Quick & Dirty

23

Stone waited while Farina and Kusch vacated their interrogation rooms, then Art Masi came for him. “Did you hear everything?”

“Yes. I’m glad I’m not representing them.”

“If you were, they’d have done better,” Art said.

“If I were, I would have been there, and they would have declined to answer questions.”

Art laughed. “Typical lawyer.”

“I suppose so,” Stone said, looking at his watch. “I’d better get back to my office. I have an appointment.” They shook hands, and Stone departed.

Stone had been back in his office for, perhaps, half an hour when Joan buzzed him. “An Ann Kusch on one. She says you know her.”

“I do,” Stone said, picking up the phone. “Ann?”

“Yes, Stone, thank you for remembering me.”

“How could I forget? I own your ax.”

“That’s right, you do.”

“How can I help you?”

“Pio and I are outside in the car. May we come and see you?”

“Of course, come right in.” He hung up and buzzed Joan. “Two people are arriving. Please show them in.”

A moment later, the two walked into Stone’s office. He directed them to the sofa, where he thought they might feel more comfortable. They declined refreshments.

“Now, how can I help?”

Ann did the talking: “The police seem to have somehow gotten the idea that we had something to do with the death of Mark Tillman and/or the theft of his van Gogh.”

Stone held up a hand. “Before we continue, I’m obliged to declare an interest in that case. I represent the Steele Group, who insured the van Gogh and whose desire is to recover the painting. Does that trouble you in any way?”

“I don’t see why it should,” Ann replied. Pio shook his head.

“As long as you know. Please continue.”

“Anyway, a Lieutenant Masi of the art squad questioned us at the gallery during our opening.”

“Were you troubled by that?”

“No, his questions were straightforward, and we answered them. Then we got a phone call from him demanding that we come to his office for further questioning.”

“Demanding?”

“He said that if we didn’t come voluntarily, he’d send a police car for us, and we’d be handcuffed.”

“It sounds like the lieutenant got a little too enthusiastic about his work. What did he ask you?”

“He seemed most concerned about where we were on the day that Mark Tillman died.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I’m afraid that we got a little confused about where we were and what we were doing — after all, it’s been more than a year.”

“Did you give him truthful answers?”

“We tried to, but he and another detective did their best to trip us up and make us contradict each other.”

“And where were the two of you on that day?”

“I went to Washington, Connecticut, to see my mother,” Ann said. “We had lunch at her house, but at the first questioning, I thought we had gone to the Mayflower Inn, which turned out to be my mistake.”

“And, Pio, where were you?”

“Watching the Georgia — Alabama football game at home.”

“Alone?”

“Ann came back late in the afternoon, while the game was still on.”

“Ann, what route did you take going home?”

“I drove down to Bridgeport and took the ferry to Long Island. It saves a lot of time to avoid the city.”

“So can anyone prove that you didn’t visit your mother, or in Pio’s case, stay home and watch the game?”

“No,” they both said.

“Was there anything else of note they asked you?”

“They wanted to know if I had done any mountain or rock climbing,” Ann said, “and I told them I had. Masi also asked me my height and weight.”

“Which is?”

“Five-ten, a hundred and forty.”

“Masi asked me the same thing,” Pio said, “but I told him, jokingly, that I was afraid of heights.”

“Are you afraid of heights?” Stone asked.

“Not in the least,” Pio said. “I was captain of my climbing team at prep school.”

“Did you later tell them that?”

“Before I could, they looked up my school yearbook and found out for themselves.”

“Are we in any trouble?” Ann asked.

“Did either of you have anything to do with Mark Tillman’s death or the theft of the painting?”

Neither of them answered.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me about that day?” Stone asked.

They looked at each other and Pio nodded, then Ann spoke up. “Mark knew that we would be in the city that day, and he invited us for a drink.”

“What time of day?”

“At two-thirty,” she replied.

“And what ensued?”

“Not much. We had a drink, chatted, then excused ourselves, saying that we had to drive back to East Hampton. Then, on the way out, Mark asked us if we’d drop off a package at a FedEx store on Second Avenue. It was on our way, so I said sure.”

“And did you?”

“Yes. There’s a drop box outside the store.”

“How big a package was it?”

“It was a standard-size FedEx box, about yea big,” she said, showing how big with her hands.

Stone buzzed Joan. “Will you please bring me a small and a large FedEx box?”

A moment later she entered with the boxes.

Stone sealed one end of each and held them up. “Which one?”

“The larger one,” Ann said.

“Did you have any idea what was inside?”

“No. It didn’t weigh a lot, though.”

“Did you notice to whom it was addressed?”

“I never gave it a thought,” Ann said. “We dropped it in the box and drove home.”

“And what time did you get home?”

“I’m not sure, but the game was still on, and we watched the last quarter.”

“There are two ways to address a FedEx box,” Stone said. “One is with the multi-copy form that you fill out by hand. The other is one that you print out on a computer. Which way was the package labeled?”

“I honestly don’t remember,” Ann said.

“Do you remember how you both were dressed that day?”

“Well, Pio wears mostly black, no matter what the occasion. I think I was wearing a black denim suit — pants, not skirt.”

“Blouse?”

“I wear either white or black with that outfit,” Ann said. “I don’t remember which that day.”

“Where did you have your drinks?”

“On the terrace,” Ann said. “It was an unseasonably warm day.”

“When you left, did Mark see you to the door?”

“Now that you mention it, no,” Ann replied. “He said he was going to enjoy the last of the afternoon and finish his drink.”

“Where was the FedEx package?”

“It was on a table in the front hall. Mark called out and asked us to take it.”

“And he stayed on the terrace?”

“Yes, he never got up. He seemed drowsy and had his feet up on an ottoman.”

“Might he have dozed off out there?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “He was on his second drink, and the sun was warm.”

“On your way out of the building, did you encounter anyone?”

“There was a man on the front desk, but he barely took notice of us.”

“Did you cross paths with Morgan?”

“No.”

“Where were you parked?”

“Outside the building on Seventy-eighth Street.”

“Did you see anyone you knew on the way to the car?”

“No.”

“All right,” Stone said, “here’s where we are. You’ve lied to the police about your whereabouts when Mark Tillman was murdered. You may well have been the last people to see him alive, except for Morgan. You removed a package from the apartment that may have contained the van Gogh that Morgan says disappeared.”

“We did so at Mark’s request, and we had no idea what it contained, and we didn’t care.”

“Did you know that Mark owned a van Gogh?”

“Yes, he had shown it to us when we had dinner there a few weeks before. Angelo was there, too, and he saw it.”

“Has either of you ever expropriated a work of art belonging to someone else?”

“Certainly not,” Ann said. “Why would we do that?”

“For money?”

“We earn a decent living from our work,” Pio said. “We don’t need to steal.”

“Tell me, Pio,” Stone said, “suppose you suddenly came into, say, twenty million dollars, tax free. What would you do with it?”

“I’d buy a house,” Pio said.

“Where?”

“Either in East Hampton or in Paris.”

“Ann? How would you spend it?”

“The same way,” she replied.

“All right,” Stone said, “I’m going to have a conversation with Art Masi and tell him what you’ve told me today. Have I your permission to do that?”

“We’re going to look awfully bad to him,” Pio said.

“You already look bad, because he knows you lied to him,” Stone pointed out. “You’re just going to have to live with that and hope, now that you’ve told the truth, that will be enough for him. You can both expect to be questioned again, and next time longer and much more thoroughly. My best advice is to be contrite about lying to them, and don’t do it again.”

“Couldn’t we just refuse to answer any further questions?” Ann asked.

“You could, but the police would see that as a virtual confession of both murder and grand theft, not to mention colluding in insurance fraud. They would investigate you for weeks or months, maybe years. At least half the people you know would believe that you’re guilty, and that would last the rest of your life. It would be mentioned prominently in your obituaries. So unless that’s how you want to live your lives, you’d better be very, very cooperative with the police from now on. When they question you again, don’t ask for a lawyer, and tell the truth. When you’re done, come back to see me.”

“Oh, all right,” Ann said, and Pio nodded; then they left. Stone was disgusted with them.