The Portrait of Doreene Gray (36 page)

Maureene gave a choked laugh. “Don't be stupid.”

Hank went on. “A couple of weeks ago, I got an Internet alert with news of Doreene. When I read that she was going to sell the portrait, I knew what that could mean for Maureene, so I came back to see if I could help. But when I confronted Doreene, she refused to stop the sale. So Maureene and I worked on Reynaldo.”

“Did you tell him who you were?” Kroger asked Hank.

“Not at first.”

“Then what do you mean, you
worked
on him?”

Maureene answered. “Even though he'd sailed all over, Reynaldo was still very provincial and superstitious. I thought maybe we could scare him enough that he would take the portrait and destroy it. I did things like putting paper strips with scary words in the soup, hoping he might find a way to destroy the painting. But no matter what I did, it wasn't enough, so we decided to tell him who Enrico really was.”

Hank nodded. “Maureene found some photos of Doreene and me together. We showed them to Reynaldo and told him that Doreene had lied to him. I threatened to tell her lawyer that he wasn't her real husband.” He fell silent.

“We gave Reynaldo a choice,” Maureene said. “If he helped us steal the painting, we would pay his way back to Brazil or let him remain Doreene's husband, so he would inherit when she died. Either way. All we wanted was the portrait.”

“But why did you need Reynaldo at all?” Kroger asked. “If everyone knew the code to the room, why didn't you just take the painting when no one was looking?”

Hank and Maureene exchanged a rueful look.

“Doreene made such a big deal out of the locked room,” Hank said. “It never occurred to us she might use that old code. We hoped Reynaldo knew the combination, but he didn't.”

Maureene nodded. “But he did have an idea. Reynaldo told us that Doreene's evening medicine made her so groggy, they could have a whole conversation in bed, even sex, and she wouldn't remember the next day.”

Hank took a deep breath. “That night, Reynaldo got up and let me in the bedroom. I didn't trust him to do it alone, so I stood behind the curtains while he shook Doreene awake. He told her the house was on fire and they needed to get the portrait. She staggered over and opened the door, and he went inside.” Hank stopped.

Kroger looked from Hank to Maureene and back again. “So? What happened next?”

“The painting wasn't there,” Hank said.

Kroger raised his fists to his temples. “I don't believe this.”

“Reynaldo went in,” Hank said. “Then he came out and said, ‘The portrait is gone.'”

In the monitoring room, Angus pumped his fist. “Yessss!”

Hank continued. “I went in the closet to help look. We were checking the walls when we realized we didn't know where Doreene was.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and shook his head slightly. “She had fallen facedown among the clothes and was not moving.”

“Suffocation?” Kroger asked.

Hank shrugged. “You saw the coroner's report, I didn't. Reynaldo gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but it didn't work.” He shook his head. “If the painting was gone and Doreene was alive, it was simple theft. But if the painting was gone and Doreene was dead, then it looked like murder. We had a problem.”

“You could say that,” Kroger said.

Hank gave him a sour look.

Maureene took up the story. “I had originally painted two versions of the portrait. I showed the one I liked best, but they were very similar. After Doreene's third cosmetic surgery, I offered to exchange the youthful portrait for the one she had modified. It was pretty hideous by that time. I argued that having the portrait appear young again would do so much for my career that I could give her even more money. She wouldn't do it.”

Kroger turned to Hank. “Go back to what happened the night Doreene died.”

“I went to Maureene and told her Doreene was dead,” Hank said. “We put the young-looking portrait in place of the one that had been stolen. Everyone thought there was something supernatural about it anyway. We figured it was our one chance.”

Maureene looked at Kroger intently. “The important thing is, Lyndsay had nothing to with Doreene's death. Nothing.”

“Okay.” Kroger nodded, a little manically. “I get that. But are you also telling me that you don't know who took the altered painting?”

Hank's expression darkened. “It had to be Max. When Doreene and I were in Europe, we heard things about him. How, if you were rich in art but poor in cash, you should call Max. He could arrange things so you could keep your art but also get money, either by selling someone a forgery or by declaring the piece stolen.”

“Are you saying Max and Doreene collaborated on insurance fraud?” Kroger looked up at the sound of banging on the door to the room.
“What?”

The door opened. Michael, Suki, and Angus spilled into the room, followed by the police officer who had been at the monitors with them.

“I know how Max could have taken the portrait!” Michael yelled.

Angus grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him back. “You do not! Remember, I saved your life!”

Michael turned to look at him. “You did not.”

“You were unconscious, facedown in the water. If I hadn't rolled you over, you would have drowned.”

“Right,”
Michael said sarcastically. “I was getting up before you came barging in. I know, because you almost ran into my head.”

Kroger held up one hand toward Angus. With his other, he pointed to Michael. “Tell me what you think happened.”

Michael came over and leaned on the end of the table. “The day before Doreene died, Max came to measure the painting for the shipping crate, remember?”

Kroger nodded.

“Doreene had a bunch of clothes piled on her bed, for charity,” Michael went on. “One of the things was a fur coat, and Max commented that his assistant would love to have it, and Doreene handed it over.”

Kroger nodded. “Okay.”

“You don't see it?” Michael grinned. “The painting was
wrapped in the coat.
”

Gasps and exclamations filled the room.

Michael nodded happily, his grin almost splitting his face. “Maureene was standing right there, but Doreene knew her sister didn't wear fur. She gave Max the painting in front of all of us.”

“Good Lord,” Angus said.

“When Doreene died so soon after she gave him the painting,” Michael went on, “Max must have freaked out and hidden it in the gun battery. He probably figured the police would watch him even more after Hank's stunt, so he asked Lyndsay to retrieve the painting for him. I'm sure he offered to pay her, but she decided to keep the portrait and take it to Brazil to sell.”

Kroger took out his cell phone. “I'm not sure we can prove Max was involved, but it's worth bringing him in.” He dialed a number and waited, drumming his fingers on the table. “Hello? Any idea where Max Thorne is? Well, call the airlines and find out
what
flight. If the plane hasn't left, have them delay him.” He hung up. “Thorne left Port Townsend about an hour ago, presumably for the Seattle airport.” Kroger started for the door, but turned back and addressed Michael. “You don't have any ideas about the second painting, do you? The second, young-looking one that disappeared from the van?”

Michael bumped his closed hand against his mouth and stared into space. “I don't know how that was done.” His hand hovered at chin level. “Max bought a painting of a boat for his daughter. He had the gallery package it for shipping, but said he was going to take it on the plane with him.” Michael looked up, clearly excited. “If Max
did
somehow get the second, young-looking portrait of Doreene, he could hide it behind the boat painting!”

Kroger groaned. “In that case, he could ship it straight to a buyer, rather than risk airport security and X-rays. We may be too late. On the other hand, if he doesn't have a buyer, he might still have it with him.” He looked at the staff of
Tripping.
“You guys want to go on a little trip?”

 

Twenty-eight

Detective Kroger had a friend with a Cessna 206. Charter planes were not allowed to fly into the Seattle-Tacoma airport, so they flew to Boeing Field. From there, it was only a fifteen-minute cab ride to Sea-Tac.

“I'm only taking you as a favor, you understand,” Kroger told Angus, Michael, and Suki on the way there. “You've been very helpful.”

“I try,” Michael said.

“Yes, we do,” Angus said.

“Sea-Tac confirms that Thorne has already been through security,” Kroger continued, “so at least there's no question of him being armed. Still, stay back and don't get in the way.”

“Can I take pictures?” Suki asked.

Kroger considered this. “Can you do video?”

“Of course.”

“Video is harder to manipulate, so we might be able to use it for evidence. Go ahead, but be discreet. And for God's sake, don't say anything about working for a magazine. The Seattle police would never let me hear the end of it.”

*   *   *

A TSA agent met Detective Kroger and the staff of
Tripping
at Sea-Tac Airport and introduced himself as Agent Robert Hanley. After checking their IDs, Hanley led them through an unmarked door and set a rapid pace down a series of corridors.

“Did Max Thorne bring a big, flat box to the airport?” Kroger asked Hanley's back.

“He checked something as luggage,” Hanley said. “They're unloading the plane now.”

Kroger grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

The TSA man glanced back and smiled. “Don't be. It's worth it for the chance of getting all up in Interpol's face.” His smile disappeared. “That's my personal feeling, you understand, and not anything endorsed by TSA or Homeland Security.” He faced forward and pushed open a door. “Here we are.”

Maxwell Thorne sat in one of two gray chairs at a scratched, plastic-topped table, reading a magazine. Two TSA officers stood guard—one beside the door, one behind Max.

As Kroger and the
Tripping
crew filed in, Max let the magazine drop. “Detective Kroger. And friends.”

“Hello, Mr. Thorne,” Kroger said. “Mr. MacGregor, why don't you and your staff wait over there?” He nodded to a corner of the room.

Angus and his staff did as directed. Suki stood halfway behind Angus and powered up the camera that hung around her neck. She looked up to see Max leaning to one side so he could see her.

He smiled mockingly. “Come to film my beating?” The smile disappeared as he turned to Kroger. “Maybe you can tell me why I'm being held with no explanation.”

Kroger walked to the table and draped his trench coat over the empty chair. He sat down facing Max, and rested his arms on the table. “We found Lyndsay Waring and Reynaldo Cruz hiding on a boat, trying to smuggle Doreene Gray's portrait out of the country.”

Thorne's brows shot up, and his angry look faded. “Well done, detective! Is the portrait in good condition?”

“It's been better,” Kroger said.

A thump sounded from the hall outside as something knocked against the wall near the door.

Hanley opened the door.

A man in a blue jumpsuit stood in the hallway with a metal cart of the sort found at lumberyards. A familiar wooden crate sat upright on it, held in place by straps. “Sorry about that,” the man said. “It's kind of tight out here.”

Kroger looked at the crate, then at Max. “Wait a minute … Isn't that the shipping crate from the van?”

“Didn't it go back to the evidence room?” Michael asked.

Kroger shook his head. “It should have, but we were convinced we had the wrong crate, so we dusted the hasps for prints at the house and left it there. Things were a little hectic, if you recall.”

Max folded his arms across his chest. “Those crates cost several hundred dollars to make, and Rothwell's will want it back.” He gave Kroger a wry look. “And after all, you weren't using it.”

The man rolled the cart past the table and into the open space beyond, then stopped and rested a hand on the top of the crate. “You want me to open it?”

Max frowned. “That painting is a gift for my daughter, and it's very carefully packed.”

Agent Hanley gave him a look. “Unlock the padlock, sir.”

Max sighed. “If you insist.” He got up and took a set of keys from his pocket as he walked over to the crate. He opened the padlock, then removed it from the hasp. “Please be careful when you take it out.”

As the man who had brought the cart undid the straps, Hanley approached Max and held out his hand. “I'll take that padlock, sir.”

Max gave it to him.

Hanley gestured for Max to move. “Stand against that wall, please, sir.”

Max raised both hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender and stepped over to the wall, next to one of the other agents.

Detective Kroger opened the crate's lid and reached inside. After getting a grip with both hands, he pulled out a framed painting enclosed in a white, pressed-fiber bag.

Everyone was silent as the detective took the painting to the table. He set it on one edge, untaped the bag, and carefully pulled it off.

It was the ship picture Max had bought in the gallery.

“I don't know what else you expected,” Max said.

Kroger frowned. “Somebody spread that bag on the table.”

Hanley obliged.

Kroger laid the painting facedown on the protective bag. A smooth sheet of brown paper covered the back, its edges glued to the frame. Kroger picked at the paper's edge. “What's the best way to get this off?”

Max shrugged. “You can rip it off like a kid at Christmas, as far as I'm concerned. It's just cosmetic.”

“Use this.” Hanley reached into his pocket and took out a Swiss Army knife.