Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “You…” he started then hesitated. “You gonna take the case? Luke said he heard you were good.”

  “Did he?”

  Mikey nodded warily.

  “I’ll take the case. But one lie and you’ll have to get yourself out of this mess on your own.”

  ***

  “What’d I tell you? He’s innocent, right?” Luke said as I entered his office after interviewing Mikey.

  “Let’s say I’m not convinced he did it, but it’s a long way from your opinion and mine to clearing Mikey of the crime. Right now, all I’ve got is your opinion and Mikey’s claims of innocence.”

  “Can I help? I can’t say I’ve done any detective work. But cleaning houses, you learn a lot about people and you see things you probably aren’t supposed to.”

  “Good point. Maybe you can help. Who else was on the crew with Mikey?”

  “You’re thinking one of my other guys might be responsible?” Luke paused. “I suppose everybody’s a suspect.”

  “Somebody did this. If it wasn’t Mikey, it was somebody else. Your crew has got to be on my list.” I swiped a hand through my hair. “I’m not saying any of your guys did this. But, they were there, maybe they saw something. Maybe one of them noticed something and doesn’t realize it.”

  “That’s true. They’re good workers and they’ve got sharp eyes. I don’t hire just anybody. They’re all bonded.”

  “Then you knew about Mikey’s record when you hired him? The insurance company didn’t balk?”

  “It’s a sealed juvie record. Sure, I knew about it. In fact, he told me about it himself. I thought that was pretty brave. But the record was sealed. It’s not public. He was just a kid when all that happened.”

  “Still, it doesn’t make him look good. Any prosecutor will squeeze blood outta that stone.”

  “Prosecutor?” Luke looked genuinely shocked.

  “If it gets that far. But we’re not gonna let that happen.” I smiled. “Get me the files for the other guys on the crew with Mikey. And if you can set up interviews for me here at your office, that’d be great.”

  “You got it.” He scribbled something on a pad in front of him, then looked up at me, his eyes gleaming. “What’s next?”

  “Now I go back to my office and set up a meeting with Mr. Haldane.”

  “You need me to come along? Smooth the way?”

  “Probably better if I do this myself, Luke.”

  ***

  It was a good walk from Luke’s building on Market, around City Hall and down to Twelfth Street. From there it was a straight shot to my office on Latimer. The walk gave me time to think about my next steps. More than anything about the case, I was puzzled over why anyone might want to frame Mikey. He was either a convenient pigeon, or there was more to his past than he was letting on.

  As decrepit as the old, three-story walk-up was, I was happy to see the building. A quiet structure on a quiet street, I felt blissfully alone as I took the stairs. I entered my office and walked through the darkened reception area. I was still short one secretary, the empty desk forcing me to think about Josh and how I’d been unable to stop any of what’d happened. Which led me to thinking about Galen and if he was all right, wherever it was he’d disappeared to. The memories were all still raw and painful. There was nothing I could do for Josh, but someday I’d find Galen. I had to.

  A new secretary would keep some of those memories at bay and bring some life back to the office. Not that I’d ever forget Josh or Galen, but I had to put everything in perspective, if I expected to move on. Maybe getting a new office wasn’t such a bad idea, either. To do that, I’d need more money.

  For now, I had to help Mikey and Luke. That was enough for the moment.

  I made a note to call another private investigator who I knew had been in on a number of cases involving stolen art. He wasn’t a big-time expert but he’d give me a quick lesson on the glorious world of art theft. A little older than me, he’d been a P.I. for a lot longer and talking with him was always an education.

  First, though, I had to meet Haldane and see the crime scene. A quick call got me an appointment later in the afternoon, which meant I could have lunch and pull together some questions.

  After locking up, I took the stairs to the street and walked to More Than Just Ice Cream. The restaurant was one of my favorite places for a calming break in the day. Even when it was crammed with people, you could still hear yourself think. The giant wall of windows and potted plants often made it seem like you were sitting in a peaceful solarium. The scenery wasn’t bad either, cute waiters and lots of guys walking back and forth outside.

  Taking a table at the back, I sat and pored over the menu, which I’d just about memorized long before. Reviewing the familiar items was just another way of letting my subconscious do some thinking about the case while I did other things.

  While reading the menu, I sensed someone standing at the table staring down at me. I looked up and saw Luis Cartagena, all smiles, looking at me expectantly.

  “I was walkin’ by and saw you,” he said, pulling out the chair to sit across from me. “Did you give it some thought?”

  “Luis, hey,” I said and nodded, glad for the interruption. “Thought? About what?”

  “The dancers, man, you know.” His dark eyes were a liquid brown and bright. He reached out a stubby hand for the menu. “You order yet?”

  “Not yet. Staying for lunch?”

  “If you’re gonna talk dancers with me, I’ll stay.” He rustled the menu. “Anything good here?”

  “Pretty much everything.”

  “I heard about Mikey,” Luis said nonchalantly, as if the whole thing had been on the morning news.

  “How’d you hear? No one knows about this.” There’s not much that shocks me, but the speed of the grapevine, especially in the gayborhood, can be staggering.

  “Promise that you’re gonna talk with me about startin’ that group, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “Deal.” I said. Luis had been badgering me about starting a male strip troupe. Said he had all kinds of things lined up. He claimed having a group of male dancers would make me a lot of money. That’d gotten my attention. Who can’t use more money? Of course, I had to consider whether or not I was ready to add this to my already loaded plate. My bank account said yes. “I promise, Luis. It’s been on my mind, anyway. Soon as this case is in the bag, we’ll talk.”

  “I know you don’t break promises, Marco. That’s what they say. But you break this promise, and I promise I’ll be sittin’ in your office butt naked every day until we do talk.”

  I smiled. Seeing portly little Luis sitting naked on my couch was not something I’d need first thing in the morning.

  “We’ll talk. No need to take off your clothes,” I said.

  “I thought you was gonna jump at the chance to see me naked.”

  “So whaddayou know about Mikey and the case?”

  “My cousin Ramon, he works for the cleaning agency with Mikey. They’re good friends, and they was on that job together. Ramon says Mikey wouldn’t steal nothin’ but that Mikey was actin’ all strange from the first time they got the job at that condo.” He nodded brusquely as if he’d just given me the solution to everything. “Big place that apartment, from what I hear. Lotta stuff. Rich people…” He went back to reading the menu.

  Maybe Ramon would be more forthcoming.

  ***

  Skye Towers was a whole lotta building. Fifty-five stories, brilliant design, and seated right in the middle of Center City, which brought a lot of rich hoo-hahs to live in Philly. Some from the burbs and some from New York who decided that Philly’s cost of living was low enough for them to commute. The ten year property tax abatement didn’t hurt either. The rich get richer.

  Haldane’s apartment was split between the fiftieth and fifty-first floors. My homework told me there weren’t too many apartments like that in the building and those few were especially large.

  The fron
t desk had been notified, maybe warned was more like it, that I’d be arriving. I stepped into the glittering lobby, filled with brass and creamy-colored granite, and oozing the words class and money. The windows lining the place let in plenty of light, almost as if you hadn’t stepped indoors. A tall tiered fountain in the middle of the lobby spilled water into its base, filling the air with soothing sounds.

  I ambled over to the front desk where two people sat behind the counter and three or four security guards paced back and forth near the banks of elevators. The desk staff looked me over like I was an errand boy who needed watchful eyes on him. I told them I was expected, gave them my name, and, after checking their list, they let me through.

  A plush but understated wood paneled elevator drew me up to the fiftieth floor more quickly than I expected. Before I knew it, the doors slid open and I was in a bright hall, lined with sleek décor. There were only three apartments on the floor and a sign indicated that 50A was to the left.

  At the end of a long hall, I came to a simple, unassuming beige door. No name. Just the number 50A. Knocking, I realized it was a metal, security door. In case the squad of guards at the desk failed to stop an intruder.

  I heard tiny feet scurrying inside and a short, blonde, older woman opened the door. Her blue, flower print dress was partly covered by a large white apron.

  “Mr. Fontana.” She said it knowing full well I was expected and swung the door open more widely. “Mr. Haldane is waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, “ I said as I stepped into the wide, modern oval-shaped foyer. A staircase led to the second level on the fifty-first floor, and there were doorways into other rooms or halls off the foyer. Something familiar about the furniture dotting the area dredged up feelings from the past that momentarily disoriented me.

  “Follow me,” she said and quickly turned to lead me down a hall.

  The condo was elegant and spotless. My mother would be thrilled. American antiques studded the place, contrasting nicely with the slick modernity of the condo’s architectural design. Lots of paintings graced the walls as Luke had described. Again, some of the furnishings we passed looked vaguely familiar. I was either experiencing déjà vu or this was the Haldane family I’d known and visited on the Main Line when I was in high school.

  When I was shown into the living room, I saw Haldane standing in the middle of the enormous space. It was the same man I’d known years before. Father of my best friend in high school. Rich property baron. Older now, he stood soldier straight and in control. Tall, tanned, and silver-haired, Haldane held out his hand.

  “Mr. Fontana?” He looked into my eyes as if remembering something. “My son Cullen’s best friend in high school? The same Marco Fontana my son talked nonstop about back then? You’re – you’re all grown now.”

  I took his hand and we shook. His grip was strong, but instead of the macho tug of war some men engage in, there was friendliness and warmth in his handshake.

  “One and the same. I couldn’t have changed all that much in nine or ten years.”

  “You’ve changed enough for me to have to think twice. Same piercing eyes, though. And your smile’s still the same. Cullen will kill me for not telling him to be here. But then, I wasn’t sure you’d be – well – you!” He laughed, and it was the same throaty sound I remembered.

  “How is Cullen? I’d love to see him.” And that was no lie. I’d had a serious crush on him in high school. Unrequited love is a bitch. Even when the object of your affection is straight. Still, seeing him again would be fun. Maybe the years had lost him some hair and gained him some weight, and I’d be over him once and for all.

  “Cullen’s doing well, for the most part. I’m sure he’ll be here at some point. Especially after I let him know it’s you who’s on this case.”

  “Speaking about the case, sir,” I said. “Luke is grateful that you’re giving me the chance to see what actually happened.”

  “Please, not so formal,” Haldane said. “As for the case, I feel compelled to make sure things go right for that boy – what’s his name? Michael?”

  “Mikey.”

  “Yes, Mikey. I understand he’s had a hard life. I don’t want to make things more difficult for him. So I want to be certain he’s guilty before I call in the authorities. Plenty of time for that. I’m afraid they pounded the idea of social justice into me at St. T’s and I haven’t forgotten. I expect it’s the same for you. Am I right?”

  “St. T’s won’t let you out the door unless you’ve learned at least that much. It hasn’t changed since you were a student.”

  “That’s what Cullen always says,” Haldane walked over to a corner of the living room with three stuffed chairs and a loveseat placed cozily together. The soft pastel colors of the chairs made them appear to float over the surface of the hardwood floor. He indicated I should sit, then took one of the chairs for himself

  “Great view you have.” From fifty floors up you could see across the Schuylkill River into New Jersey and the misty horizon beyond. The cityscape under the cloudless blue sky was stunning.

  “I should hope so from this height. Everything is laid out at your feet. Sometimes it scares me, though.” Haldane looked uncomfortable, almost haunted.

  “Tell me about the DaVinci.”

  That seemed to rouse him. “Well, Marco, between you and me, there are some that say it isn’t really a DaVinci. Candidly, I don’t care. The sketch means more to me than whether or not DaVinci touched it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The sketch has been authenticated to a point. The provenance is all in order, at least as far as it goes. We’ve got all that documentation. It’s from DaVinci’s era and if it isn’t his, it’s certainly from a follower or student of his, but— ”

  “But nothing.” Someone approached from behind us and I turned to see who it was. “It’s a DaVinci and it’s valuable. Very valuable. Don’t let Tom or anyone else tell you otherwise.”

  “Seamus, this is Marco Fontana. You’ve heard your brother talk about him, haven’t you?”

  Seamus was a darker version of Cullen but with glasses. Like Cullen, he was tall and athletic, but he lacked a certain spark that his brother had plenty of. Seamus had dark hair, while I remembered Cullen’s being a lighter blond color. It was easy to see they were brothers, even if they were several years apart in age. I could see Cullen in that face.

  “Mr. Fontana,” Seamus extended a hand and we shook.

  “I don’t think we ever met. But Cullen told me plenty when we were in high school.”

  “I remember him mentioning you.”

  “Seamus is an art history professor, now. Can you believe it? And he’s a consultant on art restoration projects here and in Europe.”

  “Maybe you’ll believe me when I say the sketch is a DaVinci, I know what I’m talking about.” He pulled out a glossy photograph and handed it to me. “That’s a picture. Doesn’t do it justice but it’ll give you an idea. I’ve printed the actual dimensions on the back.”

  I studied the photograph for a few minutes. The sketch had been done in sepia- toned ink or whatever they used for sketching five hundred years ago. It all appeared yellowed, but the drawing was distinct and clear. Three horse heads. One a ghostly sketch with traces of slightly different poses one atop the other, as if the artist had changed his mind. A second horse, full on from the front, broad muscular chest, proud head with its mane tossing behind. The third was just the beginnings of a drawing not really completed. Toward the bottom of the sketch, three small horses complete with riders cavorted from left to right. Mere outlines, they were not at all complete but the artist’s skill in representing the figures with a few simple lines was so great, they didn’t need to be complete to give you the feeling of horses and riders, prancing off the page.

  “Impressive,” I said. “Do you have a copy for me?”

  “Keep it,” he said and tapped the picture with a long delicate finger. “So, what do you think? That sketch could be wort
h – who knows? The sky’s the limit.”

  “I think it’s a beauty of a sketch, but it doesn’t matter if it’s a DaVinci or if it was done by one of his students. It’s stolen goods and your father hired me to find out who stole it.”

  “But if it’s worth—”

  “Seamus, it doesn’t matter what it’s worth. I’m not placing it on the auction block. I’m more interested in getting a possibly innocent boy off the hook for this theft.”

  Seamus was silent.

  “Your father hired me to get to the truth of the matter. A lot depends on that.”

  “He’s right, Seamus,” Haldane said. “Anyway, if we don’t find the real thief, we may never find the sketch. Then it won’t matter if it’s a real DaVinci or what it’s worth. It’ll be gone. Just another piece of stolen art.”

  “Matters to the insurance company,” Seamus mumbled. I couldn’t decide whether he was being petulant or protective of his father’s interests.

  “That sketch represents something more than insurance money,” Haldane said and stared out at the city in silence for a moment. “I bought that for your mother a long time ago, when we’d been married only a few years. Something about it touched her. I never knew exactly what, but she would stare at it for hours.”

  “How—” I started.

  “She passed away some years ago,” he said quickly, tonelessly, as if it hurt to say more. “Now, when I look at that sketch – when I can make myself look at it – I think of her. I still wonder what mysteries she saw in it. Sometimes I sit in the den and it’s as if she’s sitting there, too, staring at the sketch.”

  “My mother loved history,” Seamus took off his glasses and tumbled them in his hands as he spoke. He moved in place, edgy and impatient. “The Renaissance and art of that period were her favorites. The DaVinci sketch was more than just a drawing for her. It was like a doorway into another world. We’ve got to report this to the police, dad. We wait too long and it’ll be gone for good”

  “I’ll make the police report when Marco is finished. Let’s give him a chance, at least.”