“A knack that has served me well. Leaving as quietly, that’s a diminishing talent, I’m sorry to say. It has led to a comfortable retirement, though.” He gestured to his showroom. “Please, after you.” As they crossed the thick oriental rug, he added, “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a police detective.”
Nikki paused. “I never said I was a detective.” The old man simply smiled.
Rook said, “Wasn’t sure you’d see me if I told you that, Casper.”
“I probably wouldn’t have. And it would have been my loss.” From anyone else it would have been a laughable bar pickup line. Instead, the dashing little man made her blush. “Have a seat.”
Casper waited until she and Rook took places on a navy corduroy sofa before he folded into his green leather wing chair. She could see the outline of a sharp kneecap through his linen trousers when he crossed his legs. He wore no socks and his slippers looked custom-?made. “I have to say, you’re every bit what I pictured.”
“She thinks my article made you sound debonair,” said Rook.
“Oh, please, that old label.” Casper turned to her. “It’s nothing, trust me. When you reach my age, the definition of debonair is that you shaved this morning.” She noticed that his cheeks gleamed in the lamplight. “But one of New York’s finest doesn’t have time to come here simply to visit. And since I’m not wearing bracelets and being read my rights, I can safely assume my past hasn’t caught up with me.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” she said. “And I do know you’re retired.” He answered with a little shrug and opened a palm, perhaps hoping she’d believe he was still an art thief and cat burglar. And, in fact, he convinced her at least to wonder.
“Detective Heat is investigating an art theft,” Rook said.
“Rook tells me you’re the one to talk to about major art sales in the city. On or off the books.” Again, he answered with the shrug and hand wave. Nikki decided the man was right, she didn’t have the inclination to sit and visit, and dove in. “During the blackout someone burglarized the Guilford and stole the entire Matthew Starr collection.”
“Ho, I love it. Calling that glorified hodgepodge a collection.” He shifted and recrossed his bony knees.
“Good, then you are familiar with it,” she said.
“From what I know, it’s not a collection at all so much as a Cobb salad of vulgarity.”
Heat nodded. “Similar comments have been made.” She handed him an envelope. “These are copies of photos of the collection made by an appraiser.”
Casper shuffled through the prints with undisguised disdain. “Who collects Dufy together with Severini? Why not add a toreador or a clown on black velvet?”
“You can keep those. I was hoping you could look them over or show them around, and if you hear of anyone trying to sell any of the pieces, let me know.”
“That’s a complex request,” said Casper. “One side of that equation or another could involve friends of mine.”
“I understand. The buyer doesn’t interest me so much.”
“Of course. You want the thief.” He turned his attention to Rook. “Times haven’t changed, Jameson. They still want the one who took all the risk.”
Rook said, “Difference here is that whoever did this probably did more than steal art. There’s a possibility of a murder, maybe two.”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” Heat said. “Just to be honest.”
“My, my. A straight shooter.” The elegant old thief gave Nikki a long look of appraisal. “Very well. I know an unorthodox art merchant or two who might be of service. I’ll make some inquiries as a favor to Jameson. Plus it never hurts to pay forward a bit of goodwill with the gendarmerie.”
Nikki bent over to pick up her bag and started to thank him, but when she looked up he was gone.
“What’s he talking about?” said Rook. “I think he still makes a great exit.”