then reappeared just as the police were swarming over the premises. Under the circumstances, he wanted some damned answers from her. And he felt entitled to them, as well.
Richard cursed under his breath. Five months ago and with Samantha’s help he’d discovered that someone he’d trusted had been removing his paintings and replacing them with forgeries. Three people had ended up in jail, and three more had died because of it. This hadn’t begun much more auspiciously.
Yes, his collection was insured, and yes, he knew what Gorstein was suggesting—that he could fairly easily take a twelve-million-dollar insurance payout and still have a painting he could hide away for his private enjoyment.
What the detective didn’t realize was that he would never tolerate the public reputation that he was a mark, even if he’d secretly arranged for and profited from the dealings. It wasn’t the money that mattered; it was the fact that someone had stolen from him. And once he’d extricated Samantha from this mess, he had every intention of finding out who was responsible.
His cell phone rang. “Addison,” he answered.
“Rick,” Tom’s voice came, “I woke up Phil, and he’s working on getting Jellicoe released. He asked if you would give him a call so the firm can start on damage control.”
“Damage control?”
“The morning news just started, and you’re a teaser. They’ve already got cameras at the police station.”
Richard cursed. “ I’m not even at the bloody police station yet.”
“Call Phil before you get there, okay? He’s got a couple of ideas. It’s not just about Jellicoe, Rick. This could damage your reputation, too.”
“I know that.”
“Okay. I know you’re mad. I’m just trying to be the voice of reason.”
He probably needed to listen to one this morning. As a plan, storming the jail and rescuing Samantha seemed a bit light on the details, and he hadn’t exactly made a friend of Gorstein. “Give me Ripton’s number,” he said, remembering that he’d left his Palm Pilot on the dressing table.
He hung up on Tom and dialed the attorney’s number. “Phil? It’s Rick.”
“Rick. Hell of a way to wake up, isn’t it? Only in New York.”
“What did Tom tell you?”
“That your girl got arrested, and that her dad has a record for this kind of burglary. It’s pretty weak.”
“Weak or not, she’s at the police station being interrogated. That is not acceptable.”
“Where are you right now?”
“In a taxi, about five minutes from the station.”
For a moment he heard muffled voices on the other end of the line. “Rick, there’s a Starbucks about a block south of the station. Wait for me there.”
“I’m going in to get Samantha.”
“If you go in there alone, they’ll run you around and try to rile you up. They love it when rich guys make threats against the NYPD, especially when he’s standing there empty-handed and the press is milling around outside. Makes the cops really want to put together a case.”
“I’m not a fool,” Richard retorted. And he had to admit that he was already riled up, and had already made somethreats. “And I won’t leave Samantha in there for a second longer than I have to.”
“Look, I’m on my way to see Judge Penoza. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll meet you at Starbucks. We go in together with a court order, and then we get her out of there, no runaround, no delays.”
It was a good plan, and the stronger they entered the fight, the better they would look later. For a long second Richard weighed the logic of Phil Ripton’s approach against what Samantha referred to as his white-knight tendencies. “Thirty minutes, Phil. After that, I will call the governor and go in there with the National Guard, if necessary.”
“Okay. I understand your feelings on this, Rick. Just wait for me.”
He would wait. For thirty minutes. And not a bloody second more.
Detective Gorstein circled the gray metal table, then
Richard cursed under his breath. Five months ago and with Samantha’s help he’d discovered that someone he’d trusted had been removing his paintings and replacing them with forgeries. Three people had ended up in jail, and three more had died because of it. This hadn’t begun much more auspiciously.
Yes, his collection was insured, and yes, he knew what Gorstein was suggesting—that he could fairly easily take a twelve-million-dollar insurance payout and still have a painting he could hide away for his private enjoyment.
What the detective didn’t realize was that he would never tolerate the public reputation that he was a mark, even if he’d secretly arranged for and profited from the dealings. It wasn’t the money that mattered; it was the fact that someone had stolen from him. And once he’d extricated Samantha from this mess, he had every intention of finding out who was responsible.
His cell phone rang. “Addison,” he answered.
“Rick,” Tom’s voice came, “I woke up Phil, and he’s working on getting Jellicoe released. He asked if you would give him a call so the firm can start on damage control.”
“Damage control?”
“The morning news just started, and you’re a teaser. They’ve already got cameras at the police station.”
Richard cursed. “ I’m not even at the bloody police station yet.”
“Call Phil before you get there, okay? He’s got a couple of ideas. It’s not just about Jellicoe, Rick. This could damage your reputation, too.”
“I know that.”
“Okay. I know you’re mad. I’m just trying to be the voice of reason.”
He probably needed to listen to one this morning. As a plan, storming the jail and rescuing Samantha seemed a bit light on the details, and he hadn’t exactly made a friend of Gorstein. “Give me Ripton’s number,” he said, remembering that he’d left his Palm Pilot on the dressing table.
He hung up on Tom and dialed the attorney’s number. “Phil? It’s Rick.”
“Rick. Hell of a way to wake up, isn’t it? Only in New York.”
“What did Tom tell you?”
“That your girl got arrested, and that her dad has a record for this kind of burglary. It’s pretty weak.”
“Weak or not, she’s at the police station being interrogated. That is not acceptable.”
“Where are you right now?”
“In a taxi, about five minutes from the station.”
For a moment he heard muffled voices on the other end of the line. “Rick, there’s a Starbucks about a block south of the station. Wait for me there.”
“I’m going in to get Samantha.”
“If you go in there alone, they’ll run you around and try to rile you up. They love it when rich guys make threats against the NYPD, especially when he’s standing there empty-handed and the press is milling around outside. Makes the cops really want to put together a case.”
“I’m not a fool,” Richard retorted. And he had to admit that he was already riled up, and had already made somethreats. “And I won’t leave Samantha in there for a second longer than I have to.”
“Look, I’m on my way to see Judge Penoza. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll meet you at Starbucks. We go in together with a court order, and then we get her out of there, no runaround, no delays.”
It was a good plan, and the stronger they entered the fight, the better they would look later. For a long second Richard weighed the logic of Phil Ripton’s approach against what Samantha referred to as his white-knight tendencies. “Thirty minutes, Phil. After that, I will call the governor and go in there with the National Guard, if necessary.”
“Okay. I understand your feelings on this, Rick. Just wait for me.”
He would wait. For thirty minutes. And not a bloody second more.
Detective Gorstein circled the gray metal table, then
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