The Cézanne Chase by Thomas Swan

She extended her hand until her fingers gently touched the still shining paint.
    The sound of a ringing phone came from another room. Emily came to the door, and a tilt of her head gave the message. Margueritte excused herself.
    Aukrust went immediately to the Cézannes and ran his hand over the frame of the self-portrait. The painting, not including the heavy six-inch frame, measured nearly twenty-six by twenty inches and was quite large for a Cézanne self-portrait. He pulled it away from the wall and found that the protective heavy brown paper covering the back was torn in the lower right corner. He allowed the painting to come back to rest against the wall, then stepped in front of the Pissarros just as Margueritte came back into the room.
    She said, “I neglected to tell you that theft alarm sensors have been put on some of the paintings.”

    She could not see the surprise on his face. He said, with a flat voice, “I was hoping to find that you had protected them.”
    â€œWhen my husband was alive we didn’t think to take any special precautions, but when I realized that Gaston could not stop someone from running off with a sterling soup spoon, I knew we needed better security. Then Frédéric Weisbord became involved, and he had alarms put on the Cézannes and the Pissarros. Freddy’s a perfectly dreadful man, what Gaston saw in him I’ll never understand.”
    She came beside him. “I turned off the sound on the alarm system, but if they’re tampered with, a light goes on at several places in the house.” She looked up at him. “The lights were on.”
    â€œI’m afraid that’s my fault... I was curious, but I didn’t see the sensors.”
    â€œThey’re in the frame, very small, and very hard to find,” she said proudly.
    â€œBut someone could cut the painting from the frame. Thieves don’t care for frames.”
    â€œWhy steal a valuable painting at all? They can’t be sold, even privately. Except for an obscenely low price to some kind of strange recluse living in Antarctica.” Then her eyes widened. “Freddy became so obsessed with protecting the paintings that he had fluorescent dye injected into each one. The insurance people are the only ones pleased by all our precautions.” Her expression turned angry. “Since my husband’s death, Freddy’s taken a fanatical interest in the safety of the paintings.”
    â€œIs the alarm connected to the police?”
    â€œYes, and they’re very angry with me. We’ve turned in too many false alarms, and they’ve threatened to put us off their list if it happens again.”
    â€œShow me the alarms. I have a customer who might be interested in the system.”
    Margueritte pulled the painting away from the wall and pointed to the frame where the backing was ripped. “Here, where the wood is joined you see a circle the size of a small coin. Under that is the alarm and battery.”
    â€œHow much movement before the alarm goes off?”
    â€œYou can jar the painting or straighten it and nothing will happen, but pull it away several inches or take it off the hooks and the alarm goes off.”

    He ran his finger over the circle of wood. “An alarm will stop the amateur, but nothing stops a professional.”
    â€œI suppose that is true,” she sighed, “but I’ll only have four to worry over.”
    â€œWhen will you sell the others?”
    She shook her head. “Gaston’s will requires us to sell each one at auction. While that may mean a higher price, I care more about who buys them than how much money is paid. But it matters to Freddy because he gets a commission when each painting is sold. She touched the frame of Cézanne’s self-portrait. “This painting has been in a private collection for too long and should be in the Musée Granet in Aix.”
    â€œWill Weisbord allow you to sell it to