Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Dan chuckled as Gary walked into the office. “I thought you went to get coffee. You’ve been gone a while.” He stared at the cardboard tray containing two large cups, and the bag clutched in Gary’s hand. “And now I see why. That didn’t come from the precinct cafeteria.”
“You’ll thank me when you try these.” Gary held up the bag. “Probably the best cinnamon rolls you’ll ever taste. And the best coffee too.” He set them down on his desk. “What have you managed to find out?”
Dan peered at his monitor. “I’ve tracked down the private collector who bought the Bridgman from Paul DiFanetti.” He inclined his head toward Gary’s desk. “I’ve emailed you the contact details.”
“Excellent.” Gary sat. “I’ve been thinking about the painting too. If we’re going to follow this through, we need to ascertain whether the collector bought the original or the copy.” He glanced at Dan. “I know you said DiFanetti has the original, but—”
“But you need proof that’ll stand up in court if required,” Dan concluded. “I understand. So is that the plan? We contact the collector, share our suspicions….”
Gary smiled. “And then we suggest having the painting verified by an expert.”
Dan saw where he was going. “Lori Dettweiler.”
He nodded. “If she thinks she isn’t up to the task, she’ll know an expert who is.”
“Call her before you talk to the collector,” Dan suggested.
“I was going to do that right after we had our coffee.”
Dan sniffed. “And after I’ve tried one of those rolls. They smell amazing.” He got up and went over to Gary’s desk.
“No time like the present.” Gary got his phone out and dialed. “Lori? Detective Mitchell here. … Yes, we’re making progress, but it’s slow. I’m calling because you might be able to help us.”
Dan tuned him out and opened the deliciously scented bag. One bite assured him Gary hadn’t been wrong. He had to stifle a moan of pleasure to prevent Lori from hearing him. He took a cautious sip of the coffee and found it to be hot and delicious too.
“Thanks, Lori. I’ll call you back when I have more information.” Gary finished the call. “She says she’s only too willing to help.”
“Great. Then what are you waiting for?”
Gary rolled his eyes. “Can’t I at least have my coffee first, boss?”
Dan laughed. He loved this: the easy banter, the way they worked together.
When Travers had first proposed the idea of Dan joining forces with Boston PD to solve cold cases, Dan had imagined there wouldn’t be much he could do apart from using his gift where appropriate.
Being Gary’s research assistant was fun, however. It gladdened his heart to be useful.
Gary picked up his cup of coffee. “The collector isn’t going to be happy, not if we’re right.”
“If he’s had the painting verified, and then we come along and tell him he’s been involved in a fraud, then no, I don’t suppose he will be happy.” Dan cocked his head. “But that’s not going to stop you calling him, is it?”
Gary chuckled. “No. Because if our theory is correct and Cheryl did threaten to expose DiFanetti’s fraud, that’s one hell of a motive.”
Gary laced his fingers and stretched his arms high over his head.
“I’m done. And seeing as we’re driving to Lenox tomorrow morning, let’s call it a day.
” He peered at Dan. “Has Lori called yet?” He’d contacted the collector, Mr. Webster, that morning, and it had been an uncomfortable call.
At first Webster had refused to entertain the possibility his favorite painting could be a copy.
He’d been there when the art expert had examined it.
Then Gary asked if the painting had been out of his sight even once between its verification and its delivery.
The line had gone very quiet.
When Gary offered Lori’s services to verify the painting’s authenticity, along with her credentials, Webster had told them he’d be in touch.
All they could do was wait.
Dan nodded. “She called while you were meeting with Travers. Webster got in touch. She’s going to examine the painting next week.” He bit his lip. “She also said he sounded pissed.”
“Now there’s a surprise.”
The door opened, and an officer stuck his head around. “Detective Mitchell? You have a visitor, Interview Room Three.” He held out a card. “He said to give you this.”
Gary took it and stilled. “Thanks.” He waited until the door closed before glancing at Dan. “Aaron Stillwater.”
“Who’s he?”
“An attorney, according to this.” And Gary had a pretty good idea who had hired him. “I wonder if we’ve rattled someone.” He grabbed his jacket and notepad. “Let’s go find out.”
They walked briskly to the interview rooms, and Gary paused at the door. “Let me do all the talking, okay?”
“Absolutely.”
Gary entered the small room. Aaron Stillwater was a short man whose thick dark hair didn’t match his wrinkled face. His Ted Baker suit was a good fit, and Gary had a feeling the flash of gold from the heavy, expensive-looking watch on Stillwater’s wrist was the real thing.
“Detective Mitchell?” Stillwater didn’t crack a smile. “I’m here at the behest of my client, Paul DiFanetti. It seems you’ve been investigating him.”
“That’s my job.” Gary looked him in the eye. “And if your client truly sold the original Bridgman painting, then he has nothing to worry about.”
“I believe he told you to pass on any questions you may have to me. Except you didn’t. I only found out about the inquiries you’re pursuing when my client received a phone call today.” He narrowed his gaze. “You told Mr. Webster his painting is a forgery. I could sue you for—”
Gary held his hand up. “Excuse me, but I didn’t say that.” He’d been very careful not to say that. “I simply told Mr. Webster there was some doubt about the authenticity of his purchase, and that perhaps he should have it verified—again.”
Stillwater frowned. “I am here to ask you to desist in your investigation.”
“And if we don’t?”
The cold glint in Stillwater’s eyes sent a shiver through him. “Do not pursue this, Detective Mitchell. Because if you insist on trying to implicate Mr. DiFanetti in this matter, you may not like the consequences.”
Gary arched his eyebrows. “I’ll say the same thing to you that I said to your boss yesterday—that sounds suspiciously like a threat.” He pointed to the door. “And if that’s all, Mr. Stillwater, you’ll find the exit that way.”
Stillwater drew himself up to his full height—which had to be about five feet five—and leveled one final malevolent stare. “The next time we meet will probably be in court, Detective.” And with that he strode past them, flung the door open, and closed it with a bang.
Dan expelled a breath. “You like living dangerously, don’t you?”
Gary glanced at him. “You think he’s dangerous?”
“Er, yes? Just listening to him made me shiver.” Then he smiled. “It also made me think we’re onto something.”
“Then let’s hope Lori can prove DiFanetti sold Webster the copy. Because if she does that, DiFanetti won’t have a leg to stand on.”
“And if she doesn’t, you just made an enemy.”
Gary didn’t want to think about that.
Gary switched off the engine. “I am so ready to kick back this evening.” He got out of the car. “How about pizza, a couple of beers, and a movie?” Not to mention a comfortable couch.
Dan raised his eyes heavenward. “You had me at pizza.” They walked along the path that led to the main door of the apartment building. “What time do we need to be out of here tomorrow morning?”
“It’ll take us over two hours to get to Lenox.” Beside him, Dan came to a halt, and Gary glanced at him. “What’s wrong? Did you forget something?”
Dan gave a shudder. “There’s someone at the door.”
Gary jerked his head in that direction. A tall slim figure emerged from beneath the porch, wearing jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket.
“Detective Mitchell?”
Gary took a step toward him, and Dan grabbed his arm.
“Careful.”
The urgency in Dan’s voice caused an eruption of goose bumps.
Gary took in the man’s cool smile, the dark eyes that glittered, the heavy jaw. “Who are you?”
“My name isn’t important.” His smile broadened, though still devoid of warmth. “Let’s just say I’m a messenger.”
Cold spread through him. “Who sent you? And what’s the message?”
As if he didn’t know the answers to both questions.
“I think you know who sent me, Detective. And the message is very short. Stop.”
Gary played dumb. “Stop what?” He was aware of Dan, as still as a statue at his side.
The man stared at him. “You’re not stupid. This is only the first message. You keep this up and there’ll be more.”
Cold gave way to ice in Gary’s veins. “Okay, you’ve delivered it. You can go now.”
“I’m going anyway.” He glanced at the apartment building.
“You’ve got a pad on the second floor, right?
Nice place to live.” He surveyed the street.
“I’ll bet it’s a nice safe neighborhood too.
You can’t be too careful these days.” The man swaggered past them, smirking.
“Have a good evening.” He whistled as he walked away, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket.
Dan hadn’t moved from Gary’s side. “Do we need to be worried about this?”
Gary hoped not.
“A one-word message isn’t anything to concern us.” The fact that he knew where they lived was another matter, however.
Dan stared at him. “And if the messages get longer and more frequent?”
“Then we’ll deal with them,” Gary stated with more confidence than he felt.
“Just bear in mind you’ve had two such encounters today. I think you’ve rattled Paul DiFanetti.” Dan gripped his arm. “And that’s not a good thing.”
Gary had a feeling he’d need to watch his back—especially if Lori confirmed their suspicions.