Meachum give you?”
“Provenance?” asked Missy.
“A declaration of authenticity,” said Thorpe. “A history of the piece. Where it’s from, who its previous owners were, all the appropriate documentation.”
“It’s from . . . Mexico or Guatemala,” said Missy. “Someplace in the jungle. It’s
old,
that’s all I know. We got a receipt.”
Thorpe turned the plaque over, noted the chisel marks where it had been hammered off a wall in some dead city where it deserved to stay. It made him angry. He slipped it back into the cabinet. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time. We had a complaint about Meachum, and our office had to investigate, but he’s in the clear. At least regarding this piece. Have a good day.” Thorpe took a couple steps before Missy stopped him. He could barely hide his smile.
“What’s going on?” asked Missy.
“It’s not Mayan and it’s not old, so it doesn’t fall under the Antiquities Act,” said Thorpe. “It’s a very good fake. I’m sure your guests will never know the difference.”
“You’re saying that Meachum ripped us off?” asked Missy.
“I deal strictly with federal crimes, so it’s not really my business, but . . .” Thorpe leaned closer. “Speaking unofficially, if you paid for a genuine artifact, you got ripped off.”
“You’re sure?” Missy’s mouth was thinner than a fishhook. “You
know
what’s real and what’s not? You’re an expert on this stuff?”
“I’m an expert,” said Thorpe. “If it’s any comfort, this sort of thing happens all the time, so you needn’t feel embarrassed. Meachum may not have done it deliberately—a lot of dealers aren’t particularly knowledgeable about pre-Columbian art, and, like I said, this is a good copy.”
“I didn’t pay a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for a fucking
copy,
” said Missy.
Thorpe pretended to think about it. “Take the piece back to Meachum. I’m sure he’ll return your money. He won’t want to be taken to court. A sale like this constitutes fraud. You would win easily.”
“If I take him to court, it’s going to be all over the papers. I’ll look like a fool.”
“Meachum has his own reputation to consider. He’ll want to avoid publicity as much as you do.” Thorpe took out his wallet, handed Missy his business card. “Just in case he gives you a hard time, slip this to him when you return the plaque. Tell him I was checking on his paperwork. Let him know I was the one who told you the piece was a fake. He won’t argue. The last thing he’ll want is to draw attention to himself.”
Missy ran a finger over the raised lettering on the business card, circled the gold federal seal next to his name and cell phone number. She looked up at him. “I don’t like being taken advantage of. Not by you, and most definitely not by Douglas Meachum.”
“I can see that.”
Missy nodded. “I appreciate your trying to make things right . . . and not blowing things in front of Jackie Simpson at the party.” Her eyes flashed. “I would never have forgiven you for that, Frank.”
Clark snickered. “Lucky for you, dude.” A glance from Missy and he was conciliatory. “See, babe, in a way, you
were
right about Frank’s energy. He’s a good guy.”
Missy watched Thorpe, and it took everything for him not to blink.
12
Missy didn’t waste any time. It was barely five hours since he had told her that the Mayan king was a fake. Thorpe put away his pager, called the number on the State Department business card he had given to her, then keyed in his message code.
“Hey, Frank, this is me. Just wanted to let you know that Douglas Meachum pissed all over himself apologizing for selling me a fake, and wrote a refund check on the spot. I can’t tell if he’s more afraid of me or of you, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Just between us, I don’t think he’s got any of that . . . provenance that you told me about. Like you thought, he doesn’t want anybody to
“Provenance?” asked Missy.
“A declaration of authenticity,” said Thorpe. “A history of the piece. Where it’s from, who its previous owners were, all the appropriate documentation.”
“It’s from . . . Mexico or Guatemala,” said Missy. “Someplace in the jungle. It’s
old,
that’s all I know. We got a receipt.”
Thorpe turned the plaque over, noted the chisel marks where it had been hammered off a wall in some dead city where it deserved to stay. It made him angry. He slipped it back into the cabinet. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time. We had a complaint about Meachum, and our office had to investigate, but he’s in the clear. At least regarding this piece. Have a good day.” Thorpe took a couple steps before Missy stopped him. He could barely hide his smile.
“What’s going on?” asked Missy.
“It’s not Mayan and it’s not old, so it doesn’t fall under the Antiquities Act,” said Thorpe. “It’s a very good fake. I’m sure your guests will never know the difference.”
“You’re saying that Meachum ripped us off?” asked Missy.
“I deal strictly with federal crimes, so it’s not really my business, but . . .” Thorpe leaned closer. “Speaking unofficially, if you paid for a genuine artifact, you got ripped off.”
“You’re sure?” Missy’s mouth was thinner than a fishhook. “You
know
what’s real and what’s not? You’re an expert on this stuff?”
“I’m an expert,” said Thorpe. “If it’s any comfort, this sort of thing happens all the time, so you needn’t feel embarrassed. Meachum may not have done it deliberately—a lot of dealers aren’t particularly knowledgeable about pre-Columbian art, and, like I said, this is a good copy.”
“I didn’t pay a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for a fucking
copy,
” said Missy.
Thorpe pretended to think about it. “Take the piece back to Meachum. I’m sure he’ll return your money. He won’t want to be taken to court. A sale like this constitutes fraud. You would win easily.”
“If I take him to court, it’s going to be all over the papers. I’ll look like a fool.”
“Meachum has his own reputation to consider. He’ll want to avoid publicity as much as you do.” Thorpe took out his wallet, handed Missy his business card. “Just in case he gives you a hard time, slip this to him when you return the plaque. Tell him I was checking on his paperwork. Let him know I was the one who told you the piece was a fake. He won’t argue. The last thing he’ll want is to draw attention to himself.”
Missy ran a finger over the raised lettering on the business card, circled the gold federal seal next to his name and cell phone number. She looked up at him. “I don’t like being taken advantage of. Not by you, and most definitely not by Douglas Meachum.”
“I can see that.”
Missy nodded. “I appreciate your trying to make things right . . . and not blowing things in front of Jackie Simpson at the party.” Her eyes flashed. “I would never have forgiven you for that, Frank.”
Clark snickered. “Lucky for you, dude.” A glance from Missy and he was conciliatory. “See, babe, in a way, you
were
right about Frank’s energy. He’s a good guy.”
Missy watched Thorpe, and it took everything for him not to blink.
12
Missy didn’t waste any time. It was barely five hours since he had told her that the Mayan king was a fake. Thorpe put away his pager, called the number on the State Department business card he had given to her, then keyed in his message code.
“Hey, Frank, this is me. Just wanted to let you know that Douglas Meachum pissed all over himself apologizing for selling me a fake, and wrote a refund check on the spot. I can’t tell if he’s more afraid of me or of you, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Just between us, I don’t think he’s got any of that . . . provenance that you told me about. Like you thought, he doesn’t want anybody to
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