“I can only speculate. Someone who loves art and doesn’t care about showing it to anyone else. Someone with a lot of cash-because I should think you’ve got to be careful about withdrawing that large of a sum from a bank account. Again, I don’t know, but with the Patriot Act, after nine/eleven, I should think a big withdrawal sends up a red flag.”
Alverez nodded. “Continue. What else would you assume about a private buyer?”
After a pause, I said, “Well, actually, when I think about it, a rare masterpiece would be a pretty good hedge against inflation. And a good way to launder money.” I smiled. “So, you’re looking for a rich guy with a lot of cash lying around who wants to balance his portfolio. Or someone in the mob. Or a crooked dealer who knows people like that.”
Alverez drummed the table. “Well, that narrows the field,” he said dryly. “Here’s the thing. I’m hoping that you’ll research the value of either the Cezanne or the Matisse, and offer to sell it privately.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “To whom?”
“Let me get this right-” Max began, but Alverez put up a hand and interrupted.
“Once we agree on Josie’s involvement, I’ll give you full details.”
“I can’t advise Josie to put herself in harm’s way,” Max said.
Alverez looked at me. “You’ll be in no danger,” he assured me.
I found myself unable to look away. His eyes were seductive, and I felt my breathing slow as I relaxed, gazing deeper and deeper into his eyes, feeling safe in his presence. I swallowed. “I don’t understand,” I said. “You want me to research one of the painting’s value, and then do what?”
He paused. “Help us a catch a killer.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I sat, stunned, unable to think of how to respond. After moment, I turned to Max and raised my eyebrows, silently soliciting his reaction.
“Tell us about it,” Max said to Alverez.
Alverez leaned back, balancing his chair momentarily on two legs, then righting himself to address Max. “Well, I’ve already told you that the first thing I need is for Josie to research the under-the-table sales price of either the Cezanne or the Matisse.”
Max looked at me, tilting his head, silently asking if I was game.
“Sure,” I said. “I can do that.”
“How long will it take you?” Alverez asked.
“It depends on how easy it is for me to access relevant data. Anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of days.”
He nodded and tapped his pen on the edge of the table. “Obviously, sooner would be better than later.”
I nodded. “I’ll get started as soon as we’re done. Do you have a preference-the Cezanne or the Matisse?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Then what?” Max asked.
“Then we’ll make an offer that I hope won’t be refused.”
“To whom?” I asked.
Alverez shook his head. “One step at a time.” He stood up. “Let’s get the paintings back here.” He reached over and punched the Off button on the recorder and pulled out the tape. “I’ll get Cathy to make a copy of this while we’re gone.”
Max and I waited outside under thickening clouds while Alverez spoke to Cathy. When he was ready, we drove in his SUV to the Grant house, greeted Griff, standing guard on the porch, and made our way down the basement steps. Walking through the shadowy light of the solitary hanging lightbulbs, we entered the small room that housed the leather trunk. Retrieving the two paintings was anticlimactic.
They lay untouched, as I’d positioned them. The three of us stood silently for several moments looking at the Cezanne, which rested on top. Alverez rolled them up, one at a time and placed them in a military-style duffle bag he’d brought with him.
I watched as Alverez extracted the receipt Cathy had prepared and Max had approved from an inside pocket. We watched as he signed it and handed it over.
“Fax me a copy,” Max said as I accepted it. “Okay?”
“Sure.”
With no further conversation, we left. We said good-bye to Griff and walked around the house to the side alley. As Alverez drove along the ocean to the Rocky Point police station, I looked up at the sky. The clouds were leaden, and the air smelled like rain.
After depositing the paintings in the police station safe, Alverez followed us to the parking lot. Max patted my shoulder, shook Alverez’s hand, and walked to his car. Alverez and I watched without speaking as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Portsmouth.
“You okay?” Alverez asked.
I nodded. I thought I felt a drop of rain, but it was hard to tell. The air was thick with moisture. “Yeah. Things just feel kind of strange, you know?”
“In what way?”
“Giving you the paintings. Not understanding what’s going on.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. The entire situation.”
“Things will straighten out pretty soon.”
“You think?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
I wondered whether he was offering standard-issue polite reassurance or if he meant it. I didn’t know him well enough to gauge his attitude toward providing skittish women support. Maybe he mouthed words of comfort with the same insouciance that I answered “Fine” when a stranger asked “How are you?”
Glancing at him, I found his eyes on me, watching me intently. No, I thought, whatever else might be going on, I had to believe that his comments were personal to me, and that he intended me to feel safe and cared for.
I smiled. He smiled back, and we stood like that, leaning against my car, looking at one another, smiling, until the rain began in earnest.
“It’s raining,” I said, realizing that I’d left my umbrella upstairs in my office. “I’d better go.”
He held my car door until I was inside, then closed it. I lowered the window. “You’re getting wet,” I said. “You should go inside.”
“I will. Call and let me know how the research is going. Okay?”
I told him that I would, and backed out of the space. As I turned north, I glanced back over my shoulder and spotted him still standing in the middle of the parking lot. I waved good-bye and turned my attention to the road. The rain was coming steadily now and streams of water threatened to block my view.
When I got back to the warehouse about 4:30, it was as dark as night, and the rain showed no signs of letting up.
Gretchen was showing a young man, Fred, I supposed, the corner where we kept the coffee machine, a microwave, and a small refrigerator. Sasha tapped the keys on the computer at the spare desk.
“Did you forget your umbrella again?” Gretchen asked as I ran inside.
“Yeah,” I said. “And it’s raining like the dickens.”
“It’s gotten so dark, hasn’t it?” Gretchen agreed, looking out of the window. “Are you okay?”
“Yup. Just damp.” I turned to the man standing next to her. He was short and narrow chested, in his mid-twenties maybe, and he wore glasses in black squared-off frames. He looked like a nerd.
“You must be Fred,” I said, smiling and offering a hand. “I’m Josie.”
“Hello,” he said vaguely, as if he wasn’t quite sure who I was.
“Do you have everything you need so far?”
“Yes, everything’s very clear.”
“Good. Hey, Sasha. Are you doing all right?”
Always shy and self-effacing, Sasha gave a quick grin, as if she didn’t want to show pleasure, but couldn’t help herself. “Yeah. Great.” She turned back to the computer.
“I’ll let you guys get back to it,” I said. “I have some work to do upstairs. Fred, you and I will go over the research protocol in the morning, okay?”
“Sure.”
I climbed to my office and got settled at my desk, ready to research the paintings’ value. Since Alverez had said that it didn’t matter which painting I selected, I decided that I’d go with whichever one seemed to be the easiest to research.