“You can eat after witnessing that . . . horror?”
“Survival, Tyler. Before we hit the road, I need to fill the tank and get some calories.” He drove about a mile, neither of them speaking, until they reached a gas station with a Stop-N-Go. “You get the gas, I’ll get food. Do you want anything?”
“I suppose I should eat. Whatever you get is fine. I don’t even have the energy to be disagreeable.”
Decker went inside the minimart and picked up a pack of six onion bagels, a tub of cream cheese, two cartons of orange juice, two bags of honey peanuts, two energy bars, and two giant coffees. They ate in the parking lot, making the most minimal of conversation. Ten minutes later, with a semifull belly, Decker put the key in the ignition and crawled through the streets until he hit the highway.
McAdams spoke first. “Are you sure you don’t mind driving?”
“No, I’m awake. Thanks for asking. You can sleep, Harvard. You’ve earned it.”
But McAdams continued to stare out the windshield. The sun grew stronger as it made its descent in the winter sky. “That was . . . intense.”
“Gruesome even for someone experienced. Not part of your job description when you signed up in Greenbury?”
“Whoda thunk?” McAdams sipped coffee from a thermos. “Not that I was staring at the corpse. Au contraire, I was watching the pros . . . trying to hold down my stomach and learn a few pointers at the same time.”
“Good for you.”
“None of it sank in—shock and fatigue took care of that.” His eyes remained forward as he spoke. His voice seemed to come from somewhere far away and deep inside. “I know that the Tiffany panels are valuable, but surely they are not worth the wholesale slaughtering of two human beings.”
“Are you making an ethical judgment or are you talking about the motive for the crime?”
“Motive.” He was still visibly upset. “The panels can’t be the motive for something that abominable, right?”
“I’ve seen men gutted for a pack of cigarettes,” Decker said. “But I know what you’re saying and I agree. These cases are not just about the panels. All we can say so far is that we have two bad murders and the killings are probably connected. Next question: Are the two murders related to the Tiffany thefts?”
“What else is there?”
“There’s probably way more. Right now, beyond the murders and the theft, do we know anything else?”
“Besides the fact that I’m exhausted and sick to my stomach?”
“Bagel didn’t go down well?”
“I ate too fast. I always eat too fast. What do we know beyond the two murders and a theft?” He shrugged. “Beats me.”
“The two murders were overkill.”
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
“In both cases there was not only a struggle, but the apartments appeared genuinely ransacked. The murderer was looking for something.”
“The Tiffany panels?”
“Possibly. But like you said, do you butcher your victims over stolen Tiffany panels?” Silence. Decker said, “Let’s start throwing out some ideas.”
“You go first.”
“We have two victims we suspect were doing something illegal because Angeline suddenly came into money. She started toting around designer accoutrements and only did that after she met John Latham.”
“Right.”
“We also suspect that she might have been involved with the forgery of the two Tiffany panel replacements. Angeline did stained glass and she liked Tiffany.”
“Right again.”
“And the forgeries might have something to do with the murders.”
“Correct.”
“Tyler, if we think the forgeries are even one of the reasons for the murders, then it would behoove us to look at who was wronged by the forgeries.”
“That would be the Sobel family. But I can’t believe anyone in the family would do something that extreme. That doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree. The theft per se isn’t the reason for the murder. As I said before, it was probably the discovery of the theft that put Angeline and Latham in danger.”
“Because they were involved in other thefts and did them at the behest of someone. Meaning those other burglaries might now be discovered.”
“Exactly. So any ideas?”
“Let me think.” McAdams was tapping the dashboard.
“There’s no right or wrong answer. Just say what’s on your mind.”
McAdams continued to drum the dash. “I looked at art thefts. I didn’t find anything recent in the area. If someone has been selling stolen art, I’m thinking that he or she is a pro and has been doing it for a while. He—or she—just hasn’t been caught.”
Decker nodded. “And you know about the Art Loss Register, right?”
“Yes, I do know from my father. It’s a stolen-art site. Before museums, auction houses, and galleries acquire any work, the purchaser looks up the piece in question to make sure the work wasn’t stolen.” McAdams started snacking on nuts. “Maybe I should start looking up cases on the register. I mean I’m not saying that our alleged buyer—” He paused. “Alleged? Is that even the right word? This person may be entirely fictitious.”
“Alleged is fine, Harvard.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m not saying our alleged buyer of stolen art is the same guy who arranged the hit on the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. But maybe he arranged some lesser thefts. Like the icons by Nikolai Petroshkovich.”
“I agree. Did you ever find out the names of the original detectives on the case?”
“I . . . uh.” He sighed. “I thought it was a dead end and I didn’t bother. I know, I know. I should stop thinking for myself. My initial reaction is always to bristle at orders. I fucked up. My apologies.”
“Just get it done.”
“I’d call Marylebone right now, but I’m not getting a signal on my phone.”
“Do it as soon as we get back. That way if they tell you something, you can write it down. Then go home and go to sleep.”
“Why bother? All I’ll have is nightmares.”
“Believe me, you’ll sleep. And yes, I think it’s a good idea to start investigating more local art thefts. If Latham and Moreau were stealing things, they were probably small-timers who maybe hit on something big time.”
“Makes sense.”
“So we’re now working on a possible assumption that the thefts are related to the murders and that the burglaries were done maybe at the behest of a third person who’s calling the shots. That theory can change at any time. Don’t get too wedded to it.”
“Open mind.”
“Right,” Decker said. “With that theory in mind, we both think that the murders involve more than just the theft of Tiffany panels. We suspect that Angeline was doing the stained-glass forgeries. She was talented in more than one artistic field. Perhaps she was doing other forgeries as well.”
“Like actual art painting forgeries?” McAdams said. “She’s probably not that good.”
“I agree. So maybe she was doing something that was easier to copy: like antique maps or old nature prints.”
“She couldn’t forge an Audubon, that’s for certain,” McAdams said. “He was a master at watercolors.”
“But she could be stealing . . . taking old prints and maps out of books by razoring them at the binding.”
“Again, not Audubon. Ever see a copy of his original book? I think his plates were like two feet by four feet.”
“So not Audubon. Maybe someone not as valuable or big.”
“Possibly.”
“Or,” Decker said, “maybe she was stealing outright: rare manuscripts or books. After you’re rested, I want you to check out the local libraries at the Upstate colleges and see if some of their old atlases have been messed with or see if a
ny rare books are missing.”
“I should start writing this down.” He took out his tablet. “Find the names of original detectives in the Nikolai Petroshkovich theft, talk to the Upstate colleges’ librarians and see if any rare books are missing, check out antique reference material and see if maps or prints are missing . . . what else did you ask me to do? I’m a little fried right now.”
“Expand your search for other smaller local art thefts.”
“Right.”
“Now for the crucial question. How do we link the murders to the Tiffany theft? Just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, Tyler.”
“I’m not a good blurter outer, Decker. I’m more the well-placed zinger type.”
Decker sighed and didn’t respond.
“Right, just shut up and answer the question. Okay. I’m gonna say that since you made copies of the keys that you found at Latham’s apartment, you’re going to valiantly attempt to open some storage locker with the faint hope that it holds the stolen Tiffany panels or other objets d’art.”
“That is an avenue of exploration, yes. But unless Summer Village PD turns up a bill to a specific storage facility, that’s a long shot. Let’s go back to the beginning. If we assume a connection—murders and thefts—how did Angeline and Latham find out about the Tiffany panels in the first place?”
“Maybe they’re professional grave robbers and they hit upon the panels by luck.”
“Are those items or any items in a cemetery worth butchering two people?”
“Is anything in cemeteries worth butchering two people like that?” The kid thought a moment. “Perhaps. Just look at King Tut.”
Decker couldn’t help it. He laughed. “How about we stick to American cemeteries?”
McAdams smiled. “No, it is not likely that Angeline and Latham were murdered for items they pilfered from local cemeteries.”
“Right now, we’re working on the theory that someone hired them to rob the mausoleum. So how did Angeline and Latham discover the panels in the first place?”
“They were told by the person who hired them to steal them?”
“And how did the person find out?”
“That’s actually a very good question,” McAdams said. “Because according to my research, they haven’t been featured in an art book or loaned out for any museum exhibit.”
“Were they mentioned in the local papers?” Decker asked.
“I checked the Greenbury Tattler from the 1970s to present day and found nothing. I’ll go back further if you want.”
“Occam’s razor,” Decker said. “What’s the most expedient way to find out about the panels?”
“Somebody who knew about them blabbed.”
“And who knew about their existence?”
“This is very Socratic. Great preparation for law school.”
“I’m this close to throwing you out of the car.”
The kid smiled. “Who knew about the panels? Uh, the caretakers of the cemetery, maybe a few locals, and of course, the family.”
“Bingo. The theft was either ordered by a family member or someone in the family yakked to the wrong person. We need to go back to New York.”
“When?”
“Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after tomorrow. I’m going to tell my wife to stay put. Let her enjoy the kids a little longer.” A pause. “The murders have just given us ammunition to start asking the family very serious questions.”
“You keep using first person plural. Is annoying little me tagging along?”
“You’re not tagging along, McAdams. You’re discharging your duties as a sworn officer of Greenbury Police.”
“Between you and me, I never swore any kind of an oath.”
“You can take notes on your iPad.”
“That I can do.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
McAdams laughed. “I have several places to stay, all on the Upper East Side, FYI.”
“Hence, my reason for taking you to the Big Apple. Your upper-crust upbringing and connections will come in handy. Unless you have loyalties to your East Side homies.”
“No loyalties whatsoever.” When Decker laughed, he said, “Blunt but true.”
“Then I could use your insider perspective.”
“I can certainly talk the talk.”
“Tyler, all you need to do is walk the walk.” Decker smiled. “Let me handle the talking.”
CHAPTER 16
FOUR FIFTY-THREE IN the afternoon and a mile away from the station, Decker said, “Go home and get some rest, McAdams. If all goes as planned, I’d like to leave for Manhattan by seven tomorrow morning. That should put us into the city by ten.”
“Are you going home?” McAdams asked.
“Not yet. I’ve got to talk to Angeline’s parents and catch up on forensics.”
“How long will that last?”
“I suppose it depends on what the parents have to say and if CSI came up with anything significant.”
“Drop me off at the colleges and I’ll start looking up antique books.”
“You’re not tired?”
“I’m beyond tired and into delirious. I probably won’t get much out of anything, but I’ll be damned if I quit before you do.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“With me, it’s always a competition. How about if we meet up for dinner when you’re done and we can swap notes?”
Decker studied the kid. “I don’t know, McAdams. I just get a feeling that you’re up to something.”
“Because I’m trying to be conscientious?” The kid got huffy. “Can’t win for losing.”
“You’re right. I should be applauding your work ethic. Okay, let’s meet up for dinner. It might be late. What time do the libraries close?”
“College libraries close late, late.”
“That’s fine,” Decker said. “I probably won’t be done until late, late.”
McAdams said, “Most of the restaurants in town aren’t open late, late.”
“What about the bars? They’re open late, late and they serve food.”
“They’re a little loud for talking business. And sometimes stinky, too.” McAdams paused. “I’m showing my age.”
“And you call me Old Man?”
“Irony of ironies.”
“You know, Tyler, when I was much younger, I felt much older. Now that I really am older and retired . . . well, semiretired . . . I feel young again. I think it’s because I no longer have anything to prove.”
“Good for you.”
“I’m hearing sarcasm.”
“Not sarcasm . . . jealousy. I’ve been jumping hoops since I was born: the right schools, the right university, the right friends, the right address, the right clothes, the connections, the right shit in the right gold-plated toilet. You can drop me off here.”
Decker pulled the car to the curb in front of Duxbury’s administration building. It was an imposing limestone edifice: Federalist in style and reminiscent of a courthouse. There were a fair number of students milling about, huddled and bundled as they trudged through the snow. The skies were dark and clear, the campus grounds frosted in pure white. In the daytime sun, walkway sludge had melted to water. When the temperature dropped, the pathways froze over to a black sheet of ice. Despite the shoveling, the clearing and the salting, the local emergency room dealt with lots of slips and falls in the winter. Cleats would have been helpful.
“I think we both could use a good night’s rest,” Decker said.
“I think I could use some meaning in my pathetic life. And I don’t think I’m gonna find it at Harvard Law.” He got out and slammed the door.
Decker blew out air. He called up Rina and brought her up to date.
“So now you’re dealing with two murders?”
“That’s horrible. Poor victims.” A pause. “Poor you.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m coming back to Manhattan. It makes more sense for you to stay put.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm. This actually works out perfectly. Cindy has the day off tomorrow and we were planning to go to King of Prussia. This way I won’t have to rush.”
Decker felt a twinge of envy. “Have fun.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No . . . I’m just a little peeved that I always seem to be missing out.”
“We’re going to a shopping mall, Peter. A very, very big shopping mall. Last I heard, malls are your version of hell.”
“Actually I’m dealing with real hell right now,” Decker said. “King of Prussia has just been downgraded to purgatory.”
THE STATION HUMMED with activity. As soon as Decker stepped through the door, Ben Roiters got up from his desk and walked over to him. “Mike wants to see you.”
“Where are Angeline Moreau’s parents?”
“They’re at Littleton, talking to someone in the administration. Since it happened off-campus, the college is punting to us.”
“It might not have anything to do with college. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“I think the parents were planning on dinner after the meeting, but I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you.”
“Could you call them for me? Tell them I’m back and I’ll meet with them whenever they’re ready.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks.” Decker walked into Mike Radar’s office and shut the door. The captain’s lair was tiny. There was a desk, a file cabinet, two chairs, and lots of pictures and plaques on the wall.
Mike pointed to the chair. “Did you ask for the coroner’s office in Boston to send down any identifying marks on Angeline Moreau?”
“Yeah, I asked them to send it to your e-mail in case I got hung up.”
“They sent me two tattoos so far. As the gases dissipate, the doc told me that more marks might become visible. I forwarded the tats to you: some kind of flower vine on her shoulder and a flower on the small of her back. I think they call those tramp stamps, although I’m not going to say that to the parents.”
Murder 101: A Decker/Lazarus Novel (Decker/Lazarus Novels Book 22) Page 16
