“Do you feel comfortable calling him?” Kozlowski asked.
Hewitt thought about it for a moment. Then he stood and walked to the door. “I’ll do better,” he said.
Chapter Thirty
Finn shifted his feet as he and Kozlowski sat alone in the conference room at the heart of the FBI’s offices in Boston. Talking to Kozlowski’s trusted FBI contact made Finn nervous. Talking to an FBI agent neither of them had ever met made him nauseous. He and Kozlowski knew about a kidnapping and they hadn’t reported it to the police or to the FBI. They were already arguably guilty of obstruction of justice. In addition, his client had participated in the robbery at the Gardner Museum -the very crime about which they were asking questions. Just having the conversation with the FBI agents was putting them all at risk, and Finn didn’t like it.
He was still fretting when Hewitt walked back in, another man behind him. It would have been difficult to imagine two more physically different people. Hewitt was huge, with a massive upper body and giant hands. Porter was tiny, with shoulders pinched at the top and a neck that looked too thin to support his head. His hands were wiry and small. Finn guessed his age in the mid-fifties, and he had a disdainful look that made him resemble a British filing clerk.
“Gentlemen,” the second man said. “I’m Special Agent Porter, in charge of the FBI’s Art Theft Program. Special Agent Hewitt tells me you are looking for information about art theft. Specifically the Gardner Museum theft.”
“Yes,” Kozlowski said. “I’m Tom Kozlowski. This is Scott Finn, he’s an attorney.”
Porter remained standing. “May I ask what your interest in the Gardner theft is?”
“We can’t answer that right now,” Kozlowski said.
Porter looked at Hewitt and Hewitt shrugged. “Special Agent Hewitt speaks very highly of you, Detective. That carries some weight in my book. Perhaps we can talk for a little while? There is always the chance that you’ll develop the same trust in me that you have in him.” Porter spoke like a college professor. His diction was perfect, and there was a hint of an upper-class accent. He spoke slowly and chose his words carefully. “So what is it you want to know about the theft?”
“You were in the Boston office when the Gardner was hit?” Kozlowski asked. “You were one of the agents originally assigned to the case?”
“Yes. I have been involved in the investigation from the beginning.”
“At the time, were you also working with the organized crime unit in Boston?”
“Yes.”
“Did you work with John Connolly at all?” It was a pointed question, the implications of which could not be overlooked.
“That’s out of line, Koz!” Hewitt protested.
“No, no, Robert,” Porter said. “It’s a fair question.” He smiled. “I did work on cases involving organized crime in the eighties and nineties, Mr. Kozlowski. But I had no involvement with the tainted informant program. I was involved in the prosecution of the Angiulo offshoot of the Patriarca family that resulted from the information disclosed by Mr. Bulger and others, but I never ran any of my own informants. And I never had any idea where we were getting our information. Agent Connolly kept that information to himself. As a result, I never had the opportunity to become involved in anything untoward. Believe me, it was an issue that was seriously weighed by the Bureau before it approved the funding for the Art Theft Program.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“And, as you can see, they still saw fit to put me in charge of the new division. That should give you some comfort.”
“Should it?”
Porter smiled. “You don’t strike me as the kind of a man who likes to waste time, Detective,” he said. “Assuming that to be the case, you must have a very good reason to come all the way up here to ask questions about the Gardner Museum, yes?”
Kozlowski leaned forward in his chair. “We understand that there was recently an offer made to sell the paintings,” he said, turning back to Porter. “Is that right?”
Porter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I compliment you on not beating around the bush, Detective. Where did you come by that information?”
“From the director at the museum. Baxter. Is it true?”
Porter looked as though he were sucking on a lemon. Finn guessed he was either angry or constipated. “Under what circumstances did Mr. Baxter tell you this?” he asked.
“No circumstances,” Kozlowski said. “We had some questions about the theft.”
Porter wasn’t done with the lemon yet. He folded his hands together and looked down at them. “In any conversation I had with Mr. Baxter, I indicated that he was to keep any information to himself,” he said. “It is crucial to the case. You understand my surprise at the notion that he would have just blurted this out to you, Mr. Kozlowski.”
“Maybe you should have been clearer with him,” Kozlowski said.
“Perhaps. You didn’t, by any chance, represent yourselves as law-enforcement officers, or give Mr. Baxter reason to think you were officially connected in some way to the investigation, did you?”
“We never represented ourselves as anything we weren’t,” Kozlowski said. “I showed my private investigator’s license to the woman at the desk. You’ll have to ask Baxter what he believed. It’s true, though?” Kozlowski pushed. “There has been an offer to sell the paintings?”
Porter cleared his throat. “These paintings have been missing for nearly twenty years. They are the most valuable pieces of stolen art in the world-worth an estimated five hundred million dollars. I’m going to need more information from you if I’m going to continue this conversation.”
“What do you need?” Kozlowski asked.
“First and foremost, I need a reason to believe you two have something to offer me. I need a reason to believe you aren’t full of bullshit.”
Kozlowski turned to Finn. “Your call.”
Finn thought about it for a moment. “A client of mine who may have information that would be helpful to the investigation,” he said at last. “He’s got a problem you may be helpful in solving. If we could work a trade, would you be interested?”
“I might be,” Porter said. “What can he offer?”
“Under the right circumstances, he might be able to offer a lot.”
“Is he directly connected to the theft?”
“I can’t go there yet. Not without knowing what you can offer in return.”
Porter closed his eyes in thought for a moment. “Let’s handle it this way: I’ll talk to you generally about the theft and the things that are well known. I won’t discuss the specifics of the investigation, though. Not without more information from you.”
“Fair enough,” Kozlowski said.
Porter cleared his throat. “I assume you know the basics about how the thieves tricked the guards to gain access?” Finn and Kozlowski nodded. “Once inside, it was an easy job. The museum had virtually no security systems in place, and the thieves were able to spend close to an hour and a half in the place. In many ways, it was the perfect robbery. In other ways, it was a mess.”
“How was it a mess?” Kozlowski asked.
“Well, first, the mixture of art that was stolen was very odd. Several of the paintings stolen were exceptionally valuable. Vermeer’s The Concert, for example, is one of the most valuable paintings ever stolen. Similarly, Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee is an exceptional work, worth nearly as much as the Vermeer. It was the only seascape known to be painted by the Dutch master. Other paintings by Flinck and Degas were worth less, but still justified the effort. Some of the other works taken were comparatively worthless, though. It doesn’t really make sense. It is as though the thieves had some good information, and some bad information.”