4
FIONA
After Zeke finished pulling togethera basic information bundle about Bergen, he shifted to looking for details about the crime itself.
“Which Monet was stolen?” I asked as he jotted notes on a tablet.
“Daisies,” he replied.
I closed my eyes and summoned an image of the painting to mind. I’d familiarized myself with most of Monet’s works during my studies.Daisieswas a painting of a grassy hill speckled with tiny white and yellow flowers beneath a cloudy sky. Monet’s works were famously grand in scale, butDaisieswas on the smaller side, measuring approximately three feet in length and two feet in height. He’d painted it not long after completing his iconicWater Liliescollection. It wasn’t as well-known as his most famous works, but it would still be worth upward of five million dollars, assuming the person who’d stolen it knew a decentfence. Without someone to connect them with a buyer, it was essentially worthless.
“We have to assume Bergen already has a fence lined up,” I said. “He never got caught with the paintings four years ago, and he was very money-focused so I doubt he’d have stolen them purely for the joy of having them, as other people might. He probably had a fence then, and if so, he’ll be able to use them again now.”
“Hmm.” Zeke cocked his head. “I follow your logic but there’s a difference between fencing a couple of lower valued paintings by a moderately well-known modern artist versus an original Monet. The fence he used back then might not have the right connections to get rid of a Monet.”
“Maybe. But Bergen isn’t reckless,” I said. “He’s manipulative and calculating. I didn’t see it when we were dating, but I do in hindsight. I don’t think he’d have stolen such a famous piece of art unless he had a plan.”
“Assuming he did take it.”
I flashed Zeke a look. “Assuming the crime was similar enough to the previous one for the police to come looking for me, then it must have been him or someone he shared his methods with.”
“I’ll grant you that.”
I tapped my finger against my chin. “The painting was taken from the Windy City Gallery, right?”
He nodded.
“The woman who manages the gallery is an old friend of mine.” Calling her a “friend” might be stretching the truth considering we hadn’t been in touch since I was fired from my last job, but Patience was clever, and I didn’t think she’d have believed I was guilty. “We should go and talk to her.”
“I don’t know if that’s a great idea,” Zeke warned. “Going to the gallery you’re suspected of stealing from to speak withthe manager might not be a good look if the police find out about it.”
“Why not?” They already thought I’d done it anyway. Surely I couldn’t make the situation worse.
“They might think you’re revisiting the scene of the crime or trying to sway the manager into believing your side of the story.”
I pulled a face. He could be right about that, although I wouldn’t admit it. Still, when the options were to either be a sitting duck or try to figure out what was going on, the latter would win every time. I couldn’t just wait for the police to decide they had enough to make the charges stick.
“Let’s do it.” I stood up. “If she vouches for me, it could help.”
Zeke muttered something under his breath but I couldn’t make out the words. I got the gist of it though. He thought I was making the wrong decision.
“If we go and it doesn’t work out, then at least we know we tried.” I crinkled my nose. I wasn’t used to trying to persuade Zeke of anything. Usually it was the other way around, and I didn’t know what to make of the change. “Your staff can look into Bergen more while we’re gone.”
“Fine.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “But just so you know, I think this will backfire.”
“I hear you.” I raised my chin. “I choose to take the risk.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “That’s on you then.”
I waited while he gave his team instructions, then we took one of the company’s black SUVs to the Windy City Gallery. It was a large building, designed in the mid-2000s by a world-renowned architect, with a reflective dome-shaped roof and steel beams forming veins across the surface. A lot of people thought the gallery was beautiful. Personally, I found its exterior cold and soulless, but the interior was divine. High ceilings rose overhead as weentered. The floors were pale wood and the walls were stark white, the better to direct viewers’ attention to the artwork.
I headed for the small booth near the entrance. In the morning, there would have been a line of customers, but now, it was much quieter.
“Hi.” I smiled at the woman behind the glass. “I’m looking for Patience Heath.”
The woman smiled back. “Is she expecting you?”
“No,” I admitted. “But we won’t take up much of her time.”
