that’s the right thing.”
“Did you just call me a thug?”
“Granted you’re more beautiful than the image the term usually conjures, still…”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“You should hear what Nina calls you.”
“I can imagine. McKenzie, it takes years for a case like this to wind its way through the courts. Decades. You need to help me.”
“Heavenly, all day long I’ve been hearing from people who demand that I get the Lily for them. Your claim might be a little less mercenary than the others, but not by much, and it still doesn’t change the simple fact of the matter—the Lily doesn’t belong to you. Or to them. It belongs to Gillard. Funny thing is, he’s the only one who’s not a fanatic about getting it back.”
“That’s because he doesn’t want it back. He wants the insurance money.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Gillard is broke, McKenzie. His old man took a huge hit in the housing crisis, and then he lost some more when commercial real estate started going south, too. He was holding his business empire together with smoke and mirrors. All this came out when they audited his estate. Gillard’s inheritance amounted to pennies on the dollar. I mean, he’s not broke broke like you and me, well, me anyway, but a three-point-eight-million-dollar insurance claim will set him up nicely.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s me, remember. I did the research.”
“Heavenly, if what you’re saying is true, then Gillard would want the Lily back for the same reason that Tatjana wants it—because it would sell for more at auction than the insured value.”
“All right, all right.” Heavenly held her arms up in mock surrender. “I tried to be nice.”
“So now you’re going to be not nice? I have that to look forward to?”
She shrugged like she had a secret she had no intention of sharing and pulled her jacket off the chair. When she finished putting it on and zipping it up, she placed a rose-colored business card with her name and cell number—and nothing else—on the kitchen table and slid it toward me.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she said.
“Heavenly, I’ll tell you what the guys I play hockey with would say—keep your head up.”
* * *
I escorted Heavenly to the front door and watched her drive away before reactivating my security system. I was wondering how much an upgrade would cost when my cell phone rang.
“Harry,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“I have some background on your target, but I have to make it quick. The wife is waiting downstairs. We’re going to dinner.”
“Give her a kiss for me.”
“Not a chance. Now, McKenzie, I checked a few sources. Your friend Jonathan Hemsted is a Foreign Service specialist attached to the U.S. Commercial Service Office in the Bosnia-Herzegovina Embassy. Before that he was stationed in Haiti.”
“What does he specialize in?”
“He’s an economics officer working to expand U.S. trade in the region. This guy Branko Pozderac, he’s involved with the privatization of state-owned entities. That’s probably how they hooked up.”
“I didn’t know we had any trade in the region.”
“About forty million worth.”
“You’re kidding? The Twins’ infield is worth more than that.”
“Just telling you what they told me.”
“Would Hemsted have anything to do with recovering stolen artifacts—allegedly stolen artifacts?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Harry said. “The State Department might file a report or request assistance, but they’re not going to investigate or recover.”
“Who would?”
“The Federal Bureau of Investigation. McKenzie, we have an Art Crime Team. We have an Art Theft Program. We have special prosecutors assigned by the Department of Justice. We sometimes work with other organizations like Homeland Security, Interpol, or even Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Which raises the question, what the hell?”
I told him that I would
“Did you just call me a thug?”
“Granted you’re more beautiful than the image the term usually conjures, still…”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“You should hear what Nina calls you.”
“I can imagine. McKenzie, it takes years for a case like this to wind its way through the courts. Decades. You need to help me.”
“Heavenly, all day long I’ve been hearing from people who demand that I get the Lily for them. Your claim might be a little less mercenary than the others, but not by much, and it still doesn’t change the simple fact of the matter—the Lily doesn’t belong to you. Or to them. It belongs to Gillard. Funny thing is, he’s the only one who’s not a fanatic about getting it back.”
“That’s because he doesn’t want it back. He wants the insurance money.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Gillard is broke, McKenzie. His old man took a huge hit in the housing crisis, and then he lost some more when commercial real estate started going south, too. He was holding his business empire together with smoke and mirrors. All this came out when they audited his estate. Gillard’s inheritance amounted to pennies on the dollar. I mean, he’s not broke broke like you and me, well, me anyway, but a three-point-eight-million-dollar insurance claim will set him up nicely.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s me, remember. I did the research.”
“Heavenly, if what you’re saying is true, then Gillard would want the Lily back for the same reason that Tatjana wants it—because it would sell for more at auction than the insured value.”
“All right, all right.” Heavenly held her arms up in mock surrender. “I tried to be nice.”
“So now you’re going to be not nice? I have that to look forward to?”
She shrugged like she had a secret she had no intention of sharing and pulled her jacket off the chair. When she finished putting it on and zipping it up, she placed a rose-colored business card with her name and cell number—and nothing else—on the kitchen table and slid it toward me.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she said.
“Heavenly, I’ll tell you what the guys I play hockey with would say—keep your head up.”
* * *
I escorted Heavenly to the front door and watched her drive away before reactivating my security system. I was wondering how much an upgrade would cost when my cell phone rang.
“Harry,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“I have some background on your target, but I have to make it quick. The wife is waiting downstairs. We’re going to dinner.”
“Give her a kiss for me.”
“Not a chance. Now, McKenzie, I checked a few sources. Your friend Jonathan Hemsted is a Foreign Service specialist attached to the U.S. Commercial Service Office in the Bosnia-Herzegovina Embassy. Before that he was stationed in Haiti.”
“What does he specialize in?”
“He’s an economics officer working to expand U.S. trade in the region. This guy Branko Pozderac, he’s involved with the privatization of state-owned entities. That’s probably how they hooked up.”
“I didn’t know we had any trade in the region.”
“About forty million worth.”
“You’re kidding? The Twins’ infield is worth more than that.”
“Just telling you what they told me.”
“Would Hemsted have anything to do with recovering stolen artifacts—allegedly stolen artifacts?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Harry said. “The State Department might file a report or request assistance, but they’re not going to investigate or recover.”
“Who would?”
“The Federal Bureau of Investigation. McKenzie, we have an Art Crime Team. We have an Art Theft Program. We have special prosecutors assigned by the Department of Justice. We sometimes work with other organizations like Homeland Security, Interpol, or even Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Which raises the question, what the hell?”
I told him that I would
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