Page 69 of The Chase
Shane made a note in his book. “He didn’t want to cut it and reduce its value?”
“Or perhaps he cares about the art?” I sat up. “The frame was important for the provenance. Do you think he considered that?”
“How do they know it’s not a team?” asked Shane.
“The underworld gossips,” said Danny. “Prisoners’ gossip. Whoever is doing this is a professional, and they look like they’re working alone.”
“So if they think this is connected,” said Abby, “we have one theft left and the guy’s gone.”
“Off to the next city,” Adley agreed.
“So, this is the same MO as the Jaeger case?” I asked.
Danny gave a nod. “Three thefts per city. There’s a total of seventeen so far.”
“He’s methodical,” I mused.
“Order works for him,” said Abby. “So far.”
Shane threw his pen down. “Shit, we’re against the clock.”
Danny turned on the wall-sized projector screen. “There’s the mother lode of a payout for our man. If we find him it’ll land Huntly Pierre a ten-million Euro reward.” He waved his hands with excitement. “We’re all looking for the same man.”
Abby spoke up. “As Danny says, with two homes already hit he’s plotting another theft, if he’s following the same pattern. We need to confirm the London thefts are related to those in Europe.”
“Study the patterns,” said Adley. “Collate the specifics of the other thefts. Research every detail of every painting. Are the Met willing to share?”
“Yep,” said Danny. “It’s a team effort.”
“Maybe the thief works for a private collector?” suggested Adley. “We could work backward.”
“I can gather a list of all the paintings involved,” I offered. “And confirm their provenance over at the Witt.”
I was excited at the thought of returning to my old alma mater, The Courtauld Institute, more specifically its library. The Witt’s vast database contained information on millions of paintings from over seventy thousand artists, and with my privileged access I could be a real asset to the investigation.
“Love the idea,” said Abby. “You’ll need help.”
“I’ll go,” said Danny.
I threw him a smile. “That would be great.”
Danny blushed a little and turned sharply away, flicking a switch to bring up a photo on the screen of a large rotunda, the lighting drenched in gold. The round walls covered in wall-to-wall paintings by the Old Masters. An abandoned wire hung from the center.
“What are we looking at?” asked Adley.
Danny pointed to the screen. “That’s how he got into the Burells’ family home in Amboise in France, three weeks ago. Their security is state-of-the-art. No way in unless you descend through the glass ceiling. He cut his way through using a power tool and left a big hole in their million-dollar stained glass window. He stole a Titian.”
I wondered why he changed his MO, and then realized saying, “No other way in.”
Danny picked up a clear plastic bag containing what looked like feathers. “Guess what happens when you make a hole in a ceiling?”
“Are those crow feathers?” asked Abby.
“Raven, a littler larger than a crow,” he said. “Interpol gave me a few feathers for us to examine. During the heist the thief also had to tackle a bird that flew in.”
“Did he kill it?” asked Abby.
Danny shook his head. “No, the police found it alive and perched on a painting inside the rotunda.”
