A World Without Secrets (9 page)

"You think I'm special?"

"Since the first moment we met."

"I'm glad. I think you're special also. If you don't have money, we could spend a day in the park or a museum."

"Your museum?"

She giggled. "No. One of the numerous other museums here in the city. I already spend too much time at mine."

"Would you like to go to dinner with me on Friday?"

"I'd love to," she said, then added quickly, "but I can't. I have to work."

"You have another job outside the museum?"

"No. I have to work at the museum."

I cast my eyes downward. "I have money for the date."

"Oh, Colton, it's not that. We're putting the final touches on a new exhibit. It opens a week from Friday, if we pass the test."

"Test?"

"The insurance company test. They want to check our security when the artwork is taken from the vault and put on display. I have to be there while the examination is conducted because of my position as Assistant Curator."

"I would think your insurance carrier examines your security on a regular basis."

"They do periodic checks, but this is special. We were scheduled to have the Von Waggermann collection after it left Philadelphia two years ago, but the entire tour was cancelled following the theft there."

"I think I heard about that theft. The thieves only got five paintings, didn't they?"

"Yes, but they were the most valuable works in the exhibit. The police never caught the thieves or recovered the paintings, and the insurance company paid off the claim, but the family was devastated by the loss. Most people in the art world have believed that the Von Waggermanns would never allow any part of their collection to be exhibited again. It's taken more than a year of letters and phone calls to convince them to let us have a small part of the collection. And we're the only ones they've approved so far. We've had our security triple checked by the best people in the business. The insurance representative will conduct his test on Friday night, and if he endorses us, the exhibit opens the following Friday. Otherwise it gives us a week to get into compliance."

"I can understand why the family would be hesitant to let the collection out again."

"Following the theft, they publicly said the collection would
never
be shown again. Since then I've been chipping away at their resolve. I finally convinced them that by hiding the magnificent paintings away in the family vault they were letting the criminals commit a second crime."

"Good tactic. Congratulations. May I come watch the test?"

"It's boring and there's not much to see. Why would you want to watch?"

"I'm a writer. To write about life, one must first experience it. You never know what small bits of trivia might help someday with a book."

Kathy smiled. "Okay. Come to the museum on Friday night at seven. I'll leave word that you're to be allowed in. And speaking of the museum, I have to be getting back."

Kathy reached for the check, but I put my hand on hers. "My treat."

"That's okay. I know money's tight for aspiring writers. Let me pay today."

"No, I invited you. Besides, I've picked up some money with a part-time job. I'm in good financial shape again."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I said as I dropped a decent tip on the table. "Let's go."

* * *

When I arrived at the museum Friday evening, the building was dark and the doors locked. I saw no other option than to pound on the front door with my fist. Finally, a guard appeared.

"The museum is closed for the evening, sir," the guard shouted at me through glass doors that seemed to be an inch thick. I could barely hear him.

"I'm Colton James," I screamed back. "Miss Kathleen Marin is expecting me."

The guard took out his keys and unlocked the door, then pushed it open. "Yes, sir," he said calmly. "Please come in. Miss Marin said you'd be here about now. Usually, our after-hours guests enter at the side entrance."

I smiled. "Sorry. I didn't know you had a side entrance."

"It's our delivery dock, sir. After hours it serves as the secure entrance for staff and visitors."

"I'll remember. Where's Miss Marin?"

"Follow me, sir," the guard said after relocking the door.

He led the way through the large museum past walls filled with paintings and dozens of freestanding exhibits, then up a wide marble staircase to the second floor. At last, we reached the place where the new exhibit was to be placed. About three dozen people stood watching as several employees carefully hung an enormous picture by an old master. I didn't recognize it, but I appreciated the artistic beauty and the magnificent old-world craftsmanship of the painting.

"Colton," Kathy said as I approached the group, "you made it. Welcome to the new Von Waggermann exhibit."

"Thank you for the invite," I said. Kathy was wearing a gorgeous, medium-blue cocktail dress. I think the style was what's called tea length. The top rose diagonally from the upper bust line at her left shoulder to cover her right shoulder, leaving the left shoulder and arm completely uncovered. A gauzy sort of fabric flowed from the right shoulder to the elbow. "Wow. You look incredible."

"Thank you. This is my 'lucky' cocktail dress. I'm praying everything goes well tonight."

I wondered if she was referring only to the test. Looking toward the workers hanging the picture, I said, "That painting is magnificent."

"That's the centerpiece of the exhibit. It's by Vermeer and is believed to have been painted between 1660 and 1664." As a gray-haired, distinguished-looking gentlemen turned to look at us, Kathy said, "Colton, this is my boss, Dr. Whitting."

Several other people also turned to face me as Dr. Whitting— seventy-five if he was a day— lifted a slight arm and extended a gnarled hand towards me. "How do you do, Mr. James? Allow me to introduce Mrs. Whitting, William Kovacs, and Beverly Palmer."

"How do you do," I said. "It's an honor to be here to see the exhibit before the general public." I nodded to the others.

"Miss Marin tells me you're an author."

"Yes, sir. An aspiring author anyway. I've written several books, and I'm trying to find someone to publish them. It's a bit like an artist trying to gain acceptance in the art world. Until you sell that first work, no one wants to know you."

"Just don't get discouraged. Like any artistic endeavor, it probably takes time."

"I won't, sir. I just hope it doesn't take as long to gain recognition as it took poor Jan Vermeer."

"Yes, it's a pity his genius wasn't recognized for more than two hundred years. So many of the great masters lived and died in virtual obscurity and poverty. If they weren't fortunate enough to find a wealthy patron, they had to work at other jobs, often very menial ones, to support their painting, sculpture, or musical composition."

"Colton has a part time job to support his writing," Kathy said. Turning to look at me, she added "But you never told me what it was."

I hesitated for a few seconds before saying, "I'm a skip tracer."

"Tracer?" Dr. Whitting said. "Is that some kind of art work?"

"No, it means he's a bounty hunter," Mr. Kovacs said.

"Bounty hunter?" Dr. Whitting said in a surprised voice. "Do you mean like in the Old West?"

"Not quite," I said. "I just track people who haven't appeared for their court date and return them to the justice system."

Kathy was looking at me like I'd just grown a third eye. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It could be, but I just do the tracking work. Enforcement officers actually take the skip into custody."

The conversation was interrupted when one of the workers involved in hanging the artwork approached our little group and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Kovacs. We're ready to start now."

"Okay, Phil. Let's take it from the top."

Everyone in the room was asked to step out of the exhibit area while a series of tests were conducted. The alarm circuits would be tripped and reset more than a dozen times during the next several hours. The police had been notified of the testing.

"This is the most secure area of the museum," Kathy said quietly to me. "You have to walk through the entire building to get here and there aren't any outside accesses such as doors, windows, skylights, roof vents, or anything else. There are twelve cameras and dozens of high-tech, infrared, audio, and thermal sensors dedicated to just this exhibit space. We even have a few old-fashioned contact switches."

"Sounds secure," I said as I glanced at the walls and saw several of the security cameras she'd mentioned.

"It is. We've naturally complied with all requests made by the Von Waggermann family. Mr. Kovacs is the insurance company representative and Phil, the man who came to get Mr. Kovacks, is their top security guy. Both were responsible for signing off on the museum security for the paintings in Philadelphia, and they were extremely embarrassed by the theft. It cost their company fourteen
million
. They've vowed that nothing will happen this time."

It was almost midnight when the testing was finally completed. The people not associated with the security or insurance companies had spent their time drinking champagne, snacking on canapés, and talking in small groups, as would be the case at the opening of any large art show. I learned that most were generous contributors to the museum.

As Mr. Kovacs approached the group and extended his hand to Dr. Whitting, he said, "I'm happy to sign off on the system, Doctor. Phil can't find a single loophole that could be exploited."

"That's wonderful to hear, Mr. Kovacs. I hope the Von Waggermanns will be able to sleep soundly after receiving your report."

"I hope so too. I'm not so sure they trust me completely anymore, but we also have the written reports from the experts you hired to check the systems and correct any deficiencies they found. The boys are wrapping up, and we'll be ready to leave in a few minutes."

As Mr. Kovacs turned and started to walk briskly away, I excused myself and hurried after him. I managed to catch him before he reached the exhibit room.

From his perfectly trimmed hair to his alligator shoes, Kovacs projected an image of a top-level corporate executive in a large company. He was slender but not overly so, and while most New Yorkers appeared almost ghostlike after enduring months of freezing cold weather, his skin was evenly tanned. Either he spent a lot of time in tanning salons, or he had just returned from a vacation in the subtropics. My guess would be the latter. I had no trouble imagining him on a golf course in Hawaii. The other thing out of place was his eyes. He had cop's eyes.

"Mr. Kovacs, could I have a minute of your time, please?"

Kovacs stopped and turned to face me. "Of course, Mr— I'm sorry, I've forgotten your last name."

"It's James. Colton James."

"Of course. What can I do for you, Mr. James?"

"I understand you've never recovered the paintings from the Philadelphia theft."

Kovacs seemed to bristle at the mention of the robbery. "That's right. But I can
assure
you there will be no successful robbery here."

"I'm sure, and I don't mean to remind you of an unpleasant event, but I wondered if there was any reward being offered for the recovery of the stolen artwork. I remember Kathy mentioning that your company carried the policy and paid off the claim."

"Yes, that's right. We paid off after it became clear the art wouldn't be recovered. If you're thinking of trying to find it, let me inform you that the very best in the business have already had a go at it."

"That's not necessarily true. I haven't looked for the missing paintings."

Kovacs smiled at me condescendingly. "Mr. James, no offense, but we're not talking about support-payment deadbeats and parking-fine scofflaws here. These people did something that rarely happens anymore. They broke into a museum without tripping
any
alarms, managed to evade three guards who made patrols through the museum at random so they couldn't be timed, and left the museum without leaving a clue. They were never seen on any of the video monitors and never left a single fingerprint. At first we suspected it might be an inside job because it was so perfect, but we couldn't find anything to tie the theft to the guards, and all of them had been with the museum for years. They're still working there in fact."

"I don't track support-payment deadbeats or parking-fine scofflaws, Mr. Kovacs. I only track drug pushers, murderers, or other high-profile criminals."

Kovacs suddenly had a gleam in his eye. "Have you heard something about the location of the paintings? Are they on the market?"

"One hears a lot of things when dealing with criminals and their associates. I don't know anything yet, but I can find out,
if
it's worth my while."

"I don't expect you'll learn anything new, but if you do learn something that leads us to the paintings, I can promise you we'll pay a twenty-thousand-dollar bounty."

"That's all? I heard you paid off fourteen million. I expected the reward to be ten percent of the policy amount."

"Well, that's the normal arrangement for the recovery of stolen property, but we're only talking about information that will put us on the trail to the paintings."

"If I take this case on, I'll find the paintings, Mr. Kovacs. I'll lead you right to them and even put them into your hands."

Kovacs looked at me intently, seeing a look of complete confidence in my eyes and on my face. "Very well, Mr. James, find the paintings and my company will pay you ten percent of the policy amount for their recovery."

"It's a deal, Mr. Kovacs. The paintings are as good as recovered."

Kovacs nodded in a patronizing manner. "Uh, where did you say you worked, Mr. James?"

"I've been recovering people for Ed Harris of Harris Bail Bonds and Marsh Adams of Triple A Bail Bonds."

"Here in New York?"

"Yes. Both are downtown if you care to check up on me."

"And how long have you been doing this?"

"Not very long, but both men will tell you I'm good. In fact, I've
never
failed."