“A pleasure, Detective. First, assure me that Jameson Rook is in anguish.”
She looked at Rook, chewing his lower lip, straining to eavesdrop. “Quite.”
“Good. If ever anyone needed a swift dismount from a high horse, it is he.” The old man’s soft, smoky tone warmed her ear. Hearing Casper without seeing him isolated his voice and she heard David Bowie with notes of Michael Caine’s mellowness.
“To business,” he said. “After your visit, I burnt some midnight oil because I could tell time was pressing on you.”
“Never had a case where it wasn’t,” said the detective.
“And although you downplayed it, you do believe there is a murder connected to this art theft.”
“Yes, I downplayed it, and yes I believe it. Perhaps two murders.”
“A wonderful art appraiser, a fine woman who knew her business, was killed this week.”
Nikki jumped to her feet. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No, I only knew Barbara from occasional meetings years ago. But she was among the best. Let’s say knowing her death might be part of this only engages me more in your investigation.”
“Thanks for that. Please call me with anything you find out.”
“Detective, I have information right now. Trust me, I wouldn’t have wasted either of our time unless I could provide substance.”
Nikki flipped open her pad. “Has someone already tried to fence the paintings?”
“Yes and no,” answered Casper. “Someone did sell just one of the paintings, the Jacques-?Louis David. But that sale took place two years ago.”
Nikki began to pace. “What? And you’re absolutely sure of this?”
There was a pause and a half before the dapper art thief replied. “My dear, think of what you know about me and consider if you truly require an answer to that question.”
“Point made,” said Nikki. “I’m not doubting you, I’m just confused. How can a painting be in Matthew Starr’s collection if it was sold two years ago?”
“Detective, you’re smart. How good are you at math?”
“Pretty good.”
“Then your answer is to do some.”
And then Casper hung up.
Heat Wave
SEVENTEEN
The receptionist at Starr Real Estate Development popped back on and told Detective Heat that Paxton would be right with her. Nikki felt like she was straining at a leash. Even hearing Anita Baker on the hold music didn’t soothe her. It wasn’t the first time in her life she seemed to be moving at a different pace than the rest of the world. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time that day.
At last, a ring-?through. “Hi, sorry about the wait. I’m buttoning up a lot of Matthew’s affairs.”
That could have so many meanings, she thought. “Last call, I promise.”
“It’s no bother, honest.” Then he laughed and said, “Although…”
“Although what?”
“I wonder if it would be easier if I just set up my office over there at your precinct.”
Nikki laughed, too. “You could. You have the better view, but we have nicer furniture. How sad is that?”
“I’ll stick with the view. So tell me how I can help you, Detective.”
“I was hoping you could look up the name of the company that insured Matthew’s art collection.”
“Sure thing.” He paused. “But you recall I told you he had me cancel that policy.”
“Yes, I know. I just want to ask them if they kept documentary photos of the collection I can use to hunt it down.”
“Oh, oh, pictures, right. Never thought of that. Good idea. Got a pen?”
“Ready.”
“It’s GothAmerican Insurance here in Manhattan.” She heard sharp keystrokes and he continued, “Ready for the phone number?”
After she took it down, Nikki said, “May I ask you one more question? It will save me a call later.”
She could hear the smile in his voice when Noah answered, “I doubt that, but go ahead.”
“Did you cut a check for Kimberly Starr to buy a piano recently?”