled and slightly stooped African American man in a white jacket led them to a small room, where Bain sat writing at a black lacquered table. Crammed bookcases covered the walls. No art, no objets, no photographs, nothing personal in sight. The desktop was bare except for Bain’s writing pad.

  He greeted Coleman with a friendly smile. She introduced Rob, explaining why Jonathan had retained him. Bain seated them in chairs grouped around a low table and joined them. The man in the white jacket—Bain introduced him as Horace—served coffee. Coleman noticed that the furniture had been subtly scaled down to accommodate its owner, but it was not uncomfortable even for someone as large as Rob.

  “Mr. Bain—” Rob began.

  “Heyward, please.”

  “Thanks, call me Rob. You probably know most of what I’m going to tell you about what we think is a series of related art crimes.” Rob summarized everything he knew, careful not to criticize Simon Fanshawe-Davies, who, after all, was Bain’s business associate. “The only way to tell for sure whether the Rembrandt is a restrike is technical analysis. The Metropolitan Museum can tell you where to have it done, maybe even do it for you,” Rob concluded.

  Bain sighed. “I’d better call my lawyer again. He’ll have his hands full with the Dürers, and now this. And I’ll have someone take the Rembrandt to the Metropolitan Museum right away.”

  “What are you going to do about the Dürers?” Rob said.

  “I’ll return them. They can’t prove the prints I bought are the Baldorean Dürers, but it seems obvious that they are. It’s a good thing I wouldn’t allow them to be stamped. I’m sorry to lose them, but it can’t be helped.”

  Every time she’d seen Bain, Coleman had had a sense of familiarity, and she felt it again today. But that was all she felt—no excitement, thrill, or attraction. He seemed like a decent man—his attitude towards the Dürers was evidence of that—but the spark was out. She was glad. “That’s very generous of you,” she said.

  “Let me tell you why we’re here,” Rob said. “The Dürers, Rembrandt’s Sleeping Kitten, Lautrec’s Midget, and Homer’s Skating Girl, which Simon Fanshawe-Davies bought for you at auction, were all sold by Jimmy La Grange. As you know, La Grange and Chick O’Reilly, an ArtSmart writer who was trying to learn more about La Grange’s role in all this, have been killed. As Coleman said, I was retained to find out what’s going on, and if possible, bring those responsible to justice. We hope you might like to help.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Bain said.

  “Well, initially all of us thought that Simon must be involved. But he seems to be clear on everything—he has good alibis, including one you gave him.” Rob smiled at Heyward, whose face remained impassive.

  Coleman’s cell phone rang. She took it out of her bag and glanced at it. “I’m sorry. It’s Dinah. I’ll step out to take the call, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Certainly—Ellen will—oh, I keep forgetting—Ellen’s gone back to Chicago. I’ll take you to another room.” He showed her into a much larger and more colorful sitting room, and left her.

  Dinah, sounding as excited as a child, told Coleman that she and Jonathan were taking the eight p.m. British Airways flight to London. “Jonathan wants to know if Rob and Heyward want to come.”

  “I’ll ask them. Talk to you later.”

  When she re-entered Bain’s office, the two men looked at her, expecting a report. “I’ll tell you later.
You still have the floor, Rob,” she said.

  “Well, on the topic of Ellen Carswell, one of Simon’s alibis was that he was spending the night with her, and she confirmed it. Did you know they were lovers?”

  Bain flushed. “No, and I don’t believe it. I never saw a sign of it.”

  Rob shrugged. “They both say they were together. Meanwhile, we’ve learned a lot about her. You probably know she owns Computer Art Research Services, and she also owns a magazine, the Artful Californian. Ms. Carswell has been—uh—there’s no polite way to say this—stealing article ideas from Coleman. She hired one of Coleman’s writers. While still working for ArtSmart, the writer became a spy for Carswell.”

  “You astonish me. I knew she owned Computer Art Research Services—she worked for me in that capacity—but I didn’t know she owned a magazine, and I find it hard to believe that she’d do anything unethical,” Bain said.

  “Back to Simon,” he continued. “I can see that suspicion might have fallen on him because he’s done so much for the Print Museum, but he has my total confidence. He’s been vital to the success of the museum, and I can vouch for his honesty and integrity.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. On another topic: Have you heard about Coleman’s mugging?” Rob said.

  Bain frowned, and turned to Coleman. “Were you hurt?”

  “No, just bruised. I thought it was Simon because the mugger smelled of that scent he wears, but Simon has an alibi.”

  Bain nodded. “Yes, his scent—quite distinctive. I can see why you’d think it was he. I can’t imagine anyone else wearing it, but there must be someone who does. Simon would never physically hurt anyone. I’m certain of that.”

  “Simon was with you, Heyward, coming back from Santa Fe, when Coleman was attacked,” Rob said, watching Bain.

  Bain smiled. “Oh, so that’s why the police asked about that trip. Yes, he was with me—the crew saw him, and so did the driver who met us at Teterboro airport. I’m not alone in giving him an alibi.” He turned back to Coleman. “But Coleman, you couldn’t be wrong about that scent. It’s unmistakable and—uh—regrettable, although he loves it—says it’s very ‘New Age.’ I think someone in California makes it for him. Maybe the maker has sold it to someone else, even though Simon thinks it’s his exclusively.”