“You should know those names you mentioned are fine, reputable men. Loyal clients. Many of them we don’t deal with directly, however. They have people who source and curate for them. They have an eye both for value and return on investment. Sometimes this means purchasing work by long-established artists. Other times it’s knowing what up-and-comers show promise.”
It sounded like the gallery dealt with people who knew the art world well, but were any of them also buyers without scruples? “Do most of these curators and collectors require provenance?”
“Yes.”
“But not all?” He angled his head.
Malachi bit his bottom lip. “I couldn’t say, but it is something provided with every piece that moves through the gallery.”
They wouldn’t be getting any names from Malachi, but it was entirely possible that Claire and whoever she was working with stole from clients of the gallery and turned around and sold the pieces to other ones. A built-in supply chain right here. “Do you ever deal in Fabergé eggs?”
“No gallery ‘deals in’ Fabergé eggs, Detective, at least not habitually. They are exceptionally rare and hardly ever for sale,” Malachi said patiently. “That being said, I know the gallery has brokered deals for them in the past, yes.”
“Do you know if one such deal involved Martin Lawson?” Trent realized it would be before Malachi’s time at the gallery but wondered if word about the purchase had made its way to his ears.
“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“But you’re familiar with it?” Trent was curious to know how, given Martin Lawson was dead before Malachi came to work at the gallery.
“He’s a legend around here. Has one of the finest collections on the east coast. He had a very qualified curator working on his behalf, but he had a fine eye himself—so I heard. I never had the pleasure of meeting him. He was murdered several years ago now.”
“He was,” Amanda confirmed. “It’s still an open investigation. How long did Claire work here?”
“Let’s see.” Malachi looked back at the computer. “Looks like thirteen years.”
Claire was sixteen when she’d started working there and thirteen years would make her twenty-nine when she left. Notably that was right around the time she met Logan. Had Claire quit because of him? How many heists had she been involved with? And if Claire and her partner both worked at the gallery, did they have forgeries made which they sold in place of the genuine article? They could have gotten away with even more than he and Amanda had imagined. Trent asked Malachi if he thought that even possible.
“I highly doubt that. Our buyers have everything carefully inspected before taking possession. Most of them bring in skilled experts—whether that be those trained to identify art forgery or a gemologist who can spot a fake jewel a mile away.”
Trent nodded. That meant the only way to play the system here was to use the gallery as a garden for picking ripe, rich targets. And possibly, by extension, a client base for turning over the stolen product. “We are going to need the names of everyone who worked here during the time of Claire’s employment.”
“I can get that for you. It will take a few minutes. Do you want to use that time to speak with Louise?”
“Yes, we’ll do that. Thank you.” Amanda stood and led the way from the room. She leaned in toward Trent. “You think that maybe this partner of hers worked at the gallery when she did?”
“It’s possible, right?”
“Guess it is.”
Not exactly a vote of confidence in his hunch, and he too could see at least one hole in his theory. If Claire and her partner were both at the gallery, surely someone would have caught on. Wouldn’t they?
TWENTY-SIX
Louise was still at the front desk, currently on the phone. From the sounds of it, she was wrapping things up. A customer came in the front door, literally looking down her nose at Amanda and Trent, barely even acknowledging Louise. She was carrying a leather satchel that probably cost more than Amanda’s monthly salary. Amanda wondered what it must be like to be so wealthy. What a different life from the one she had, but she wouldn’t trade hers for a hot second.
She stepped back to let Louise assist the woman. Without a word passing between the two, Louise got Malachi to come out to the gallery floor, and he took the client to his office.
Louise looked at Amanda and smiled. “Something I can help you with?”
“Malachi told us you’ve worked at the gallery for several years.”
“Twenty-one years,” Louise replied with a smile.
“Do you remember Claire Ramsey?” Amanda asked. “She used to work here.”
“Ah, yes, I do.”
Amanda noted the absence of any commentary—no praise or misgivings. “Claire would have started when she was still a minor. Do you know what she did for the gallery?”
