Chapter 31
William made an appointment to meet the artist at his studio in Red Hook, Brooklyn. The studio is located on the second floor of a warehouse with Dutch-style, arched, brick windows and wooden shutters. The Dutch architecture of certain blocks in Red Hook gives the feeling of being in Amsterdam. But today is not for sightseeing.
At the moment, we’re parked down the block. Uncle Tony pretends to be an Amazon delivery guy to scope out what type of security they have. He took an Amazon box, put in a new pack of pens, sealed and labeled it. Every office needs more pens. With his bright-orange vest, he rings the doorbell.
We can hear him through our earpieces. A muffled answer comes out of the intercom.
“Amazon delivery. I need a signature,” he says.
“Leave it downstairs by the door,” the voice from the intercom says.
“It needs a signature. It’s my first day. Can you sign?”
“C’mon up,” the intercom voice says.
And he’s in the building.
We’ve already googled the space on a real estate site, so we know the interior layout. But Uncle Tony will confirm that layout and the make of the security cameras just in case. Not that we’re planning to steal anything.
The car is quiet as we wait. I shift in the padded seat. We’ve been over our plan a million times. I just want to go. I grip my sweaty hands together, and William puts his hand over them. I look at him and nod.
Uncle Tony comes out of the building and walks down the block to us.
He slides into the back seat next to Takashi and explains the security system. Takashi brought his jammer machine.
William comes around to open my side door, and when I get out, I hold on to his arm so my very high heels don’t get caught in the cobblestones. I carefully watch my step as we walk toward the door.
This time, we’re playing wealthy art collectors. I wear a deep-green, fitted dress that I found at a secondhand shop. William looks dashing in a button-up shirt, the last few buttons undone, and black slacks. My large, fake, diamond engagement ring, courtesy of Uncle Tony, flashes in the light.
Takashi and Uncle Tony are on the lookout for Edmund, who’s been released from questioning and is on the loose. At least until Officer Johnson is able to tie him to Howard Holbrooke or this forgery artist.
We ring the buzzer and announce our presence. The intercom voice tells us to come right up. We push open the metal door and walk up the stairs. Notices advising of a recent extermination line the walls. Matt greets us at the door.
“Thanks so much for meeting us on such short notice,” William says.
“We really loved your paintings when we saw them exhibited on the street,” I say. “I particularly like your brushwork.”
“We’re looking for paintings to decorate our space when we get married.” William nods toward my ring. He glances at me, and I smile back. I wish we were moving in together.
“And we heard you sometimes copy artwork.”
“Are you looking for that? Why?”
“My sister and I both like my mom’s painting,” William says. “This way we could each have a copy.”
Abstract paintings hang on the white-painted brick walls of the studio. His work reminds me of mine. Why would he copy a painting when he has talent?
We take our time looking at the paintings, discussing them with Matt. Neither the Kimimoto nor Playing Around 1:30 is here. Matt is knowledgeable, which makes me want to scream. Why are you wasting your talent copying others’ work to sell? Why ruin your reputation that way?
“I like these two,” William says as we narrow it down to two in the studio. They are only three hundred dollars each.
“If you like these, I have one in the back you may want to see,” Matt says.
“You have more in the back? Can we see them?” I ask excitedly.
“Sure,” Matt says. “And I can show you the work I’ve copied. I’m pretty good.”
We follow him to the back studio/storage room. A soft light filters in from one arched window. Matt goes to the back closet to pull out some paintings. Similar to my studio, paintings cover the wall.
Off to the side on the wall by an easel is my painting.
I shriek.
“What?” William asks.
Matt runs back. “Is everything okay?”
Think quickly.
“Yes, sorry. I thought I saw a roach. I’m sorry.” I point to one of the paintings on the wall by Playing Around to divert attention. “I like this one. William, what do you think?”
“We were just exterminated, so there shouldn’t be any,” Matt says.
William says, “I like it too.”
“How will we ever choose?” I ask. “But I definitely want to see the ones you thought we would like.”
Matt returns to the back closet, and I gesture madly to William at my painting on the wall. His eyes widen, and he nods.
I text the group that it’s here. I want to grab it and run. It’s here. It’s here. It still exists. I text Jade in case I can still be in the show.
Matt comes out with two other paintings, but I can’t concentrate on this gig anymore. William seems to sense this and keeps up the conversation.
I inch closer to my painting because I want to check that it’s undamaged. And also to confirm that I’m not seeing things—that it’s really Playing Around 1:30.
It looks undamaged.
“What are your favorites?” William asks me, drawing me back to the current conversation.
“I’m having such a hard time deciding what to do,” I say honestly.
“Would you allow us to think about it overnight?” William asks. “It’s a big decision. I think we still like the two out in the gallery, but I also really like this one.”
The buzzer sounds.
“That’s weird,” Matt says. “Let me go see who that is. Do you mind coming with me? I don’t like to leave my paintings unsupervised, though I’m sure you’re trustworthy.”
“Yes, you shouldn’t trust people,” William says.
I don’t want to leave my painting, but I come along.
“Could we stay in here with the door open?” I ask. “I just need to look at them some more to decide.”
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t feel comfortable with that,” Matt says. “If there’s a painting you like, you can bring it with you into the other room.”
William picks up the one Matt said we’d like.
Matt goes to turn off the light in the back closet.
That’s my painting. I’m bringing it. I gingerly lift my painting off its hook.
Matt comes out and stops short.
“That’s not mine. That’s not for sale,” Matt says.
“Why not?” I ask.
The doorbell rings again.
“Someone gave it to me to copy, but they’re picking it up today,” Matt says. “I need to get the door.”
“When?” William asks.
“Around four,” Matt says.
He holds the door open for us and gestures that we should come out. My hands grip my painting. I don’t want to let it go. I reluctantly put it back up on the wall. William and I leave the room, and he closes the door behind us. Matt jogs over to the video camera monitor.
Looking at the image on the video camera monitor, Matt says, “It’s a police officer.” He doesn’t sound guilty-surprised, just surprised.
I text Officer Johnson that Edmund is coming to pick up my painting today at four. Or if not Edmund, whoever gave him the painting to copy.
“Has there been a lot of crime in the neighborhood recently?” William asks.
“Not that I know of,” Matt says. “And I doubt my art would be a target. I can barely sell it myself.”
He buzzes Officer Johnson in.
Officer Johnson enters the room and takes out his badge. He does not indicate that he recognizes us.
“We’ve received a tip that you have a stolen painting here.” Officer Johnson shows a picture of my painting on his phone. “Do you have this painting in your possession?”
“Yes,” Matt says. “But I didn’t steal it. This guy gave it to me to copy. His girlfriend wanted a copy. I had no idea it was stolen.”
“Maybe we should leave now and text you a better time to talk about buying paintings.” William inches toward the door.
“Yes, yes,” Matt says. “I swear I didn’t steal it. The guy is coming today to pick it up.”
“Okay,” Officer Johnson says. “I’d like to meet him then. Your cooperation would be appreciated.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Matt says.
“We’ll take the painting.” Officer Johnson radios his colleagues to come take the painting. I want to leave with it.
“Did he give you any other paintings to copy?” Officer Johnson asks.
“No.” Sweat beads on Matt’s forehead.
The Kimimoto is still missing.
“Are you sure? If we find them here, it won’t look good,” Officer Johnson says.
“Yes.” Matt runs his hand through his hair. “I swear. Just this one painting.”
“What’s the name of the guy who gave you the painting to copy, and how have you been communicating?”
“His name is Edmund,” Matt says. “We exchanged phone numbers. He paid me in cash.”
William takes my hand. “It’s better for us if we’re not here when Edmund comes.”
“I know.”
We leave, and the other officer carries out Playing Around 1:30.
“Can I take it, or does it have to stay in police custody?” I ask the police officer.
“For now, we need to keep it as evidence,” she says. “But Officer Johnson will be in touch. I know you need it for the Vertex Art Exhibit.”
“My sister was supposed to have dinner with Edmund tonight, but she just texted that he pushed back their meeting time. I didn’t tell her we found it,” I say. We walk back to the car.
“No Kimimoto,” I say to Uncle Tony and Takashi.
Takashi nods. “But you got Playing Around 1:30?”
“Yes.”
“And proof that it’s Edmund,” William says. “So hopefully he’ll tell the police where the Kimimoto is.”