A Fatal Frame of Mind

Chapter Forty-six

Low stood up and strode to the docket, where he took aseat. Gus glanced over at Kitteredge to see if he’d acknowledge his old friend, but he just stared down at the table.

“I remind the witness he is still under oath,” Shawn said.

“What oath?” Willingham said. “He never swore an oath.”

“I solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” Low said. “Can we get on with this now?”

“ Now I remind the witness he is still under oath,” Shawn said. “Mr. Low. May I call you Flaxman?”

“If you’d like,” Low said wearily.

“Really?” Shawn said. “How about Flax? Or Man? If I were you, I’d go with Man. It doesn’t sound like something you’d eat to boost your fiber.”

“Your Honor!”

The judge didn’t even bother to overrule Willingham but just waved at Shawn to continue.

“So, Flaxy, you’ve known the defendant Longbow Crispirito for a long time,” Shawn said.

Behind him, Gus heard the sound of a hand slapping a forehead and wondered if that was Henry or Lassiter. Maybe both. It had taken all of his self-control to keep from doing the same thing.

“I’ve known Langston Kitteredge for many years,” Low said.

“And you’ve known about his belief in a conspiracy involving King Arthur’s sword, and some artists no one has ever heard of?” Shawn said.

“We have had many discussions about his belief that William Morris and Dante Gabriel Rossetti had found Excalibur, and that a secret organization had been searching for it ever since,” Low said.

“Would you say he was convincing?” Shawn said.

“I wouldn’t have spent so much time on the subject if he hadn’t been,” Low said. “I believe you’ve had the experience yourself. Once he started weaving facts together, it was impossible to see where he was wrong. And while you may want to claim that this was nothing more than your iPod hypothesis, a search for patterns in unrelated data, I don’t see that anyone has disproved his main thesis.”

At this, Kitteredge did look up briefly, then returned his gaze to the tabletop.

“So if the professor said he had proof that Rossetti had painted a final picture and it had all these great clues in it, people would believe him, even if no one had ever seen the thing,” Shawn said.

“He’s the authority,” Low said.

“Which means that if someone else painted that picture, but Kitteredge said it was the real thing, whoever had it could sell it for jillions of dollars,” Shawn said.

“It’s hard to imagine a forger good enough to fool my friend Langston,” Low said.

“Even if he was only allowed to see the picture for a few minutes before it was stolen?” Shawn said.

“Your Honor.” Willingham didn’t even bother to get out of her chair this time. “What does this have to do with the defendants’ plea?”

“What does barbecue sauce have to do with hotel sheets?” Shawn said. “It’s one of life’s mysteries.”

The judge banged his gavel. “Just hurry it up.”

“Yes,” Low said. “Langston’s word would be enough to establish the piece’s provenance. But if you’re suggesting that he was used to artificially inflate the value of a forgery, you’re forgetting the fact that the picture was never sold. It was donated to the museum by an anonymous donor who received nothing in return.”

“But if something happened to the painting, Kitteredge’s pomegranate would still stand,” Shawn said.

“Provenance, yes,” Low said. “Which means the whole world can mourn the loss of this masterpiece, knowing it exists.”

“Excuse me,” a voice said from the audience. Gus turned to see that Lassiter was standing now. “Carlton Lassiter, head detective for the Santa Barbara Police Department. I wonder if I might ask the witness a question.”

“I object again!” This time Willingham did get out of her chair. In fact, she seemed to have been propelled out by jets of rage. “This man is not a lawyer.”

The judge pointed at Shawn. “And this man is? If it will get us any closer to a plea, come on down.”

Lassiter sidled over the chief’s legs, then walked through the low gate to the stand. “Mr. Low,” he said. “As you know, our English colleagues have been going through the records of Polidori and Son, and they’ve discovered that you sold the firm some several extremely valuable Pre-Raphaelite paintings.”

“I have been fortunate in my dealings,” Low said.

“I’d say you’ve been extremely fortunate,” Lassiter said. “Because you were able to sell some paintings that actually existed simultaneously in Japanese bank vaults, owned by corporations that had squirreled them away as investments. Scotland Yard will soon be retrieving the pictures you sold, and will be able to prove they were forgeries. So you might want to cooperate now if you hope to head off extradition.”

“I’m delighted to cooperate, but even if I had painted this picture, what gain would there have been for me?” Low said. “It was donated. Given away. No money changed hands.”

Gus noticed that Kitteredge was looking up at Low now, staring at him in acute betrayal. Then he lowered his gaze to the table again.

“Your Honor?” Shawn said. “I’m looking out in the audience, and I think someone else would like to ask a question. Dad?”

Shawn gestured, and Henry rose uncomfortably. “Sorry, Your Honor,” Henry said. “I’m Henry Spencer. SBPD, retired. I know this isn’t exactly the way things are done.”

“Everybody else is doing it,” the judge said wearily. “So jump on in. Ask Mr. Low your question.”

“Actually, I’d like to ask someone else,” Henry said. “Hugh Ralston, executive director of the Santa Barbara Museum of Art.”

“Hugh Ralston, come on down!” Shawn shouted.

Ralston looked like he’d just been shot. He stood weakly, then came down the aisle. At a gesture from the judge, Low got out of the witness box and held the door open for Ralston.

“Hugh, I remind you that you are still under the oath the last guy swore,” Shawn said.

“Is that real?” Ralston said in a quiet voice.

“Frankly, I’m not sure any of this is real,” the judge said. “I sincerely hope to wake up on the couch in my chambers within the next five minutes. But until then, proceed as if you are sworn.”

“Your witness, Dad,” Shawn said.

“Thanks, son,” Henry said. “Nice tux, by the way. Formal’s a good look on you.” He turned to the witness box. “Mr. Ralston, you told me you loved the museum.”

“It’s my life.” Ralston’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

“You told me it was more important than your life,” Henry said. “Because you could touch only the lives of the few people you were close to, but the museum could give joy to generations.”

“That’s true,” Ralston said.

“So if you found a way to protect the museum, to keep it open despite its financial difficulties, you would do it even if it weren’t strictly legal?” Henry said.

Ralston nodded, tears in his eyes.

Shawn clapped Henry on the shoulder. “Good work, Dad. We’ll take it from here.” He turned to Gus. “You want a shot at this?”

Gus worked furiously to put together all the pieces Shawn and the others had been laying out. How could a museum profit from a forgery, especially one it had possessed for only a few days?

And then he knew. He stepped up to the witness box as Henry headed back to his seat. “So, Hugh, after Flaxman Low came to you with the idea of this forgery, how much did you decide to soak the insurance company for?”

Ralston’s mouth was moving to speak when the courtroom doors burst open. A small, swarthy man marched down the aisle, two police officers chasing after him.

“Those two!” the swarthy man shouted, pointing at Shawn and Gus. “They are the ones who robbed me! I demand that they be arrested for grand theft!”