It Takes a Forger

Chapter 1

“I’ll have another, Jack,” Lou told the bartender at his favorite watering hole, tapping his empty beer bottle.

“You got it,” Jack replied, adding, “I thought two was your limit.”

“Usually, but tonight I’m breaking my rule.”

“I’ll pay for it,” a man said, taking the empty stool beside Lou, “and one for me as well.”

Lou turned to see who was offering to buy his drink.

The man, who had dark blond hair and looked in his mid-forties, smiled. “We haven’t officially met, Mr. Hernandez, but I was at the trials for both of the men involved in the death of John Pierce. My name is Gideon Monahan.”

Lou c****d his head. “That rings a bell. I think Quint Hawk mentioned you at one point. You have something to do with recovering stolen art.”

“I do…privately. I’m not connected with the FBI or any other law enforcement agency.” Gideon took a drink when the bartender set it down in front of him.

“So you tracked me down to congratulate me on helping to put them behind bars?”

“Yes. I don’t like it when one of my operatives is murdered. However, that’s not the reason I’m here. I’m impressed by the job you did to trap them. You seem to be good at undercover work, the same way John was.”

Lou shrugged. “I have my moments.”

“I hope they’re often, because I have a proposition for you.”

“You’re propositioning me?” Lou said, straight-faced. “Does that mean I’m getting lucky tonight?”

“I don’t swing that way,” Gideon huffed in reply. Then he chuckled. “I know…Well, I hope you weren’t serious.”

“Nope.” Not sure I like his reaction, but…might as well hear him out. “So, back to what you said. I’m good at what I do. I’d better be. I am a cop.”

“An excellent one, from what I’ve heard. I could use a man like you.”

“Sorry. Not interested. I’m a police officer for a reason. I like my job. With luck, I’ll make detective soon.”

“So Lieutenant Harber told me when I talked with him this afternoon.”

“About me?” Lou raised one dark eyebrow in question.

Gideon nodded, turning to put his back to a man who slid onto the stool next to him. “Why don’t we find a table where we can talk without being overheard?” he suggested quietly.

With a shrug, Lou picked up his fresh beer, following Gideon to a table in the back corner of the bar. When they were seated, he said, “I’ve already told you I’m not interested in leaving my present job.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem, as far as I’m concerned. As I said, I talked with your lieutenant. He’s willing to loan you out to me—”

“Just a damned second,” Lou said tightly. “I’m not a…a thing to be passed around at your—or the lieutenant’s—whim.”

Gideon nodded in agreement. “I phrased that wrong. Let me preface this by telling you that one of the men you helped bring to justice was small fry compared to the guy I’m after now.”

Lou tried not to show any interest in what Gideon was saying, only asking, “How so?”

“What do you know about art forgery?”

“Not a whole lot, other than what I learned on the case you mentioned. The perp had his cohorts copy an existing work when it was brought in to be appraised. Then he returned the forgery to the owner with papers saying it was valued at whatever, knowing the owner thought it was the original painting and would take his word for it.”

Gideon took up the story. “Leaving the appraiser with the original, to sell or use for collateral when purchasing—in this case—drugs. That’s a tried and true ploy but only the tip of the iceberg.” He took a drink, then continued. “Art crime is the third or fourth highest grossing criminal activity in the world today, depending on who you talk to.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Think about it, Lou. The art trade is the largest legal, unregulated business on the planet, according to the founder of Art Recovery International. I agree. When a work of art changes hands, there is almost no paper trail other than the provenance papers associated with it. Before you say anything—if a forger can copy a Manet or a Degas or whomever, what makes you think they couldn’t forge the provenance papers as well? Suppose you’re Mr. Got Rocks. You’re dying to get your hands on a painting by so-and-so. When the word gets out, you’re approached by a man who claims to own one—and can prove it.”

“If I’m smart, wouldn’t I do my due diligence?”

“You’re greedy. You want the painting. The man offering it for sale has the provenance papers and an appraisal from a reputable company. And…he wants less for it than you know the painting is worth. Would you turn that down?”

Lou chuckled. “I would. But then, I’m not the trusting sort. I get what you’re saying, though.”

“Good. Consider that the forger has several excellent copies of the original and sells them to unwary buyers spread around the world. He does it relatively quickly then disappears with the money. Even if Buyer A does brag about owning the painting and Buyer B hears about it and they compare notes, it’s too late to do anything about it.”

“Clever.”

“Exactly. Another ploy is to take advantage of an art theft from a museum, gallery, or personal collection. The forger makes a copy—or again, several copies—of the painting, then contacts a buyer. His story is that he has the original and the one that the museum claims was returned to them is actually a copy they put up to ‘avoid embarrassment’. Yeah, you’d have to be stupid to believe that story, but as I said, avid collectors are greedy. They want to get their hands on the piece and they put common sense aside. Of course, the forger reminds them that telling anyone they have what they believe is the original will bring the law down on their heads.”

Lou nodded. “So they hide it away and gloat over it—along with the fact that they put one over the authorities.”

“Yep.”

“I gather you’re after one of these forgers.”

“I am, although his con is a bit different than most. His forgeries aren’t of existing works of art. Instead, he claims he’s gotten his hands on an unknown painting, done by an artist—in this case Leonaert Bramer, during his early period before he became famous.”

“How does he pull that off?” Lou asked. He realized he was beginning to be intrigued by what Gideon was telling him.

“He creates a painting in Bramer’s style—but with minor variations. Those will corroborate his story that it is a very early work, from when the artist was only beginning to develop the characteristics that would make him famous.”

Tapping his teeth with a thumbnail, Lou wondered where he would fit into whatever plan Gideon had in mind to stop the man. Not that I’m about to offer. But…“Can’t you get the buyer to testify against him, once they’ve had the painting appraised and find out it’s not the real thing?”

Gideon smiled dryly. “You’d think so. But he has a good gimmick to keep that from happening. He admits—” Gideon made finger quotes, “—to the buyer that he obtained the painting illegally, then suggests they shouldn’t publicize they have it because the real owner will come after them.”

“Meaning, they shouldn’t get it appraised—especially forensically, which involves carbon dating or X-rays, among other things. And these people are still willing to buy it from him? Damn.”

“There are quite a few under-the-table collectors out there who are more interested in knowing they have an original piece of art—no matter how they obtained it—than they are in showing it off to one and all. If that wasn’t the case, a great many forgers would be out of business. Haven’t you wanted something so badly you’d do anything short of murder to get your hands on it?”

“Not really. But then, I’m not into collecting things. Sure, maybe I’d like to own a seventy-two inch flat-screen TV, but not if I had to buy it off the back of a truck, which, essentially is what these people are doing, but on a much grander scale.”

“Precisely.”

“How are you going to stop him? By the way, who is he?”

“He calls himself Nathaniel Herriot.”

“The way you phrased that, I presume it’s not his real name.”

“No. His birth name is Nate Hanks.”

“Doesn’t have quite the same ring,” Lou commented with a grin. “If you know that, you must know more about him than the fact he’s running a con using forged art.”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” Gideon glanced at his watch and said, “I have an appointment I have to keep. Would you be willing to continue our discussion tomorrow?”

“I…Yeah, sure. Why not. When and where?”

“Say seven tomorrow night at my hotel. They have a decent bar-restaurant on the premises.”

“It might help if you told me which hotel,” Lou pointed out.

“Ah. Yes. The ART. We can meet in the FIRE lounge and take it from there.”

“You chose the place because of the name?” Lou asked with amusement.

“Not really. It’s close to the museum…and to downtown.” Gideon pushed away from the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”

“Yes. It was…interesting meeting you.”

Gideon smiled as he stood, saying, “You as well.” He turned, walking quickly out of the bar.

That was intriguing, to say the least. Not that I plan on getting involved in whatever he’s planning. I’d like to find out what it is, though. My nosy gene must be kicking in. Lou chuckled, went back to the bar to pay for the beer he’d had before Gideon arrived, then took off for home.