Chapter 7
Seven
Rowen
I arrived at The Andervelt to find Agent Markel pacing outside the grand front entrance, stomping around like a toddler who wasn’t getting his way.
“What’s the ruckus, Markel?” I snickered, glancing at my watch to confirm I wasn’t horribly late.
4:02.
I deserve an award.
“The museum director insisted we be here at closing time, but now I’m being asked to wait because he’s with an ‘important donor.’” He finished his tirade with exaggerated air quotes, and it took everything in me not to grin like a supervillain.
Because oh, how I love to mess with him.
I frowned, doing my best to look genuinely puzzled. “Are you saying the person the director’s meeting with isn’t an important donor?”
The agent threw his hands into the air. “That’s not what I said, Quincy! You know what I mean…”
I widened my eyes in my best impression of a surprised Pikachu before dropping my voice to a whisper. “Do you think this important donor might be the art thief?”
Markel stared at me in the same way he always did—like I was both the stupidest and most annoying person he’d ever encountered—and, as always, it brought me immeasurable joy.
I gotta get my kicks where I can nowadays.
“Maybe you’re the thief,” he grumbled. “We’re investigating a missing bronze statue today and we both know how much you love to get your hands on those.”
Asshole.
Of course, he had to go there, because it was a similar item that got me into this mess in the first place. I was about to reply that, last I checked, his mother wasn’t a bronze statue, but then the door creaked open and a smiling brunette popped her head out.
“Agent Markel? I’m Sabina Belanger, Head Curator. Director Bradley Westcott is still in a meeting, but I’d be happy to take you to the East Gallery to begin the investigation.”
“That would be fine, thank you,” Markel gruffly replied, even though I could tell his little ego was bruised.
Boo-hoo.
Sabina’s friendly gaze shifted to me and I held out my hand. “Rowen Quincy. I consult for the Art Crime Team and have personally stolen multiple bronze statues from institutions just like The Andervelt.”
Her eyes widened before crinkling in the corners with laughter. “Well! That is a useful background to have in this case. Unless you’re the one who stole it, that is…”
Unlike with Markel’s snide comment, I could tell Sabina was joking, so I matched her energy. “Oh, no, my art thief days are behind me. I’m a respectable member of society now.”
Said no one.
Sabina tittered in approval before swinging the door wide to let us pass. We then waited on the other side of the empty guard station while she blocked the view to reactivate the alarm.
At least they have basic security protocols in place.
Let’s see where they dropped the ball.
Agent Markel made small talk with the curator as we walked through the empty galleries, which left me to mentally note the locations of all security cameras we passed along the way. It was a familiar exercise, casing a joint before a job, and for a few delusional minutes, I felt like myself again.
We reached the East Gallery—roped off with an “installation in progress” sign—and my gaze immediately fell on the empty pedestal case on the far side of the room. On instinct, I turned, finding the lone security camera mounted over the doorway.
Problem number one.
“Markel!” I barked. “Go take a closer look at that case, but don’t touch anything.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapping them on as he lumbered across the room. “This isn’t my first day on the job, Quincy.”
Could have fooled me.
“You see how his extra wide body completely blocks our view of the case?” I loudly pointed out to Sabina, making Markel glance over his shoulder and glare. “And between his height and how low the ceilings are, I bet the view from the camera is similarly obstructed.”
“Oh…” Sabina replied, looking from Markel to the camera and back to me. “Oh dear…”
“Yes,” I gravely stated. “It helps that your camera’s real.” I nodded toward the visible wires. “But I would suggest placing additional hidden cameras to catch the blind spots caused by oversized obstructions.”
“How the hell did he get inside this thing?” Agent Markel muttered, ignoring my jab as Sabina furiously took notes on her phone.
Deciding that question was meant for me, I walked over to where he was circling the case, running his gloved fingers along the edge of where the glass met the base.
I pointed at the tiny hinges, screwed in tight. “All you need is a small multi-tool to open this, like a Swiss Army knife.” I paused as Sabina joined us before adding, “The fact they were able to not just open but close the case back up is telling…”
And what it says is not good.
Most art heists were usually completed as quickly as possible, because planning and precision were key.
The crown jewels were stolen from the Louvre in only seven minutes—in broad daylight, during museum hours—before the thieves escaped back out the window, down the cherry picker, and raced away on scooters.
In that case, they smashed and grabbed, because they didn’t have time to leisurely open and close the glass cases.
“Our security guard at the front checks bags and purses extensively as visitors arrive,” the curator earnestly explained. “He has a metal detector wand as well, so I’m not sure how a tool like that could have slipped by him.”
“Because even a metal nail file would have worked.” I smiled encouragingly because these fuck ups were absolutely not the responsibility of the woman before me. “And it’s very easy to make multi-tools look like other things.”
To demonstrate, I unfastened the carabiner keychain from my belt loop to show off the incredibly handy tools hidden inside—including a mini screwdriver.
Just giving all my tricks away for free.
Markel narrowed his eyes. “Do you have that on you when you come down to the field office?”
I gave him a flat look. “Yes, but don’t worry. I promise not to steal the duplicate file you keep on me in the bottom right drawer of your desk.”
“My locked drawer, you mean?” he growled, but I was saved from replying by a voice behind us.
“Agent Markel? Forgive the delay…”
I turned to find a tall, gray-haired man in his late sixties filling the doorway. His navy blue suit was immaculate but he looked exhausted, which brought up the uncomfortable realization that was because of the theft he was dealing with.
Sigh.
This empathy bullshit needs to fuck off.
“Oh, hello, Brad!” The forced smile and clear concern on her face had me feeling emotions all over again. “Allow me to also introduce Rowen Quincy. He’s a consultant with the Art Crime Team and has had some incredibly thought-provoking suggestions on how to improve our security.”
More like basic common sense.
Luckily, I had enough common sense to not say that out loud, and when the museum director turned his attention on me, I was more than happy to show off how much more of an expert I was than Markel.
“Yes,” I cleared my throat and put on my Professional Voice.
“Sabina and I have briefly discussed installing more cameras per room to eliminate blind spots, but I would suggest having your guard at the front check bags as visitors exit the museum as well. An X-ray security machine would help with identifying contraband coming in or going out.”
Ol’ Bradley grimaced. “While we welcome visitors from all walks of life to our establishment, much of the clientele are the very patrons who have graciously funded this collection…” He paused and glanced at someone standing out of sight in the adjacent gallery.
“And I would not wish for them to feel as if we were… profiling them as criminals.”
We can’t have that.
“I’m certain we can find a solution to keep the patrons happy.” The familiar voice from our mystery guest had me tensing before Giancarlo Luxford even stepped into view. “After all, preserving these beautiful objects is our shared priority.”
So much for keeping our connection on the down-low…
Director Westcott sighed but nodded solemnly. “Indeed. Giancarlo Luxford, I would like you to meet Agent John Markel from the FBI Art Crime Team, and their… security consultant, Rowen Quincy.”
Sure.
Giano smiled politely. “I’ve recently had the pleasure of meeting both Agent Markel and Mr. Quincy.”
Oh.
This incredibly wealthy man calling me mister did terrifying things to my insides, but I was determined not to show it. Unfortunately, with the way Giano’s gaze heated, he knew damn well the effect he was having on me.
The way I want to put him on his knees…
Markel loudly cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Luxford, but I must remind everyone this is a crime scene under active investigation, and we should not have parties present who are not directly involved—”
The director straightened, looking down his nose at Markel in a way that was usually reserved for someone like me.
“The piece in question, Heracles Defeating the Hydra, was originally given to The Andervelt’s collection on extended loan by Thomas Luxford—Giancarlo’s father—in remembrance of his mother, who was one of our founding patrons.
While we’ve never experienced a theft before, it is our policy to alert the donor.
” He turned to smile tightly at Giano. “Although, it was unnecessary for Mr. Luxford to take time out of his schedule to meet in person—at least, this early in the investigation.”
“It was no trouble at all,” Giano replied with a lofty air that was fascinating to witness as someone who’d seen him vulnerable behind closed doors.
“I had a meeting at my family’s hotel nearby, and I presumed it might lessen the blow to inform you in person that my family has never believed in insuring our art. ”
Of course not.
While it was rare for the wealthy not to insure every inch of everything they owned, it wasn’t unheard of. Isabella Stewart Gardner infamously skipped that step, because she had so carefully curated her collection, she couldn’t imagine replacing a single piece.
So now they have a bunch of empty frames on display at the Gardner Museum instead.
Whomp.
I had the feeling the reasoning wasn’t the same with the Luxford family.
Insurance costs money, and with the increase of art robberies over the years, that premium went up along with it.
The uber rich thrived on conspicuous waste, and if a work of art could just as easily be replaced with something newer and better, why bother investing in its protection?
The wealthy don’t stay that way by spending more than they invest.
Markel sighed, yanking off his latex gloves as he joined us. “So who’s paying up if a ransom demand comes in?”
Bradley Westcott paled—no doubt imagining the scandal to his institution—but Giano smoothly cut in.
“The Andervelt was included in the trust left by my late mother, so allocating funds to the museum for any reason should be no problem at all.”
His mask slipped for half a moment as he delivered the news, and realized I’d just been given another piece of the Giano puzzle.
Only a piece, though…
I want it all.
Feeling some weird need to flex my knowledge, I addressed the museum director.
“Have you received a ransom demand yet?” When he furiously shook his head, I shrugged.
“Well, then, you probably won’t. This job was either done for an existing buyer or by the kind of thief who’s just collecting for himself. ”
The most famous example of the latter was Frenchman Stéphane Breitwieser, who stole 239 artworks from 172 museums between 1995 and 2001—all for the aesthetics and a love of the game.
What an icon.
As the others absorbed the info, I plastered on my sweetest smile and blasted it in Giano’s direction.
“Why don’t you take that allocated trust fund money and put it toward hiring a guard for every room of The Andervelt?
It might seem excessive to some visitors, but it will discourage anyone from attempting another robbery.
There’s a reason The Frick Collection has never been hit… ”
Trust me, I cased the joint.
Giano smiled at me so warmly, I almost bolted from the room. “That’s an excellent idea, Mr. Quincy.” Then he turned to Director Westcott and added, “I believe I may have another bronze statue available to replace the one that was stolen.”
Of course you do.
The museum director exhaled in obvious relief. “Thank you, Mr. Luxford. I will draw up a guard budget and send it your way. Sabina, we should discuss how to best frame this for the press once word gets out—”
“Why involve the press at all?” I blurted out, done with being polite.
“There’s no ransom note, no insurance companies involved.
The donor of the statue has a replacement handy, and you’ll probably never see Heracles or his hydra again.
Why give the art thief any notoriety? They’re probably just dying for attention… ”
“Is that so?” Giano quietly asked, eye-fucking me so blatantly, it was a wonder we weren’t told to get a room.
That’s an idea…
“Well, I still need to file my report,” Markel announced to no one as we all headed back through the empty museum and toward the front door. Once the others were farther ahead, he hissed in my ear, "Could you stop flirting with the victim?”
“First of all, you didn’t even know he was the victim until five minutes ago,” I scoffed, annoyed that Markel was more observant than I thought. “And second, you’re not my superior.”
In any way.
“Giancarlo Luxford is one of the richest men in the entire city,” he sneered. “What could he want with convicted trash like you?”
Deep breaths, Rowen.
The urge to punch the disdain off his face was strong, but an altercation was exactly what he wanted—anything to get me written up with our boss. Instead I waited until Markel and I were alone on the front steps once again before putting him in his place.
Indirectly.
“Mr. Luxford!” I called down to where Giano was speaking with his chauffeur through the driver’s side window. “Would you like to get a drink with me? Maybe talk about your case…”
Agent Markel snorted and crossed his arms, salivating for my humiliation like the prick he was.
Giano smiled in that disgustingly warm way again. “I would love to, Mr. Quincy. Are you free to join me now?”
“You bet!” I practically pranced down the stairs and into Giancarlo Luxford’s private car, cackling at the look on Markel’s face as we drove away.
Stay hungry, G-man.