“Thank you, Mr. Finn,” Bass said.
“Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for Sally. It’s what her father wanted and he was my client. I’m just doing what he wanted me to. If it wasn’t for that, I’d be telling the police everything.” He turned and walked away without looking back.
Finn walked back to the museum along the Fenway. Summer was in full bloom and the garden park was full of joggers and strollers and weary city souls seeking a respite as they trudged home from work. His car was parked just in front of the museum. A familiar dark Lincoln was parked askew behind him, the ass end of the thing jutting out into the road. Detective Stone was sitting on the hood, watching Finn approach.
He looked at his watch as Finn got within speaking distance. “You said five-thirty,” he said. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” Finn said. “I got tied up.”
“So, what is it that you needed to talk about?”
Finn chose his words carefully. “I thought I would have some information I could give you that might be helpful.”
“What is it?” Stone asked. He was still leaning on the car, his head down, watching Finn carefully.
Finn shook his head. “I was wrong. There’s nothing useful I can tell you.”
Stone just continued to stare at him. “That’s why you asked to meet me? To tell me there’s nothing you can tell me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” Stone repeated. He looked away, watching a fit young woman as she ran along the dirt park path across the street. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there? Something you know. Something you’re not going to tell me.”
Finn shrugged. “What is it that you care about, Stone? What is it that you really love?”
Stone’s eyes continued to follow the young woman from behind. “I love catching criminals,” he said. “I love seeing the bad guys go away.”
“What if there are no bad guys?” Finn asked. “What if there are just fucked-up people doing the best with what they’ve been dealt?”
“Doesn’t matter what the hand is. If they play it crooked, they’re the bad guys.” The jogger rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Stone turned to Finn. “What is it you love, Counselor? What is it you really care about?”
Finn thought about it for a moment. “I care about my clients,” he said after a while.
“All of them?”
“Some more than others, but yeah, all of them.”
“What about the bad guys?”
“That’s not for me to judge.”
Stone stood up. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his wallet and slipped a business card out of the folds. He handed it to Finn. “You change your mind, you decide you have something to tell me that might be useful, gimme a call.”
“I will.”
Stone got into his car and pulled away into traffic. Finn was left standing there, alone in front of Mrs. Jack’s museum. The gate had been closed, the door pulled shut. The modern security system that hadn’t been in place twenty years before protected it now. The guards inside were well trained and armed.
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost six. He got into the car and started it up, pulling out in a hurry. He was making dinner for Sally and Lissa and Koz at his place tonight, and he was late. He smiled to himself; it would be a simple evening, but he couldn’t remember looking forward to anything quite so much.
Acknowledgments
This novel is, of course, a work of fiction. Many of the details regarding the robbery at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, however, are based in fact. Some of the specifics regarding the events of that night were obtained from police reports. Others were gleaned from numerous news articles and scholarly work regarding the robbery. The rest is fictional dramatization. The crime remains (as of the writing of this novel) unsolved, and this book is not intended to suggest the guilt of any individual. While some news articles and books that have speculated regarding the possibility of cooperation in the robbery by someone connected with the museum, I am aware of no proof that the robbery was an “inside job.” Further, while many have hypothesized that James “Whitey” Bulger was likely involved in the robbery either directly or indirectly based on his stranglehold on organized crime in Boston in the early 1990s, I am aware of no proof that this is the case. His inclusion in this novel is for dramatic purposes only.
I was aided in my research by innumerable third-party sources, including articles by Stephen Kurkjian in the Boston Globe, and by Tom Mashberg and Laura Crimaldi in the Boston Herald. The 2004 documentary Stolen, directed by Rebecca Dreyfus, is an excellent film and a very helpful resource, and the nonfiction book The Gardner Heist: The True Story of the World’s Largest Unsolved Art Theft by Ulrich Boser provided additional detail based on the notes of the renowned art theft investigator Harold Smith. I recommend both to anyone interested in learning more about the robbery.
For those seeking additional information regarding the Gardner museum itself, or the fascinating life of Isabella Stewart Gardner, I recommend The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum: A Companion Guide and History by Hilliard T. Goldfarb and Mrs. Jack: A Biography of Isabella Stewart Gardner by Louise Hall Tharp. For additional information regarding art theft in general, and art theft investigation, the books Museum of the Missing: The High Stakes of Art Crime by Simon Houpt and Stolen Masterpiece Tracker by Thomas McShane and Dary Matera are very informative. I am also indebted to a number of individuals familiar with the specifics of the Gardner investigation and the general workings of the various groups of organized criminals in Boston over the years.
I owe an enormous debt to Mitch Hoffman, a wonderful editor who brought out the best in me and the manuscript: your suggestions and guidance were invaluable, and the book would not be nearly the work that it is without your help.
Thanks to David Young, Jamie Raab, Elly Weisenberg, Kim Hoffman, and all the wonderful folks at Grand Central Publishing who worked on the production end of the book, including Mari, S. B., Allene, George, and Anne. Your support and assistance are greatly appreciated.
My thanks also to the great people at Macmillan, including Maria Rejt and Trisha Jackson, as well as to Arabella Stein at the Abner Stein Agency in London. You have been a pleasure to work with.
For the gang at the Aaron Priest Agency-Lucy Childs, Frances Jalet-Miller, Nicole Kenealy, John Richmond, and Arlene Priest-and in particular for Aaron Priest and Lisa Erbach Vance: I thank the fates every day for bringing me into contact with you. Without your help and support none of this would have been possible.
Thanks to my wonderful family: my parents, Richard and Martha; my brother, Ted, and his wife, Betsy, and their family; and an extended family and cadre of loyal friends for keeping me grounded and focusing (when I take a deep breath) on the things that are most important in life.
For Reid and Samantha, protect your dreams as you get older. I love you more than you will ever understand.
For my wife and my love, Joanie: I couldn’t do any of this without you. You are a wonderful partner, the best mother any children could have, and my greatest source of support.
Finally, I would like to thank all of the teachers I have had over the years who nurtured my love of language, my appreciation for drama, my fascination in the law, and my curiosity in the world around me. There are too many to name them all, but I would like to mention James Godrey, Carey Fuller, Dick Pike, Bill Moore, Jim and Susan Wright, and Roger Schecter.
About David Hosp
DAVID HOSP is a Boston attorney who received his BA from Dartmouth College and his JD from George Washington University. He lives with his wife, son, and daughter south of the city.
