Family Jewels (13 page)

30

N
icky and Vanessa Chalmers lived in a tony neighborhood, but with much smaller houses than those on South Ocean Boulevard. Stone and Gala turned up on time and were given a drink out back, beside a small swimming pool. Stone sipped his Knob Creek, and Gala had a martini.

“It’s been quite a few days, hasn’t it?” Nicky observed.

“No argument there,” Stone replied.

A uniformed maid came out to where they sat. “Excuse me, Mr. Chalmers, but you might want to turn on the TV, to CNN.”

Nicky reached for the remote and turned it on. They were watching an aerial shot, apparently from a helicopter or a drone, and the voice of Monique Sullivan could be heard. “The Fiske estate, one of the oldest on South Ocean Boulevard in Palm Beach, is one of the oldest and most elegant of the
mansions lining the beachfront.” As she spoke the camera began to zoom in, until it was possible to make out two figures sitting on a bench in the Fiske garden.

“That’s us,” Stone said, amazed. He could now recognize himself and Sullivan, as she interviewed him, and the sound was perfect.

“You mean that conversation is being recorded by somebody in the air?”

“Must have been a drone,” Stone said. “I didn’t hear a chopper, and there were no cameras around us. That’s very sneaky.” He saw Sullivan point at the house, and the shot zoomed in on the upstairs window, just as a figure moved behind a curtain.

“That was Harvey,” Nicky said. “I’d recognize him anywhere.”

“It was a pretty brief glimpse, Nicky,” Stone said. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

A moment later the camera caught a figure running from the house and began to zoom in again, losing him as he ran behind some shrubbery along the driveway. The man, who was carrying a suitcase, ran out to the boulevard, then made two lefts into side streets, got into a dark car, and made his escape. The camera didn’t follow him.

“The television arts seem to have made great technical advances when I wasn’t looking,” Stone said.

“Well, they say you can’t go anywhere without being on camera,” Nicky observed.

—

T
hey finished a good dinner and were on coffee in Nicky’s study when he brought up a new subject. “Stone, have you given any thought as to what Carrie’s house is worth?”

“Not really. I’m going to have to order appraisals of the house and its contents.”

“The same with the East Hampton house and the New York apartment, I suppose.”

“I expect so. I’ve seen the East Hampton house, of course, but what is the New York apartment like?”

“A duplex at 740 Park Avenue, which is said to be the best building in the city.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Vanessa and I were talking this afternoon. We’ve never put a great deal of money into our residences, partly because we didn’t want the bother of decorating them. We didn’t have the sort of eye that Carrie had, and it occurs to us that, well . . .” He gathered himself. “I’d like to make you, or rather, the estate, an offer.”

“For the Palm Beach house?”

“For all three properties.”

“God, that’s a very large bite, Nicky.”

“I’m aware of that. Fortunately, I have a very large fortune. My father died a few months ago, and it got even larger. I know that you’ll have to get appraisals done, but I’d like to
offer the estate a hundred million dollars for all three of Carrie’s properties.”

“That’s a breathtaking offer, Nicky, but of course I’ll have to get appraisals of not only the properties but of the contents. Carrie had a lot of fine art in the Palm Beach house and a lot of American antique furniture, as well, much of which would bring large numbers at auction.”

“I understand, and I’m prepared to adjust my offer, if necessary, when the appraisals come in. We might exclude some of the pieces, which you could auction.”

“Well, when I get back to New York, I’ll get people to work on that. As long as you understand that my duty as executor is to get market prices.”

“Having been through it with my father’s estate, I’m well aware of the hoops you have to jump through.”

“Yes, and it would simplify life for me if I could sell it all to one buyer. I’ll give you, unofficially, a first option.”

“That’s all I could ask for,” Nicky said.

—

D
riving home, Gala spoke up. “Does Nicky really have that kind of money?”

“He does. His great-grandfather founded, at the dawn of the automobile age, what became the largest tire company in the United States, perhaps in the world, and the family, that is to
say, Nicky, still owns a majority of it. He has recently become a client of my firm, so I’m familiar with the facts of the matter.”

“I was just thinking,” Gala said, “the real estate could give Nicky an excellent motive for, well . . .”

“Nicky a murderer? Come on, you’ve gotten to know him, do you think he would be capable of that?”

“Well, as he said, it’s an opportunity for him to acquire not just Carrie’s real estate, but her taste, as it were.”

“You have an evil mind,” Stone said.

“I was married to an evil man for eight years,” she said.

—

T
hey walked Bob in the garden, then went to bed, but Gala’s thoughts about Nicky kept him awake for a while.

31

N
icky called the following morning and said that he and Vanessa had decided to spend a few more days in Palm Beach, so they wouldn’t be flying to New York with Stone and Gala.

They had an uneventful flight to Teterboro, emptied Bob on arrival, and Fred met them and drove them into the city.

“Well,” Gala said, looking around Stone’s living room, “it’s more masculine than Carrie’s house, but it’s very nice indeed. It looks like you, so my guess is that you were your own interior decorator.”

“Good guess,” Stone said. He installed her in the master suite and left her working at her laptop.

—

B
ob was very happy to see Joan, as she was the source of many cookies.

“I was afraid you’d make him fat on your trip,” she said to Stone.

“He’s in more danger of that around you,” Stone replied.

“So, I guess we’re in for another bout of estate settling,” Joan commented.

“Yes, we are.”

“I thought that, after dealing with Eduardo Bianchi’s estate, I’d never have to do that again until you fell off the twig.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll see that Woodman & Weld do a full-court press. The main thing is to get the valuations of the real estate done. Call those people who did Eduardo’s house and get them on the job.”

“Right.”

Stone sat down at his desk and started to go through the mail and messages, then Dino called.

“Welcome back.”

“Thanks. What do you hear from the Palm Beach cops?”

“They failed to bag Biggers.”

“I thought when they sealed off the island they’d spot him.”

“No such luck. We’ve got somebody on his apartment building, but no luck so far. Dinner tonight?”

“Let’s make it tomorrow night. I brought Susannah Wilde’s sister back with me—you’ll like her.”

“I like them all, Stone, it’s just that they don’t like you for very long.”

“That’s a dirty Communist lie.”

“Then why do they keep dumping you?”

“I’m just too much trouble, too set in my ways. See you tomorrow night.” He hung up, and Joan buzzed.

“You won’t believe who’s on line two,” she said.

“Do I have to guess?”

“Just pick up.”

Stone pressed the button.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice said.

“Harvey?”

“I thought that was a very nice service you had for Carrie. And I appreciate the bed. I didn’t think I should check into a hotel.”

Stone buzzed Joan, and he mouthed,
Get Dino to trace this
. “I guess not,” he said to Biggers.

“So, counselor, now that Carrie is gone, you have no conflict with representing me, do you?”

“Just a deep moral conflict,” Stone replied. “But, without actually representing you, I’ll give you some very good advice.”

“And what’s that?”

“Turn yourself in.”

“But I’m an innocent man.”

“All the more reason. Get everything straightened out, then resume your life.”

“And it’s going to be a very nice life.”

“Harvey, you seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that you are still in Carrie’s will.”

“Of course I am—she didn’t have time to change it.”

“On the contrary, I drew a new will for her, and she swiftly executed it. I think I can tell you, without violating a confidence, that the only mention of your name in the document is a statement excluding you from inheriting any part of the estate.”

“The bitch! I’ll contest it!”

“You don’t have a leg to stand on. You’re divorced, you agreed to and were paid a generous settlement, and then she changed her will. No attorney in the United States would take your case under those circumstances.” This was not strictly true, Stone knew, but he wanted to be emphatic.

“Well, that’s a disappointment.”

“There’s also the matter of your murdering her, which would prevent you from inheriting, even if you were still in the will.”

“But I didn’t murder her!”

“Then that’s exactly what you should tell the police when you have your inevitable chat with them.”

“I suppose you’d be glad to arrange that.”

“I’d be delighted. Where can I get in touch with you?”

“I think it’s best that I stay on the move.”

“Harvey, do you have any idea what you’re up against? Three police forces, one of them the largest in the world, have made your arrest a top priority, and you have no idea what they can bring to bear on that.”

“I watch enough TV to make a pretty good guess,” Harvey
said. “And that reminds me, I should hang up now or you’ll trace my call. Maybe I’ll be in touch.” He hung up.

Stone hung up, too, and Joan came in, shaking her head. “It was a cell call from somewhere outside the city. There wasn’t time to figure out where. We’re not expecting another visit from Mr. Biggers, are we?”

“Not likely.”

32

S
tone and Gala had breakfast in bed the following morning.

“I’m going up to Carrie Fiske’s apartment this morning to look it over,” Stone said “Would you like to come along?”

“Yes. Do you have a key?”

“Sheriff Martinez sent her luggage from the Ghost Ranch house,” Stone said. “Her handbag was among her effects, and there were keys to her properties.”

“I’d love to see it.”

—

T
hey arrived at the Park Avenue building at mid-morning; Stone identified himself to the building’s superintendent, and they were allowed to enter the apartment.

“How long did Ms. Fiske own the apartment?” Stone asked the man.

“Her grandfather was the original owner,” he replied. “Her parents lived here, too, part of the time, and she owned it since their deaths a few years ago. I’ll leave you to look around, Mr. Barrington.”

Stone and Gala wandered around the rooms, Gala pointing out various pieces of furniture and art. They went upstairs to where the four bedrooms were and went into the master. “That’s a Klimt, I believe,” Gala said, indicating a large painting on the wall over a dressing table. She opened a large art book on the dressing table and found the picture. “There you are. A pity it’s not
The Woman in Gold
.”

They went into Carrie’s dressing room, which was very large. “Goodness, what a wardrobe!” Gala said, looking through the dresses. “I believe some of these things must have belonged to her grandmother and mother.”

Stone leaned against a panel, and it gave a little, then sprang open, revealing a large safe with an electronic keypad lock. “This looks custom-made,” he said. He dug into his pocket and found the key to the apartment. On the same ring was a gold tag with a number engraved on it.

“Is that the combination?” Gala asked.

“Two-two-seven-seven-four-three,” Stone read from the tag. “Those numbers, converted to letters, spell ‘Carrie.’” He tapped the numbers into the keypad and spun the safe’s wheel: the door opened. “It’s just a large jewelry box,” Stone said. He
pulled out a couple of trays to reveal pairs of earrings and some rings.

“I think you should auction these pieces individually,” Gala said. She pulled out the bottom tray and gasped.

“What is it?”

Gala picked up the piece: it was a high choker made of diamonds and rubies. “I don’t believe it.”

“What don’t you believe?”

Carrie took him by the hand and led him back into the bedroom, where she flipped through the pages of the Klimt book until she found the portrait she was looking for.

“The Woman in Gold,”
Stone said. “I’ve seen it at the Neue Galerie.”

Gala pointed at the necklace in the portrait. “Look at this,” she said, holding up the choker next to the portrait. “Did you see the film about the painting?”

“No.”

“Along with this portrait and other Klimts, the Nazis stole this choker from the family, and it ended up on the neck of Mrs. Hermann Goering.”

“You think it’s the real thing?”

“Let’s go back to the safe.” She led him back to the dressing room and opened a small door inside the safe. There was a stack of papers inside, and Gala riffed through them. “Receipts,” she said, “some of them going back to the twenties.” She pulled out a yellowed envelope, which bore the legend
Bijoux Blume, Rue St
.
-Honoré, Paris
. “How’s your French?” she asked.

“Poor.”

“I’ll translate—it was sold to one A. L. Fiske, in 1946. It was made by Blume from the original design drawings of the choker depicted in Klimt’s
Woman in Gold
. The diamonds are all certified as flawless, as are the rubies.”

“Do you suppose the jeweler is still there?”

Gala produced her iPhone and Googled the shop. “No mention of it. This receipt is dated more than sixty years ago.”

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Stone said. “Does anybody know where the original necklace is?”

Gala did some more Googling. “Apparently, the last time it was seen, Mrs. Goering was wearing it.” She read on. “As the Russians approached Carinhall, Goering’s hunting lodge, he removed his belongings and burned the place to the ground. I wonder where he took them?”

“That would have been right at the end of the war,” Stone said. “I don’t think he would have taken them to Berlin.”

“Switzerland,” Gala said. “I’ll bet he got everything to Switzerland.” She read on. “Goering was Hitler’s deputy and was supposed to succeed him on his death. He sent Hitler a message saying that, if he didn’t hear from him shortly, he would assume command of the Reich in Hitler’s name, as Hitler had earlier provided. Martin Bormann intercepted the message and convinced Hitler that Goering was attempting a coup, so in his will, Hitler dismissed Goering from all his posts. Goering had fled to his retreat on the Obersalzberg, and he was then moved to Radstadt, near Salzburg, in Austria, where he
was arrested by the U.S. Army. There’s no mention of his personal property.”

Stone looked carefully at the necklace. “There’s something engraved here, but it’s too small for my eyes.”

Gala peered at it. “Mine too.”

Stone found a small velvet bag in the safe and dropped the choker into it and put it into his jacket pocket. He pocketed the Blume receipt, as well.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, closing the safe and spinning the wheel. As they emerged from the elevator the man at the desk motioned him over.

“Ms. Fiske’s former husband was just here,” he said. “He wanted to collect some of his things from the apartment. I told him you were here, and he said he’d come back later.”

“If Mr. Biggers returns, please deny him entrance to the apartment, then call the police and tell them he was here. I am Ms. Fiske’s executor, and you are not to admit anyone to the apartment without written permission from me.” He gave the man his card. “Let’s go,” he said to Carrie.