“And therein lies the rub.”
Rina smiled. “Once when I was visiting Sammy, I went out to lunch with an old friend while he was busy. I ordered a niçoise salad appetizer. I needed a magnifying glass to see it.”
“Yeah and a pair of tweezers to pick it up.” Decker was trying to figure out how to eat the burger in more than two bites. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“You’re welcome. Not that I learned anything juicy about Max or anyone else for that matter.”
“So what did you learn?”
“Gallery has been around for years. I asked if Max owns it and Jill said he works there side by side his father, Keith, whom I met.”
“Nice guy?”
“He was running out the door when I was introduced. He seemed fine. Also, there’s a cousin who mostly does the jewelry buying. Her name is Katy Mendel. Jill says she’s lovely.”
“Any strife between any of the relatives? Or you probably didn’t ask.”
“No, I didn’t ask.” Rina picked up a pickle that was bigger than the burger. “Jill didn’t give off any vibes of conflict. She’s been working there fifteen years. Are you still considering Max a suspect?”
“I can’t see him stealing four small Tiffany panels, ruining his name, and committing a crime, when he has such a vast inventory to steal from. And he could probably alter the books without anyone noticing for a while. So for the moment, he’s near the bottom.”
Rina said, “So what’s your plan now?”
“I’ll go down the list of family members and people who knew about the panels and see what I can dig up. What’s the jewelry woman’s name again? Katy what?”
“Mendel.”
“Thanks.” Decker wrote the name on his notepad. “I did find out from Tyler that stealing from graveyards isn’t unusual. The most likely culprits are the caretakers and people who live around the cemeteries.”
“What do they take when they’re not stealing Tiffany?”
“Planters, urns, statues, architectural decorative elements, lawn mowers, shovels, even gravestones.”
“So maybe your thief is closer to home.”
“Whoever did this put time and money into replacing the panels so no one would notice. He probably had a buyer lined up before he stole the first panel.” Decker regarded his empty plate. His hand made a beeline for the breadbasket.
Rina stopped him. “You want to split another hamburger.”
“Not at these prices. And plus we’re taking the family out tonight. I’d like to go home with some money in the bank.”
“We can afford another hamburger.” Without asking, Rina summoned a waiter and ordered another burger. She gave him a wide smile. “Tell them to be a little more generous on the beef. You’re not feeding supermodels, okay?”
Decker laughed as the waiter huffed away. “Before we leave Manhattan, I’d like to check out the Met. They have Tiffany glass panels that I’d like to see. Also there’s a place … Emanu-El? Do you know it?”
“Sure. It’s been around since the mid-1800s. It’s reform.” She began playing with her phone. “Started by German Jews. Prime example of Moorish Revival … ah, there’s a Tiffany window there. That’s why you want to see it.”
“Not that I need to see it, but as long as I’m here I figure I should educate myself.” He looked up. “Want to come with me?”
“I’d love to.” She stowed her phone back in her purse. “So are you going to tell me how you suddenly became an expert on Byzantine mosaics?”
Decker smiled. “McAdams gave me a history lesson about fifteen minutes before we met to go to the gallery.”
“Why?”
“It had to do with an art theft that happened thirty years ago. Four mosaic icons from a Russian Orthodox church in Rhode Island made by an artist named Nikolai Petroshkovich. What was stolen was done in the style of the mosaics at Ravenna. The timing couldn’t have been more advantageous.”
“You sounded casual but very impressive. What does an old art theft have to do with your case?”
“Probably nothing. I asked McAdams to look up all major art thefts around our town and I’m not about to punish him for being thorough.”
“For once.”
“Yeah, for once. Mostly he just clocks in the hours. Why he signed up for Greenbury Police is still a mystery. He seems to hate everything about his life there.”
“I’m sure there’s a backstory.”
“My opinion? I think he’s secretly writing a screenplay and that’s why he joined any police force that would take him. The guy is pure Hollywood to me.”
“I’m sure it’ll all come out one day.”
A pause. Decker said, “I’d like to talk to the detectives who worked that Rhode Island case if they’re alive. Find out the steps they took to attempt to trace stolen art. I’m hoping that they still live in the area.”
“Maybe we should extend our visit to another day to give you a little more time.”
“You mean more time with Lily.”
“And more time for the twins, too. There’s nothing wrong with that.” The second burger came. Rina pushed it toward her husband. “You take the whole thing. I’m full.”
“You’re just being nice.”
“Honestly, I’m okay.” She took her husband’s hand. “Peter, we moved back east to be closer to the kids. Also, you retired from the big city so we wouldn’t be so rushed about everything. We could stroll instead of jog. It’s so lovely that we’re going to see the Met and Emanu-El together. Please try not to slip into LAPD work mode just because you finally have a real case. Besides, you have Tyler to handle the slack.”
Decker picked up his miniburger and managed not to eat the entire thing in one bite. “You’re right. There is work I can do here and an extra day wouldn’t hurt. I’ll call Mike. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Decker said. “But let me tell you something, woman. If there’s a cat in a tree that doesn’t make it because Tyler’s too lazy, I’m going to put the blame squarely on your shoulders.”
After seeing Rina off, Decker made several phone calls while sitting on a park bench. Temperatures had climbed to the high thirties with no wind: practically spring climate compared to the icy conditions and gray skies in Greenbury. The fresh air felt bracing on his face and woke him from his usual afternoon torpor.
His aim was to narrow the playing field by crossing off as many members of the Sobel family as he could. First to go were the distant relatives who had professed ignorance about the family mausoleum in Greenbury. Next, he spoke to those who did know of the mausoleum’s existence but had never stepped foot in the town. All their claims were verified by quick calls to Ken Sobel. Then he called up Katy Mendel—the jewelry buyer for Max Stewart. She also seemed to be a straight arrow. His leads were disappearing as he checked off each name on his list.
He’d been sitting for over an hour and the chill was starting to get to him. He walked back to his car, cranked up the heat, and spoke from his office on wheels, ignoring the honks and the pleading eyes of motorists aching for his parking spot.
The most interesting group was close family members: those who had been at the funeral last summer and probably knew about the expensive glass panels inside the vault. On the surface, they seemed like poor candidates