At the end of an hour, I sat back, a bit stunned. Looking only at the name items-things associated with dead presidents, for example, or other known and noteworthy historical figures-it was clear that the market was booming. And some single letters were going for five and six figures at auction. The Society’s list of items known to be missing was over five pages long, and most of them appeared to be highly desirable, if what I was reading was an accurate view of the market. Take each of those missing pieces and multiply it by, conservatively, twenty-five thousand dollars, and… the total ran into the millions. Oh my God. We had a big problem here.
I allowed myself a moment of panic. The dollar value of the collections was one thing, but I also had to consider the Society’s reputation. Hadn’t there been a recent spate of news articles about someone stealing maps from multiple collections and getting away with it for years? If pieces from our collections were walking out the door, we would look like incompetent fools. And that wouldn’t exactly encourage people to contribute money to us-money we depended on and sorely needed just to stay open. All my hard work, all the small advances we had made since Charles arrived-all trashed, if Marty went public with her suspicions about the Terwilliger Collection, which would lead to more scrutiny, which would lead to… disaster.
Reluctantly, I realized that there was another area I needed to think about: the legal aspects. I didn’t feel like I could go to the Society’s official legal counsel just yet because he was a board member, and I didn’t want to let the board in on this until I was sure of my information. On the other hand, I certainly didn’t want to contact some outside attorney, not only because that would cost money I didn’t have, but also because it might tip off the wrong people that we had a problem, and I didn’t want to bring that down on my head, either. So once again I turned to the Internet.
I had in the back of my head that there was a special category for the theft of items of historical significance, so that was where I started. Aha: Title 18, United States Code, Section 668: Theft of Major Artwork. “Makes it a federal offense to obtain by theft or fraud any object of cultural heritage from a museum. The statute also prohibits the ‘fencing’ or possession of such objects, knowing them to be stolen.” From another source, “an ‘object of cultural heritage’ means an object that is over 100 years old and worth at least $5,000.” Well, there we were, in the thick of it. I knew for a fact that we were legally defined as a museum in the Society’s bylaws. And we could easily classify all of the missing pieces as at least a century old and worth over five grand.
I plowed on, glued to my screen. According to the FBI, ninety percent of all museum thefts turned out to be inside jobs. Not surprising, but not reassuring. There were sounds from the outer offices now, people arriving, exchanging greetings, bustling around. I sighed. I really didn’t want to think that anyone on our staff had been systematically ripping off the Society. Most of them did have the expertise to choose what to take, and all of them had free access. But I’d worked with the people here for years. They were good people, knowledgeable, committed to history and its preservation, and to helping other people share their interest. They were willing to work for pathetic wages simply because they did care. And then that little voice inside me said, Maybe somebody’s gotten tired of the low pay and equally low respect, and decided to do something to make up for it. After all, it would be so easy…
I shook myself. I was almost afraid to look, but I needed to know what the proper procedure would be to report such a theft. The FBI was kind enough to provide just such an outline on their website. One, do not let staff or visitors into the area to disturb evidence. Well, it was a little late for that. Two, notify the local police department. That clearly hadn’t happened yet. Three, determine the last time the objects were seen and what happened in the area, or to the objects, in that time. Like that was going to happen-although, I realized, Marty could give specifics for the Terwilliger Collection. One more reason to keep her happy. Four, gather documents, descriptions, and images of the missing objects and provide to the police. Well, we had a start on that, thanks to Alfred. Five, follow up on police actions and investigations to ensure that everything possible is being done. Yeah, right.
So it looked like the police were the first line, and then they would call in the FBI, since this was clearly a federal offense. What wasn’t clear was who from our end was supposed to report the problem to the police. Me, who had first discovered it? Latoya, as head of collections? Charles, as the president? The board, as the official managing body for the institution? Or Marty herself, as an interested outside party as well as a board member?
I felt sick. I felt scared. Right now I was sitting on a guilty little secret that Alfred had shared with me, but he couldn’t help me now. Oh, and the thief-if there was one-probably knew about it, too. But I didn’t see what I could do about it.
Charles. When should I tell Charles? This would devastate him. He had worked hard to identify himself with this institution and to make his way into the local historical community, and he had done it well. A theft like this, under his aegis, would be a serious blow to his professional standing, both locally and in the broader museum community.
OK, Nell, slow down. I gripped the edge of my desk and took a deep breath. Take this one step at a time. I believed the Society had a problem, thanks to what Alfred had told me. I had reported Marty’s complaint to the next person in the chain of command: Latoya. She had dismissed Alfred’s reports as trivial, or as a normal part of his cataloging procedures-of course there would be a few misplaced items among the thousands he had looked at. Maybe we could just make it go away, hush it up, save our reputation. Why didn’t I believe that?
Maybe she hadn’t listened to him, but she was going to listen to me.
CHAPTER 12
I stood up and headed to Latoya Anderson’s office. She was on the phone, but I summoned up my patience and waited. Finally she managed to extricate herself from the phone call and gestured for me to come in. I closed the door behind me, and Latoya’s eyebrows went up a notch. She must have picked up on my unease-not to mention the fact that I’d closed the door. “What’s going on now, Nell?” She folded her hands on her pristine desk blotter and waited.
I took a deep breath. “You remember I talked to you Saturday about the problem with the Terwilliger papers?”
She nodded, then said contritely, “Oh, and I promised to get you the files-it slipped my mind entirely. Let me hunt them up for you.” She started to rise, but I held up a hand to stop her.
“Latoya, that’s not the immediate problem. There’s something bigger that we need to talk about. Something that Alfred told me about the collections.”
She sat back and said, “All right. What’s the problem?”
Here we go, I thought. “When Marty came to me with her question, I realized how little I knew about the maintenance of our collections, in hands-on terms. So I talked to Alfred, since he was more directly involved in the day-to-day management.”
Latoya’s expression was wary. “Go on.”
This was the difficult part. “Alfred told me that there are a number of other items he had not been able to locate.”