Murder 101. Faye Kellerman

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СКАЧАТЬ he heard the hello, he said, “This is Peter Decker from the Greenbury Police Department, I’m sorry to call so late, but I’m looking for Ken Sobel.”

      The voice on the other end was alert. “This is Ken Sobel. What took you so long? What’s going on up there?”

      “We broke the lock on the crypt, sir. From what I could see, everything appears in order.”

      “Phew! Good to know. It would be really ghoulish if someone had broken into the mausoleum and did some mischief. So why didn’t Isaiah Pellman’s key work?”

      “We don’t know. Could someone else in the family have changed the lock?”

      “Not to my knowledge. I’m usually the only one who bothers to go up there … except for the funeral six months ago. I was up there about four months ago and everything was in perfect order.”

      “Who else besides you has a key?”

      “My sister … some of my other cousins.”

      “Mr. Pellman checked the lock about four days ago and it worked. So if anyone had changed the lock, it had to have been in the last few days.”

      “I assure you that none of my relatives have been up in the last few days.”

      “Okay. I do have a question or two if you don’t mind my asking.”

      “I’m here.”

      “There are four beautiful stained-glass panels inside the crypt. The scenes look like the four seasons. I even got on a ladder and looked at the autumn panel. I found a Tiffany signature. Are they real Tiffany?”

      There was a pause on the other end. “Why do you ask?”

      “I’m a suspicious guy, which is a good thing for a detective. When I first talked to Isaiah Pellman, it sounded to me that someone broke the original lock on purpose. And then I saw those panels. If they’re real Tiffany, they’re worth stealing.”

      “But you said everything looks in order.”

      “It does.”

      “So I’m confused.”

      “Are the panels Tiffany?”

      “Yes, and they do represent the four seasons. My grandmother commissioned them at the turn of the century.”

      “Okay. It might be a good idea to send someone up here and have them authenticated. Or my partner suggested that maybe someone from one of the colleges could authenticate them with your permission, of course.”

      “That’s ridiculous. Of course, they’re real!”

      “I’m sure they were at one point.”

      “What?” A long pause. “You think someone broke in and replaced the panels with forgeries?”

      “Mr. Sobel, I’m certainly no art expert. But I did climb up on a ladder to get an up-close look. That’s how I found the Tiffany signature. And I only looked at the autumn panel, sir, so I don’t know about the others. But on that panel, someone had painted the two soldered loops on the lead frame that secures the two chains that hang from the ceiling. The loops were painted dark brown to match the patina. The paint flaked off on my hand. Did you do a repair on that work?”

      “No, I did not! And it would be absurd to think that Tiffany Studios would paint something to make it look like old patina. Because when they did it, it wasn’t old. Furthermore, the glass is held in place by copper channels, not lead. It was a very expensive way of doing stained glass. Tiffany invented it as far as I know. So when it was new, it would have been shiny.”

      “Tell him about the perfect glass,” McAdams whispered.

      Decker nodded. “Also the stained glass in the panel was in perfect shape. My partner says that with authentic Tiffany, it’s more usual than not to find a crack or two somewhere.”

      “I don’t fucking believe this!” Sobel said. Decker heard a female voice in the background. Sobel was talking to it in an angry muffled voice. “Someone may have ripped off our Tiffany panels … yes, in the crypt!” Back to Decker. “Are you sure about this?”

      “Not at all. It’s up to you on how you want to proceed.”

      Sobel was still muttering curse words under his breath. “I’ll bring someone down … I can’t do it tomorrow. Is the crypt secured?”

      “Yes, we put a new padlock on it.”

      “I’ll see if my appraiser—better known as my son-in-law—can come down with me on Sunday. His place is closed so he’ll do me the favor for gratis. Well, not quite gratis. I’ve spent a fortune at his gallery … figure it benefits my grandchildren. Does Sunday work for you?”

      “Sunday would be fine. I’ll give you my phone number and my partner’s phone number.” After he gave Sobel the digits, Decker said, “Feel free to call either one of us. In the meantime, I’ll make sure that the watchmen check the crypt lock during their work hours.”

      “What did you say your name was again?”

      “Peter Decker.”

      “Are you new? I don’t know you.”

      “I came on the force about six months ago. Before that, I worked for LAPD.”

      “LAPD.” A pause. “Have you ever worked an art case before or should I send in an expert in the field?”

      “I was a lieutenant when I left LAPD. I ran a squad room of detectives so I’m familiar with every kind of crime imaginable, including art theft and forgery. But you can hire your own person as long as we communicate. I don’t have turf issues especially with something so specialized. You’re in Manhattan?”

      “Yes.”

      “So there are probably a lot of specialists in your parts. How about if we take it one step at a time?”

      “I suppose that makes sense. What was your specialty?”

      “As a lieutenant, I mostly supervised my detectives. I only worked the field if it was a very big and puzzling case. Before I was promoted, I was a homicide cop for twenty years.”

      “Homicide! Let’s hope there’s no need for that!”

      Decker smiled. “I agree.”

      Sobel thanked him for calling and hung up. Decker gave the phone back to McAdams. They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they got to the house, Decker said, “Can’t say it was a hoot, but you showed some professionalism coming out with me in the cold.”

      “Yeah, tell that to my frozen feet … and my frozen ears. I should have taken the car. If I come down with frostbite, I’m taking disability.”

      Decker eyed him. “You know, McAdams, police forces are paramilitary organizations. Rule number one: no one wants to hear your bitching so suck it up. No guarantee they’ll like you any better, but when СКАЧАТЬ