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“Not necessary. Durrand will either talk to me or he won’t.”
“What makes you think he will?”
Jason related his interview with Shepherd Durrand.
George heard him out. “Interesting. What do you think? Is it all just a big misunderstanding?”
“No.” Jason shook his head. “No way. Shepherd tells a pretty good story, but I’m not buying it. The Ontarios are very credible witnesses. I didn’t share with Shepherd that we’ve got Ursula Martin waiting in the wings with her own complaint.”
“Still not enough for the US Attorney’s Office to file charges,” George reminded him.
“I know. I’ll get what we need.”
“Okay.” George glanced at the clock behind Jason. “Safe travels.”
Back in his own office, Jason placed a couple of phone calls to contacts within the art community, booked a midnight flight for New York, and then phoned Karan Kapszukiewicz, chief of the Major Theft Unit of the Criminal Investigative Division. Karan oversaw the Art Crime Team agents from her Washington DC office.
Though it was after hours on the East Coast, Karan still picked up.
Jason filled her in on how the Fletcher-Durrand case was developing and his plans to travel to New York to force an interview with Barnaby Durrand.
“We’re walking a fine line,” Kapszukiewicz commented. “Are you sure this is where we want to focus our resources? Especially if the gallery is going to end up settling out of court?”
“I do, yeah. My gut tells me there’s more here. I think we’re just seeing the tip of the iceberg. Shepherd Durrand has a Reuven Rubin hanging in his office that, as far as I know, should be on display at MoMA.”
“It’s not illegal to purchase or display a copy of a valuable painting in your work space.”
“I know. But it’s unusual for an art gallery to hang a copy. And I think it’s interesting Durrand didn’t mention it was a copy.”
“I think you’re stretching,” Kapszukiewicz said. There was a smile in her voice, though. Jason was one of her protégés, and they both knew she was going to extend him latitude. “But if your instinct is telling you to keep digging, then keep digging.”
“Thanks, Karan,” Jason said—and meant it. “I’ll send my reports as soon as they’re processed.”
“Good deal. Have a pleasant evening.” Kapszukiewicz’s attention had already moved on to bigger and more important things.
Jason hung up and settled down to type up his notes on his interview with Durrand. He started an email to Jonnie—weirdly formal in tone because of Kennedy’s name in the CC field—attached his notes, and sent it off.
Mission accomplished.
He glanced at the clock. It was after five by then, and the building was getting that quiet, creaky sound even skyscrapers had after they emptied for the day.
He was supposed to drive out to Diamond Bar to pick up a painting he’d purchased on eBay. The impressionist work of the rain swept Catalina coast by Granville Redmond was a birthday present to himself. The current owner would not be home until seven thirty, so Jason figured he’d work until about half past five.
Something else he and Sam had shared: a love of Granville Redmond’s work. That was the kind of pointless synchronicity that could fool you into thinking there might be grounds for a relationship. So there you go. Two workaholics who traveled all the time and liked early California Impressionism. A match made in heaven.
Only not.
Jason sighed and decided to give Baus Wirther & Kimmel a call on the off chance Sabine Baus was still there. They’d been pals since their years as art history majors at UCLA.
His luck was in. Sabine verified that Kerk had been to the gallery on Thursday, had purchased three paintings, and had been in excellent spirits.
“You didn’t happen to know him from before, did you?”
“From before what?” Sabine inquired.
“From before you met him on Thursday.”
“Sure. I met him the last time I was in Germany. That gallery is amazing. Don was a character. He wore his hair in this Little Dutch Boy cut, and his voice was very high and airy. He had a really silly sense of humor. I liked him a lot. You’d have liked him too. It’s horrible what happened to him.”
