Chapter 6

As they drove to the Getty, Charlie's cell phone rang again. He flipped it open without checking the caller ID. "Charles Eppes."

"Charlie!"

"Amita, hi."

"Charlie, are you all right? Why didn't you call me? Millie just told me what happened."

"I'm fine. Really." He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. "I've had enough mother henning to last me a month."

"Oh. Well, I didn't mean to mother hen you. I'll talk to you later." He could almost feel the temperature drop.

"Wait, Amita! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I've had to deal with my dad and Millie already. Listen, Greg Spencer just hit me a couple of times. No stitches or anything. Just a few technicolor bruises."

"Have they caught him yet?"

"Not that I know of. But I'm with Don and David right now, so I'm well protected."

"Okay. I'll take your word for it. But please be careful."

"I will. This isn't some B movie where the good guy wanders into the basement where the monster's hiding. I promise I won't be stupid." In the front seat, Don snorted. "Shaddap, Donald. Amita, I'll see you later, okay? We're on the way to the Getty. There's been another theft. Do you think you could give me a hand when I get back?"

"Sure. Give me a call when you're on your way, and I'll meet you in your office."

"I will. And thanks."

When he had finished the conversation, he leaned forward. "Are we there yet?"

Don laughed. "Shaddap, Chuck."

"So, David, do you know what was stolen?"

"I think they said it was a Rembrandt. A little painting on a wood panel. It's less than a foot square."

Don nodded. "High priced and easy to conceal, like the Van Gogh."

"I can do a risk assessment of the other art works in the Los Angeles area. I probably still have some of the data from the case with the forged Manet. And I can ask Ben and Maggie for some help. You don't have to bring them in as paid consultants I'm sure they'll be happy to do everything they can."

"You don't have to do that," Don said. "If we need them, we'll pay them. It's only fair."

"I'll call Ben and see what he says." Charlie pulled out his cell phone and dialed. When Ben answered, Charlie explained the situation.

"A Rembrandt? Really? That's big, Charlie. You're right. They're definitely going for good quality works."

"At least it's on a wood panel. It should be a little less fragile, right?"

"Possibly. But it depends on the condition of the wood. It may be more fragile than you'd think."

"How can we find out what condition it was in?"

"The Getty has an amazing conservation department, so I'm sure they'll know the condition of the painting. I do hope the thieves know what they're doing."

"Me too. Do you think you and Maggie could help me do a risk assessment? If we can isolate common aspects of these two thefts, and use the data to determine what items might be at risk, then maybe we can prevent these thieves from stealing anything else."

"We would love to, Charlie. What do you need from us?'

"Off the top of my head: Which artists are highest priced? What would make an object easier to steal – for example, size, amount of security, that kind of thing. You have some experience with art thefts, right? And Maggie teaches museum science, so she would know about museum security. The files on the Van Gogh are still in my office. I can give you Amita's number. Maybe she could meet you there and you could get started."

Ben laughed. "Luckily, you've caught us on a Saturday when we have nothing planned. We could start doing research on the local museums, too. Since the FBI is involved in art crime, perhaps Don would have some resources we could use as well."

Charlie gave Ben Amita's number, then said with a grin, "And Don said he's willing to hire you as a consultant again. So the sky's the limit! The taxpayers' pockets are deep."

"Charlie!" Don said. "What the heck?"

Ben said, "I heard that. I take it Don is not thrilled with your offer. Tell him I'll be very careful with my hours. Perhaps you can get away with annoying your brother, but I would rather not be deported."

"Ah, Don would never have you deported. But if I don't shut up, he might see if he can figure out a way to deport me. Thanks for your help. I'll see you later."

Don pulled into the parking lot and showed his ID to the police officer at the gate. "Agent Eppes," the officer said, "they're expecting you up at the museum." He pointed to a service driveway. "Just drive up the coach road there. An officer up top will show you where to park."

"Thanks," Don said. "How quickly did you get the place locked down?"

The officer frowned and shook his head. "I doubt if we were fast enough. I think they locked the museum pretty quickly once the alarms went off, but it took a while for us to get here."

David shook his head in amazement as Don pulled around the barricade. "How on earth can they lock down a place like this?"

"I doubt if they can. Hopefully they were able to lock down the museum."

"You think our thief is still in there?" Charlie asked, amazed.

"That would be nice. But I doubt we'll be so lucky," Don said. He showed his badge to the officer at the top of the service driveway, and was directed to a spot at the base of the Grand Stairway that led to the museum.

"Hey, Charlie," Don said as they headed up the stairs. "You came here with Ben and Maggie a few months ago, right?"

"Yes, I did. It's an amazing place, isn't it?"

"Yeah. You have any feel for how secure it is?"

Charlie shook his head. "Don, I really don't pay attention to that kind of thing."

David chuckled, "But I'll bet you can tell us how many steps we're walking up."

Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but David cut him off. "That's okay. I was just trying to prove a point to Don. We all observe different things. I wouldn't expect you to know about security any more than I'd expect Don to be able to calculate the volume of marble used for this thing."

"Good point, David," Charlie said. "I would imagine the head of security would be able to tell you more about the security system than I would."

"Hey, I was just asking for your layman's observations. I wasn't expecting you to notice the four security cameras we passed, or notice that two of them weren't working."

"Whoa, Don," Charlie said, "That is impressive!"

A plainclothes police detective met them at the top of the steps. "Agent Eppes?" he addressed Don. "I'm Vito DeCola, LAPD."

Don shook hands with Vito. "Don Eppes. And this is Special Agent David Sinclair, and Professor Charlie Eppes. He's a consultant."

"Ah," DeCola said, shaking first David's hand, then Charlie's, "A professor of art?"

Charlie said, "No. Mathematics."

DeCola scowled in confusion. Then he shrugged. "Okay. Whatever floats your boat." He led them through the door. "The theft took place in the East Pavilion, where they keep their seventeenth century European art. The painting was "Daniel and Cyrus before the Idol Bel," by Rembrandt. It's nine and a quarter inches by eleven and seven-eighths inches. Done on a wood panel. Apparently this painting passed muster not too long ago as a genuine Rembrandt." He led the way into a the courtyard, and across to the East Pavilion.

"How quickly was the building secured?" Don asked. "What are the chances the thief escaped?"

DeCola sighed. "The official story is that the building was secured immediately. It's more likely that in the confusion a couple of minutes lapsed. Long enough for a guy pushing a kid in a wheelchair to sneak out. The witnesses are in the rooms surrounding the crime scene, and two of the three distractions are under arrest in one of the offices. We figured you'd want to talk to them before we send them downtown."

"That I would," Don said. "The rest of my team will be here in a little while. They're on the way to the hospital to talk to the kid who hit his head. Meanwhile, let me see where it happened."

DeCola led the way into the East Pavilion. "The m.o. was similar to the theft at the Norton Simon. The distractions took place in three rooms adjoining the room where the Rembrandt was hanging. Here, here and over there," he pointed three doorways. "And the Rembrandt was in here," he led the way into the room.

"Was anyone else in the room at the time?"

"Two people were in the room, but left when they heard the screaming in the adjacent rooms."

Charlie had been listening to DeCola, but a small painting on a wooden panel caught his attention. He tilted his head, examining the painting as he approached it. He glanced at DeCola, but the detective had his back turned. He ran his fingers around the edge of the frame and pulled the painting off its hook.

"Sir!" a woman's voice startled him. "Put the painting back, and keep your hands to yourself."

"Sorry," Charlie said, blushing as he hung the painting back on the hook.

The woman, dressed in blue slacks and a white shirt looked for all the world like a military officer. She approached Charlie. "Detective DeCola, who is this person?"

"Ms. Adams," DeCola grinned. "meet Dr. Charles Eppes. He's an FBI consultant. Dr. Eppes, meet Amber Adams, head of security at the Getty."

Charlie held out his hand, "Nice to meet you, Ms. Adams."

Amber glanced at Charlie's hand then turned and walked away. "Next time, DeCola, bring a consultant who knows how to handle priceless artwork. I don't have time for this crap."

"Charlie!" Don said. "What were you doing?"

"I just wanted to see how the paintings were secured. I expected it to be screwed to the wall or something. I wonder if the Rembrandt was just hanging from a hook waiting to be picked like a ripe peach."

David laughed. "Oh, man, Charlie. You think Ms. Adams is ticked off at you now, I'd love to see what she does when you ask her that particular question."

Liz and Colby showed their badges to the receptionist at Huntington Memorial Hospital. They did not expect her reaction. "Oh, thank God! You're here for Billy Jones, right?"

"That's right," Liz said. "Why? What's wrong?"

"His mother is here and she's pitching a fit. She's demanding that we..."

"Are these the people who arrested my son?" A short, squat woman approached the desk. She glanced from Colby to Liz. "Why is my baby under arrest? He fell and hurt himself. Of course, knowing him, he was probably running or horsing around. But he's not a bad boy."

"Mrs. Jones," Colby began.

"Ms. Putnam. And who are you?"

Colby showed her his badge. "Special Agent Granger. And this is Special Agent Warner."

"FBI? Why is the FBI interested in Billy?"

Colby said, "We have reason to believe that your son may have been involved in helping someone steal a very valuable painting."

"What?! You're crazy."

"We need to talk to your son," Liz said.

"I don't know..."

"Listen," Liz took Ms. Putnam's hand. "It's important that we talk to him. I'd like you to be in the room when we..."

"Of course I'll be there. But he's just a kid. What makes you think he could be involved in something like that?"

Colby said, "It may just be a coincidence, but we have to explore all possibilities."

Liz added, "And because he's a minor, if he was coerced into cooperating with the thieves, he'd be a victim, not a criminal."

"So why's he under arrest."

Liz sighed. "He's not actually under arrest. He's being detained as a material witness. That means he has information we need to get before we can let him go."

"I'm not stupid, Agent. I know what a material witness is."

"I'm sorry. I usually assume civilians know what I'm talking about and it ends up biting me in the butt."

Ms. Putnam actually smiled at that. "That's okay. I must look like a crazed redneck. I was working in the garden when I got the call about Billy. I didn't take time to change into decent clothes. Come on. We might as well get this over with." She led the agents into an exam room. A boy lay on the bed, eyes closed, his head swathed in bandages. "Billy?" she said, approaching the bed.

He opened his eyes. "Mommy?"

"Billy, these FBI agents need to talk to you about what happened at the museum today."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, honey, you do. I'll be here with you, but you have to answer their questions the best you can, okay?"

"Okay," he said, looking warily from Liz to Colby.

"Hi, Billy," Liz said. "I'm Agent Warner, and this is Agent Granger. You feeling up to talking with us for a few minutes?"

"Yeah."

"How old are you, Billy?"

"Almost thirteen." He noticed Liz's incredulous look. "Everybody tells me I'm small for my age. It's because my mom and dad are both short."

"Okay. What happened in the museum?"

"My buddies and I were just screwing around. I slipped and fell, and hit my head on one of those bench things." He shrugged eloquently. "And that was it."

Colby said, "You know after you fell, a very valuable painting was stolen from the museum. Now, I'm always suspicious of coincidences like that, aren't you?"

A look of fear crossed Billy's face as he blinked at Colby. "It was an accident. I swear. I just fell."

Liz smiled at Billy. "Now, you know, Billy, if you intentionally created a distraction for the thieves, you could be in very serious trouble. But if you help us find the people who did this, if you can convince the courts that you were forced or coerced into helping, then I would guess they'd treat you as a victim and not as a criminal."

Tears welled up in Billy's eyes. "But I don't know anything about any thieves. I was just fooling around with my buddies." He glanced at Colby. "It was a coincidence. You gotta believe me."

Colby exchanged glances with Liz, then said, "Billy, I don't know if you realize how serious this is. These people have already killed a woman who was working with them. If you're afraid of them..."

"I didn't have anything to do with that painting getting stolen. Mom, shouldn't we get a lawyer or something?"

"I think maybe we should." She looked at Liz. "I'm sorry, but he's right. I'm going to call my lawyer. You should go now."

"I think we're about done in here," Don said to DeCola. "Why don't we go talk to – what'd you call 'em – the distractions. Sounds like a boy band."

DeCola snorted. "Yeah. Come on. I'll take you to them. We've got them separated. We also arrested the guy who was with the fake pregnant lady. We figured he was in on it, too."

Don walked alongside DeCola, with David and Charlie trailing behind. "Okay. Good. Did you have the paramedics check out the fake pregnant lady and the fake heart attack guy to make sure they were really faking?"

"Yep. That's the first thing we did. They're both in excellent health. We sent the boy to the hospital. I don't know if he was involved, but he really did hit his head."

"Yeah, I know. I have a couple of agents at the hospital talking to him now."

They turned a corner, and came to a hallway where three police officers stood outside of three office doors. DeCola said, "How do you want to handle this?"

"David and I'll talk to one of them at a time." Don checked his watch. "Hopefully the rest of my team will be here soon. Charlie, do yo have something to keep busy with while we're doing this?"

Charlie pulled a notebook out of his bag. "I'll start working on my algorithm."

"Good," Don said, "Just stay away from the paintings."

Charlie's mouth dropped open. He pushed the notebook back into his bag. "Listen, why don't I just call a cab and go back to campus? I've got more than enough to do there."

"Charlie." Don grabbed Charlie's shoulder. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid thing to say. I wasn't thinking, Buddy."

"No, you weren't," Charlie said. He sighed and pulled his notebook back out of the bag. "We can talk about this later. But for now, why don't you guys go talk to your suspects?"

Charlie was absorbed in his work, leaning against the wall, writing in his notebook, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and met the gaze of Amber Adams. He blinked and said, "Hello."

"Hi," she said, smiling. "Listen, Professor, I'm sorry I was so nasty earlier."

"Bad day?"

Amber laughed. "That's putting it mildly. "What are you working on?"

"A threat assessment. Using data from this robbery and from the robbery at the Norton Simon, I'm trying to figure out where they'll strike next."

"Really? You can do that with all those calculations?"

He shrugged. "I'm a mathematician. I see things in numbers."

"So why were you handling the painting?"

"I just wanted to find out how it was secured. I shouldn't have touched it. I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "That's the least of my worries right now."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"The painting I moved was just hanging on a hook. Was the Rembrandt hung the same way?"

"Yes, but we're not complete idiots here. Each painting has a motion detector on it."

"Why didn't any alarms go off when I moved the painting?"

"Someone triggered the system before the Rembrandt was stolen. The system hasn't been reset."

"Triggered? How?"

"About the same time the boy fell, someone touched one of the paintings in the same gallery. That set off the system."

"And drew the guards away from the Rembrandt."

"Yep. So does this go into your equation somehow?'

"Yes, it does. I'm not a security expert, but it seems to me the thieves really know about the museums they've robbed. In the Norton Simon, they knew which skylights to crash through. Here, they knew about the motion detectors."

"Well, they obviously planned ahead. These were well-coordinated attacks."

"Well-coordinated..." Charlie turned to a blank page in his notebook and began writing.

Amber chuckled. "See you later, Professor," she said as she walked away. Charlie didn't even look up.

Author's Note: I'm sure the Getty Museum is not nearly this careless with their priceless works of art. But, of course their website doesn't say anything about how they protect their art.