I looked up briefly. “I think I might know him. I mean, notknow, but met him once before…. He tried to sell me shit once upon a time.”
The medical examiner pulled out a soggy wallet from the back pocket of the man’s pants and offered it to Calvin.
Calvin quickly put on some gloves, accepted it, and briefly searched the contents. “Richard Newell, Brooklyn.”
“Got a museum ID here, Detective,” the examiner said as he pulled a badge free and held it up.
Richard Newell of Brooklyn, working security for the Met.
“Son of a bitch,” Calvin said quietly to himself.
“Cold case?”
He nodded with a bit of reluctance. “Yes. One that has been unsolved since before I joined homicide. The detective on the case had tunnel vision.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was so sure of his person of interest that he didn’t seem to even consider other evidence.” Calvin motioned to Richard. “Four years ago a man working in acquisitions here at the museum was found dead in Central Park. It was gruesome. Personal. The detective on the case uncovered that he had been stealing artifacts from the museum, and it was suspected that he had been working with another staff member.”
“Richard?” I concluded.
“That’s what I think. From what I’ve uncovered, the victim—Earl Franklin—put in a good word to get Richard the job. Richard had a juvenile record for theft.”
“You don’t think he changed his ways?”
“No. Not really. Something about the case always sat wrong with me,” Calvin murmured.
“Who did the other detective suspect?”
“Earl’s boss. Apparently they had had an on-and-off relationship that on its last off didn’t end so well. The boss was found innocent by the courts, though.”
I looked down at the late Richard. “So you think Richard and Earl were stealing together, maybe someone got greedy, and the end result was Earl’s untimely demise?”
“That’s about the long and short of it.”
“And if this is like the other day, then our resident psycho killed Richard because he was guilty of murder and now wants me to prove it. Prove that he killed Earl, maybe.”
Calvin shook his head. “This’ll be a fucking trip to explain to my sergeant.”
I stared at Richard again. “Were any of the stolen artifacts found?”
“A few that I know of. The FBI got involved at that point. Art Crime Team,” Calvin clarified.
I perked up. “Do you think you could find out where they were recovered from? Or at least what the items were?” When Calvin stared at me expectantly, I said, “I have an idea. It might not lead to anything, but if you could let me know….”
“Sebastian.”
“The antique community is small, just like any other specific interest. We talk to each other, so bad deals, theft, or forgery all come up. If memory serves me right, Richard here couldn’t provide paperwork for the items he wanted to sell. Someone else must know about him.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAX ALMOSTknocked me over when he ran from the front door of the Emporium and crashed into me. He practically squeezed the life out of me with a hug. “Seb!”
“M-Max! God—can’t breathe!”
“How are you?Are you okay?” He pulled back and put his hands on my shoulders.
“I think you broke a rib.”
