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"A passion for exotic art," answered Ragsdale. "The old guy loved to touch and fondle the figurines when no one was around, but then a new curator made him take a cut in pay as an austerity measure just when he expected a raise. This made him mad and triggered his desire to possess the jade from the exhibits. It seemed from the first the theft could only have been pulled off by a first-rate team of professionals or someone from the inside. I narrowed it down to the senior security director and obtained a warrant to search his house. It was all there on his fireplace mantel, every missing piece, as if they were bowling trophies." '
"Working on a new case?" asked Gaskill.
"Just had one laid in my lap."
"Another museum theft?"
Ragsdale shook his head. "Private collection. The owner went to Europe for nine months. When he returned home, his walls were bare. Eight watercolors by Diego Rivera, the Mexican painter and muralist."
"I've seen the murals he did for the Detroit Institute of Art."
"Insurance company adjusters are foaming at the mouth. It seems the watercolors were insured for forty million dollars."
"We may have to exchange notes on this one."
Ragsdale looked at him. "You think Customs might be interested?"
"A thin possibility we have a connecting case."
"Always glad to have a helping hand."
"I saw photos of what may be your Rivera watercolors in an old box of Stolen Art Bulletins my sister cleaned out of an old house she bought. I'll know when I compare them with your list. If there is a connection, four of your watercolors were reported missing from the University of Mexico in 1923. If they were smuggled into the United States, that makes it a Customs case."
"That's ancient history."
"Not for stolen art," Gaskill corrected him. "Eight months later, six Renoirs and four Gauguins vanished from the Louvre in Paris during an exhibition."
"I gather you're alluding to that old master art thief, what was his name?"
"The Specter," replied Gaskill.
"Our illustrious predecessors in the Justice Department never caught him, did they?"
"Never even made an I. D."
"You think he had a hand in the original theft of the Riveras?"
"Why not? The Specter was to art theft what Raffles was to diamond thefts. And just as melodramatic.
He pulled off at least ten of the greatest art heists in history. A vain guy, he always left his trademark behind."
"I seem to recall reading about a white glove," said Ragsdale.
"That was Raffles. The Specter left a small calendar at the scene of his crimes, with the date of his next theft circled."
"Give the man cr
edit. He was a cocky bastard."
A large, oval plate of what looked like chicken on a bed of rice arrived. Gaskill was also served an appetizing salad on the side. Ragsdale somberly examined the contents of his bowl and looked up at the waitress.
"I don't suppose this greasy spoon serves anything but beer in cans."
The grizzled waitress looked down at him and smiled like an old prostitute. "Honey, we got beer in bottles and we got wine. What'll it be?"
"A bottle of your best burgundy."
"I'll check with the wine steward." She winked through one heavily mascaraed eye before waddling back to the kitchen.
