by Jeff Elkins
Not knowing what else to say, Moe offered, “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It was five years ago. I’ve come to terms with it. Besides, being angry ain’t gonna make it grow back,” Vinnie said with a grin.
Moe glanced down the table at Stacie. Three more men had joined the gaggle of attendants, and Stacie had them all eating out of her hand. Looking back at Vinnie, she asked, “What do you do now?”
“Not much of anything. I’ve got a gig as a night watchman over at the new Amazon warehouse. Mostly, I just sit in a guard booth and read. It pays the bills.” Leaning back in his chair, Vinnie thought for a second and then asked, “You mind if I ask you a weird question?”
“Shoot,” Moe said with a smile.
“You got a brother who’s a priest? Because you look just like this guy I know,” Vinnie asked with a smile.
“Joe’s my brother. He mentioned that if I came here, I should look for you,” Moe said.
“He really helped me through some rough times. That thing he can do, when he touches you? That was really good for me,” Vinnie reminisced.
“He’s pretty amazing,” Moe said.
“So, why did he send you to me?” Vinnie asked, leaning forward again.
Moe took a deep breath and considered what she should and shouldn’t say. Vinnie seemed nice and with his aversion to Marines, it was unlikely he knew Lewis Quartz. Plus, Joe had recommended him and Joe had trusted him with his gift. Moe decided to dive in. “I’m a Private Detective. I’m looking for a Marine name Lewis Quartz,” she said.
“Sorry, don’t know him,” Vinnie said with a shrug.
“I figured. But, you think you could help me find him?” Moe asked.
Vinnie took a bite of pancake and a sip of coffee. Leaning forward, he asked, “What’s in it for me?”
Moe wondered what the right number was. She decided to go big. “You tell me where I can find him, I’ll pay fifteen-hundred.”
Vinnie’s eyes doubled in size. “Damn. You ain’t playing around,” he said. “Alright. I’m in. When I find him, how do I find you?”
“You got a phone?” Moe asked.
Vinnie reached in his back pocket to retrieve his cell, unlocked it with his thumb, and passed it to Moe. She put her number in the contacts and passed it back. “You call me when you have something. I’ll pay in cash,” Moe said.
“You got a deal,” Vinnie replied. He took another bite of pancakes and asked, “So, Private Detective. That your full time job?”
As Moe was about to answer, there was a scuffle at the other end of the table. Moe glanced down at Stacie to see two of the men around her arguing. Stacie shot Moe a confused and worried look.
Moe looked back at Vinnie and said, “I’m sorry. My friend needs me. Call me when you have something,” Moe said.
Moe disposed of her plate and listened intently to what was happening at Stacie’s table. Two of the men around her were arguing with one another. “She bats her eyes at you, and you are just willing to tell her whatever she wants? You don’t even know why she wants him?” the older of the two said.
“He’s just an old friend,” Stacie said.
The older man turned on her and barked, “If he were an old friend, you’d know how to find him.”
“Relax, old timer. The lady didn’t do anything wrong,” the younger man said.
“What if she is some kind of bill collector or process server? Back in my day, Marines used to look out for our brothers,” the old man snapped.
“Are you questioning my loyalty?” the young man said, standing.
The old man stood to meet him. “Semper Fi. You even know what it means?”
Stacie stood too. “Gentlemen. There’s no need to fight. I’m just looking for an old friend. It’s not that big a deal.”
A third man stood on his seat and said, “Let’s just put this to bed. Anybody here know a Lewis Quartz?”
Moe watched the room, scanning from one face to the next, searching for some sign of recognition. Most shook their heads “no” or dismissed the question altogether. The only sign of recognition came from two men sitting on the other side of the room. They looked at one another, and then back at their food.
“Alright, no one here knows him. It’s all settled. Let’s just sit down and enjoy our breakfast,” the third man said.
The two fighters mumbled words to each other and took their seats. Moe glanced back at Stacie who gave her a shrug, and then began excusing herself from the table. Not wanting to miss them, Moe began walking back toward the two men who’d shown recognition when Lewis Quartz was mentioned, but she was only able to take a few steps toward them before one of them saw her. Whispering something to his friend, both men stood and left the room before Moe could reach them.
“Well, that was a bust. You get anything,” Stacie said, coming to Moe’s side.
“It wasn’t a bust. Did you see those two guys run out of here? We set something in motion,” Moe said.
“Hope it’s something good,” Stacie replied.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The black and white surveillance video didn’t do the hallway justice. It was wide and warm, and the paintings made it feel more like an art gallery than an office building. The window at the end of the hall had already been replaced and a new painting hung on the wall where the Rembrandt had been. Clearly, Theo Thalberg cared about this building and knew how to make his tenants feel special.
Hersch, Hellman, and Heffman occupied the north wing of the seventh floor. The building also housed a well-known real-estate firm infamous in the city for their comical commercials, the headquarters of a popular magazine, a political think tank, an investment firm, an architectural firm, and a few accounting firms.
Moe and Stacie took their time in the hallway, looking at the paintings. They were all landscapes. Although Moe was no expert, she couldn’t tell they were replicas.
“Why would you hang a famous painting here?” Stacie asked, bewildered.
“I was asking myself the same thing. If you want someone to see it, this isn’t the right place. The same twenty or so people walk this hallway every day, and that’s it,” Moe replied.
“And if you are trying to keep it safe, put it in your house, or a bank,” Stacie said.
“Or on a wall inside one of the offices,” Moe said.
“Right?” Stacie replied.
They walked together down to the end of the hall and examined the window. If she hadn’t of seen the video, she wouldn’t have believed it had ever been broken. The replacement was flawless. “That’s impressive,” Stacie said, running her finger down the perfectly smooth translucent caulk that sealed the glass.
“Ms. Watkins? Ms. Howe?” a male voice asked from the far end of the hall. Moe turned to see a smiling elderly man carrying two trays of large coffees from Starbucks.
“Hello. Are you Mr. Hersch?” Moe asked.
When the old man smiled his eyebrows popped above the thick rims of his glasses. “That’s me. It’s great to meet you,” he said, walking toward them. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine are full,” he said, holding out the coffees.
“Let me get the door for you,” Stacie said, as she pulled open one of the double doors to the office.
As they entered the office space, Mr. Hersch left a coffee on the empty reception desk. “Mildred is at lunch, but she should be back at any minute. My office is in the back, why don’t we go there,” he explained. As they walked, Mr. Hersch would pause at various offices to drop off coffees with people who seemed hard at work on computers. “I take my lunch early these days. Can’t last past ten-thirty. Maybe because I get up at four. Damn old age. Can’t escape it, but it does weird things to you.”
“I wouldn’t put you a day over forty,” Stacie said.
Hersch turned and smiled at her. “I’ll take flattery from a pretty woman any time. Even if she is lying.” After dropping off the second to last coffee, he motioned to a door at the end of the hallway. “That�
�s me,” he said, leading the way.
Moe and Stacie followed him into his office. It was a tight space with enough room for a small round table, three chairs, and a desk that held a laptop and was covered in papers, but the view from the wall of windows was amazing. High enough to peak over the building across the street, Mr. Hersch could look down on several blocks of downtown.
“Grab a seat,” he said, clearing paper from the table and stacking it on his already consumed desk.
“Thank you, sir,” Moe replied, as she and Stacie both took seats.
“Call me Mel.” Grabbing a pen and notepad from his desk, as if he were going to interview them, he said, “Theo told me you were coming, but he didn’t tell me what you wanted to talk about. I assume it’s the missing painting.”
“Well, to start, what exactly is it that you do here?” Moe said.
“We are a small firm. Family law. Though, we try to avoid the divorce cases. We focus more on pre-nups, real estate contracts and estate planning. So, lots of wills and trust creation. Looking over mortgages and contracts. That kind of stuff. It’s almost all digital now. We rarely even need to see our clients in person anymore. We really only have a few anyway. We aren’t real ambitious around here. Our business comes by word of mouth.” Taking a sip from his coffee, he winced at the temperature. “Oh. That’s hot,” he said, putting it on his desk.
“Mr. Thalberg is a client?” Moe asked.
“He’s more than a client. When I was a younger man, I worked for his father, so I’ve known him since he was young. When he was in college, he worked for me for a while. I was just venturing out with my own firm and needed the help. He was wonderful – very hard working. We’ve always had a great relationship. Even though there is over a decade between us, I’d go as far as saying that we are friends.”
“That’s a nice,” Stacie said.
“I’m grateful. Life is too short to work with people you don’t enjoy being around. We don’t make a ton of money here, but it’s stable. That’s really all you can ask for,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“The reason Mr. Thalberg has employed us is to investigate the theft of his painting in the hallway,” Moe said.
“That’s the most excitement we’ve had here in… well, ever,” Mel said, laughing quietly to himself.
“I noticed the other paintings in the hallway. Does Mr. Thalberg have them rotated often?” Moe asked.
“No. In fact, we were all surprised when the Rembrandt was hung. Mildred kept telling me she thought it was an original, and I kept telling her she was crazy. Why would anyone hang a painting that valuable here? But she insisted. So, at lunch we all went out and examined it, and it sure did look original. I wish it had been here longer. I loved looking at it. I’ve gotten used to the landscapes. They just look like part of the wall to me now. It’s funny how things do that at my age. You see something for long enough and you don’t even see it anymore.”
“How long was the Rembrandt here?” Moe asked.
“Hmm,” Mel said, looking at the ceiling as he thought. “I’d guess about three-days.”
“So, the painting is hung. The whole office looks at it. And then, three days later it is stolen?” Stacie said, confused.
“Exactly. And now, we have the boring landscape back that was there before,” Mel said.
“Do you know if anyone took a picture of it and posted it to social media?” Moe asked.
“Sure. We all did. It was a Rembrandt,” Mel said.
“You’re on social media,” Stacie said with a surprised grin.
“I hate to admit it, but I’m addicted to Instagram,” Mel said, pulling a smart phone from his pocket to show it to Moe and Stacie. “My grandkids tell me I’m the only septuagenarian on the platform, but I tell them there is no way they can know that.” He put the phone away and added, “You never know who you are talking to on these things. The profile picture may be a vigorous herculean looking man, but the person behind it may be a seventy-three year old contracts lawyer, who should retire but can’t stop coming to work every morning.”
Moe laughed. She liked Mel. “Did anyone in the office see anything out of the ordinary?” she asked.
“You mean besides a priceless work of art being hung outside of a tiny, inconsequential, family law firm?”
“Yeah. Besides that,” Moe said.
“Nope. We don’t work overtime around here. Nothing is very urgent. We’d all gone home and I’d locked up,” Mel said.
“Do you work with Mr. Thalberg’s art purchases?” Moe asked.
“No. He keeps his business affairs with a high-powered firm that has a whole fleet of young ambitious lawyers, in suits, ready to do war for him. I take care of his family things. Right now, the only work I’m doing for the family is reworking his will,” Mel said.
Moe’s instincts tingled. “Reworking his will?” she asked.
Mel sipped his coffee, thinking about his answer. “His son, Thad, came to me a few months ago and asked me to convince Theo to change his will. Right now, Thad gets a modest amount. It’s enough to live on, but it isn’t empire-building money. Most of Theo’s money is going to various charities and scholarship funds he’s established. He’s always been very concerned about his legacy. Anyway, Thad wanted a new version of the will that allows him start out on his own. As a friend of the family, I’ve agreed to mediate, but I don’t think Theo is going to sign off on the changes. He wants Thad to be his own man.”
“How is that going?” Stacie asked with a smirk.
Mel smiled. “Thad’s never had a job. He still lives at home. His father gives him a generous allowance, but Thad is always asking for more. He’s a smart and capable young man. I keep hoping he will grow up some day.”
Moe logged this information away, not sure what to do with it, yet. She couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so she said, “Thank you for talking to us today. What else should I have asked that I didn’t?”
“Wonderful question,” Mel said, nodding with approval again. “You didn’t ask about our new security system,” he said with a grin.
“The camera in the hallway was new, too?” Stacie asked.
“Installed one day before the painting. The other offices on this floor have their own complex systems because they actually have things worth stealing. There is also heavy security in the lobby and cameras at all the entrances and exits, but we’ve never had anything anyone would want to take, so all we had was the lock on the front door. We were surprised when they came to install the camera. I asked them why someone would want to watch our front door, but the workmen said they were just following orders,” Mel said, proud he could provide useful information.
“Let me get my head around this. You get a surveillance camera installed, and then, the next day a priceless piece of artwork is hung on the wall outside your office, but then, three days later the painting is stolen, and then, everything goes back to normal?” Stacie asked.
“You got it. And the surveillance camera isn’t on any more. At least, we don’t think it is. There used to be a small red light at the base to tell you it was working. That hasn’t come back on since the robbery,” Mel added.
“Thank you for being so open with us. We won’t keep you any longer,” Moe said, as she stood to leave.
Mel stood and shook Moe’s hand. “It was my pleasure. I’ll talk about anything if it will keep two beautiful women in my office a little longer. After you leave, I have to go back to reading a will for a ninety-year-old widow who is trying to give her pension to the Red Cross. Talking about a mysterious art heist is far more entertaining,” Mel said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Detective Mason laid the heavy boxes on the table in front of Moe and Stacie. “You have two hours. Then, I’m going to have to kick you out of here,” he grunted.
“Thanks for doing this,” Moe said with a smile. She appreciated that Baba’s old partner would give them access to files, just because Baba asked. She was sure it was somet
hing he could get in trouble for if someone decided to make a stink about it, but Moe wasn’t worried about him. He’d been around the department so long, Moe figured he got to do whatever he wanted.
Turning on all her charm, Stacie asked, “Hey Eddie, is there any way we could get some coffees or something to drink?”
Detective Mason snorted a laugh in reply. “Two hours. Then, I’m going home. Which means the files go back to the file room.”
“Thanks again,” Moe said, as Mason closed the door behind him.
The interrogation room was hot. The air felt thick and stagnate. The only light came from florescent bulbs directly above them. The cinderblock walls were stained with dirty substances, and the uncomfortable steel chairs and the steel table were oddly cold. Moe imagined that some people confessed, just to get out of this nightmare of a room.
“Well, let’s dig in,” Stacie said, pulling a file from the top of the box.
Moe pulled the second file from the box. It was filled with crime scene photos, hand written reports that were barely legible, and a lengthy typed report. Moe looked at each of the photos. This painting had been on display at First American Bank, a bank in a historic building in the middle of downtown. There were pictures of the front door, pictures of the bank’s lobby, pictures of the frame and missing painting. Moe looked at the pictures of front door and flipped through the report. It had been cut open with some sort of high=-powered grinder.
She turned the page and came across a transcript of the night watchman’s testimony. The robbery had taken place after hours, so only a night watchman was on duty. He claimed that the power went out and his cell phone went dead at the same time the commotion at the front door started. Following protocol, he secured the locks and cages around the teller counters and moved to guard the vault where he was supposed to wait for backup, but the thieves never came near the vault. Instead, the night watchman saw three men dressed in all black enter the lobby, detach an enormous picture from wall, remove the picture from its frame, and then leave the bank. He said the entire robbery lasted less than four minutes.
