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For Joan: live art
1
My first client of the day (and of the week, truth be known) came into my office on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving and sat in one of my client chairs. He was medium-height and slim, wearing a brown tweed suit, a blue paisley bow tie, and a look of satisfaction.
“You’re Spenser,” he said.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
“I am Dr. Ashton Prince,” he said.
He handed me a card, which I put on my desk.
“How nice,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“What can I do for you, Dr. Prince.”
“I am confronted with a matter of extreme sensitivity,” he said.
I nodded.
“May I count on your discretion?” he said.
“Sure,” I said.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“I can tell,” I said.
He frowned slightly. Less in disapproval than in uncertainty.
“Well,” he said, “may I?”
“Count on my discretion?”
“Yes!”
“At the moment, I don’t have anything to be discreet about,” I said. “But I would be if I did.”
He stared at me for a moment, then smiled.
“I see,” he said. “You’re attempting to be funny.”
“ ‘Attempting’?” I said.
“No matter,” Prince said. “But I need to know you are capable of taking my issues seriously.”
“I’d be in a better position to assess that,” I said, “if you told me what your issues were.”
He nodded slowly to himself.
“I was warned that you were given to self-amusement,” he said. “I guess there’s no help for it. I am a professor of art history at Walford University. And I am a forensic art consultant in matters of theft and forgery.”
And pleased about it.
“Is there such a matter before us?” I said.
He took in some air and let it out audibly.
“There is,” he said.
“And it requires discretion,” I said.
“Very much.”
“You’ll get all I can give you,” I said.
“All you can give me?”
“Anything,” I said, “that your best interest, and my self-regard, will allow.”
“Your ‘self-regard’?”
“I try not to do things that make me think ill of myself.”
“My God,” Prince said. “I mean, that’s a laudable goal, I suppose. But you are a private detective.”
“All the more reason for vigilance,” I said.
He took another deep breath. He nodded slowly.
“There is a painting,” he said, “by a seventeenth-century Dutch artist named Frans Hermenszoon.”
“Lady with a Finch,” I said.
“How on earth did you know that?” Prince said.
“Only Hermenszoon painting I’ve ever heard of.”
“He painted very few,” Prince said. “Hermenszoon died at age twenty-six.”
“Young,” I said.
“Rather,” Prince said. “But Lady with a Finch was a masterpiece. Is a masterpiece. It belongs to the Hammond Museum. And last week it was stolen.”
“Heard from the thieves?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Ransom?” I said.
“Yes.”
“And if you bring any cops in, they’ll destroy the painting,” I said.
“Yes.”
“So what do you want from me?” I said.
“The Hammond wants the whole matter handled entirely, ah, sotto voce. They have asked me to handle the exchange.”
“The money for the painting,” I said.
“Yes, and I am, frankly, uneasy. I want protection.”
“Me,” I said.
“The chief of the Walford campus police asked a friend at the Boston Police Department on my behalf, and you were recommended.”
“I’m very popular there,” I said.
“Will you do it?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Like that?” Prince said.
“Sure,” I said.
“What do you charge?”
I told him. He raised his eyebrows.
“Well,” he said. “I’m sure they will cover it.”
“The museum.”
“Yes,” he said. “And if they won’t cover it all, I’ll make up the difference out of pocket.”
“Generous,” I said.
“You’re being ironic,” he said.
“It is you I’m protecting,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “The painting, too. It is not merely a brilliant piece of art, though that would be enough. It is also the expression of a distant life, cut sadly short.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
“Which I’m told,” Prince said, “is considerable.”
I nodded.
“’Tis,” I said.
2
Susan and Pearl were spending the weekend with me. It was Saturday morning and the three of us were out for a mid-morning stroll in the Public Garden. Pearl was off the leash so she could dash about and annoy the pigeons, which she was doing, while Susan and I watched proudly.
“So you are going to make this exchange Monday morning?” Susan said.
“Yep.”
“How do you feel about it?” she said.
“I am, as you know, fearless.”
“Mostly,” Susan said.
“ ‘Mostly’?”
Susan smiled and shook her head.
“What’s bothering you about it?” she said.
“An exchange like this,” I said, “they gotta be sure they get the money before they give you the painting. You gotta be sure you get the painting before you give them the money. They gotta be sure that once they give up the painting the cops don’t swoop in and bust them.”
“Difficult,” Susan said.
“And their side gets to call the shots,” I said.
“Which you don’t like,” Susan said.
“Which I don’t like,” I said.
“Ducks,” Susan said. “You don’t like anyone else calling the shots on what tie to wear.”
“Except you,” I said.
Susan smiled.
“Of course,” she said. “Always except me.”
A group of pigeons was pecking at some popcorn that had been thrown on the ground for them. Pearl chased them off and ate the popcorn. A mature woman in a leopard-skin coat stood up from the bench where the pigeons had gathered and walked toward us.
“Madam,” she said, “control your dog. That popcorn is intended for the pigeons.”
Susan smiled.
“Survival of the fittest,” she said.
The woman frowned.
She said, “Don’t be flippant, young woman.”
“Yikes,” I murmured.
Susan turned slowly toward the woman.
“Oh, kiss my ass,” Susan said.
The woman took a half-step back. Her face reddened. She opened her mouth, and closed it, and turned and marched away.
“They teach you ‘kiss my ass’ at Harvard?” I said.
“No,” Susan said. “I learned that from you. . . . Pearl likes popcorn.”
“At least she called you ‘young woman,’ ”I said.
Susan was glaring after the woman.
“By her standards,” Susan said.
Suddenly Pearl stopped scavenging the popcorn and stood motionless, her ears pricked, as if she were pointing. Which she wasn’t. She was staring.
Coming toward us was a yellow Lab with a massive head and a broad chest. He was wagging his tail majestically as he trotted toward us, as if he was one hell of a dog and proud of it. He stopped about a foot in front of Pearl, and they looked at each other. They sniffed each other. They circled each other, sniffing as they went. Pearl didn’t suffer fools gladly, so I stayed close. In case. Then Pearl stretched her front paws out and dropped her chest and raised her hind end. The Lab did the same. Then Pearl rose up and tore around in a circle. The Lab went after her. The circle widened, and pretty soon the two dogs were racing around the whole of the Public Garden. Occasionally they would stop to put their heads down and tails up. Then they would race around some more. An attractive blonde woman was standing near us, watching.