Fatal Impressions (8 page)

When Rob saw the massive detectives looming in the spare black-and-white gallery, he wasn’t intimidated—he was as big as they were—but he was annoyed. They’d obviously hoped to catch Dinah without Coleman or a lawyer at her side. They’d reckoned without the steel in that magnolia, and they hadn’t known about Bethany Byrd, assistant manager of the gallery, and one of Dinah’s closest friends.

Rob greeted Dinah, who whispered that Bethany had refused to allow the detectives to enter the private part of the gallery and had threatened to call the police. Told that they
were
the police, Bethany said she found that hard to believe, and they’d have to show her a search warrant before she let them in. She knew some real police, she said, and they didn’t look and act like bozos. She said that if they’d been halfway polite, she’d have offered them chairs from the conference room. But they’d been so rude, they could stand there all day for all she cared. After firing her barrage, Bethany had returned to her desk and her paperwork, while Dinah studied auction catalogues in her office, pretending not to hear the disturbance in the gallery.

The detectives gnashed their teeth and snarled, but Bethany, all five feet five inches and 110 pounds of gorgeous in a golden brown knit suit that matched the color of her skin, held her Nefertiti head high and ignored them. Dinah said Bethany looked like a Siamese kitten hissing and spitting at a pair of pit bulls. The pit bulls had retreated.

Dinah seemed fine, maybe too relaxed given the situation, but in good shape to answer questions. She’d snapped back fast after her gruesome early morning discovery. Rob had seen Coleman behave the same way; he never ceased to marvel at the Greene cousins’ resilience. Maybe that’s what a tough childhood did for you—they’d been orphaned at an early age, grew up desperately poor, and had worked hard for everything they’d achieved.

He joined the detectives in the outer gallery. “What exactly do you want?” Rob said, after examining their identification.

“To talk to Ms. Greene,” Harrison said.

“Didn’t Coleman Greene tell you that Dinah Greene Hathaway wouldn’t speak to you without an attorney present?”

Harrison scowled. “Little blondie with the big mouth? Who’d listen to her? She screwed up a case for friends of mine earlier this year. She better stay outta my way, or she’ll find out what happens to a bimbo obstructing the NYPD.”

Rob clenched his fists. “You’ve been misinformed. Coleman Greene solved that case when the police went in the wrong direction and looked like fools.
You
should have listened to her. Now listen to
me
: if you approach my client again without an attorney present, I will take every possible step to see you unemployed.”

“That blonde is a nosy busybody, and the cops I know say different about her. What makes you think you know better than them? I won’t have her messing around in my case!” Harrison shouted.

“We’re just trying to do our jobs. We could take her downtown,” Quintero whined.

Rob considered Quintero. The guy had huge bags under his bloodshot eyes. Was he ill? “You could, and I’d be there, and I’d tell her not to speak to you. I’d also make sure that the press turned up so we’d have plenty of evidence of your mishandling of this case. I know you’ve been told to walk on eggshells, so look out. I’ll watch your every move. What do you want to ask Ms. Greene?”

“Where she was yesterday and last night,” Quintero said.

“All right. Keep it polite, and make it brief. My client is exhausted. And Harrison, stop shouting. Nobody’s deaf here.”

They sat down in the little conference room, where the walls were hung with brilliant colored woodcuts of cheerful land and seascapes Rob recognized as scenes from Provincetown, Massachusetts. This was a room people usually enjoyed. Not today. The cops didn’t notice the prints. They looked like hungry hyenas regarding Dinah as prey.

Dinah laid a green file folder on the conference table. Rob picked it up, glanced through the papers inside, and nodded approval. Dinah’s brain was working. When required, the steel emerged from beneath the creamy fragrant petals.

“Where were you all day Wednesday?” Harrison asked.

“I was at DDD&W early to meet the movers delivering prints, and then back here in the gallery from nine thirty to six thirty. Around six thirty yesterday evening, I left here to go back to DDD&W. I took a taxi and got there about seven.”

“You say ‘about seven.’ Can’t you be more exact?”

“No, but I’m sure the building’s security people can. The guards checked our ID when we arrived, and the guys who were with me to hang the prints can help, too.”

“I’ll need their names,” Harrison said.

Dinah handed him a typed sheet of paper. “I thought you would.”

Harrison glanced at it and passed it to Quintero.

“Were you and these guys together all night?” Quintero asked.

“I went to the restroom once,” Dinah said.

“While you were on thirty-three, did ya see anybody?” Harrison wanted to know.

“Early in the evening, there were people wandering around, but I didn’t see anyone I knew,” Dinah said.

Harrison leaned closer to Dinah, and she moved away from him, pushing her chair back from the table.

“Was the door to Frederick’s office open?” Harrison asked.

“I was never in the corridor outside his office.”

“C’mon,” Harrison said, scowling. “Stick to the facts, lady. You were working in the dining room. It’s next door to his office.”

Dinah took a photocopied floor plan of the thirty-third floor from her folder and handed it to him. “We came up this way,” she said, pointing out the alternative route to the dining room.

Harrison leaned closer. “Why’d ya go that way?”

“It’s the nearest way from the elevator,” Dinah said, scooting her chair back from the table again. Rob could see she was trying to get as far away as possible from Harrison. Not surprising. The man smelled like an ashtray after an all-night poker game.

“Why use the elevator and not the stairs? You’re young and healthy,” Harrison said. He leered at her breasts, subtly outlined under her loose sweater. When he noticed Rob glaring at him, he licked his lips.

Rob gritted his teeth. Harrison was looking for a fight and he’d get one, but not today. Rob needed time to marshal his forces.

Dinah’s cheeks turned pink, but her voice was steady. “The men were carrying tools, hanging materials, framed prints, and two ladders. I was carrying prints and sketches of how I wanted them hung. It made sense to use the elevator.”

“What time did ya leave?” Harrison asked.

“Around midnight.” She handed him another piece of paper from her folder. “Tom, our driver—he’s a retired policeman, this is his address and telephone number—can tell you exactly when, I’m sure, as can the building people. They signed us out.”

Harrison sneered. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned the building guards. I bet it’s pretty easy to get by those guys late at night.”

Dinah looked at him, her expression thoughtful, then turned to Rob. “Rob, you should talk to the building owner. It’s the Fry Building at Forty-Eighth and Park—Jonathan and Greg Fry were at Harvard together. The Frys will be interested in Detective Harrison’s low opinion of their guards. If people hear that the police think the building has poor security, it could hurt the Frys financially. I’m sure they’d be unhappy about what Mr. Harrison has to say about their building.”

It was Harrison’s turn to flush. He stood up and loomed over Dinah, his face close to hers. “Feel free to quote me, but if that’s a threat, you’re wasting your time. If I was you, I’d be looking to prove you didn’t leave your apartment this morning between one and five.”

Dinah’s smile was polite. “Thank you for the advice. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“You say you left the Fry Building around midnight Wednesday. What time did you get home?” Quintero asked.

“I rode with Tom to take the guys home, and then I walked the dog outside our house. It was around one when I locked up for the night. Again, Tom can tell you exactly—he waited to see me go in. I was in bed with the lights out by one thirty.”

“Can anybody swear you stayed in from one till…what time did you say you left home this morning?” Harrison asked. He was still standing, still looking down on her. But if he was trying to intimidate her, it wasn’t working. Dinah looked as cool as a snowy December morning.

“Around six. Tom picked me up; he can tell you. And the guards saw me when I arrived at the building.”

The cops exchanged glances, got up, and left without another word. But seconds later Quintero reappeared. “Just one more thing, Ms. Greene…you seem like a nice lady, so I’m surprised you aren’t sad about that poor dead woman. Don’t ya care?”

“I’m sorry she’s dead, but I didn’t know her, never even met her,” Dinah said.

Quintero, glowering, departed, and this time he didn’t come back. But Rob was sure he
would
return, and even surer about Harrison. Harrison seemed to have a hate on for Dinah, although he’d almost certainly been told to treat her politely. Why wasn’t he following orders? Something was up, and Rob would have to find out what. Unless another suspect turned up, or Dinah could prove she didn’t leave the Cornelia Street building all night, the police weren’t going to leave her alone.

Back in his office, Rob called Jonathan and reassured him about Dinah’s attitude and well-being before summarizing the news from One Police Plaza and describing the police interviews. He went on to comment on Coleman’s notes on DDD&W.

“I believe Coleman when she says something’s wrong there, something more than the problems created by the merger. She’s not usually troubled by atmosphere, and she’s not fanciful. This is the first time she’s ever even hinted to me that anything or any place freaked her out,” Rob said.

“I agree. She’s fearless. I can’t see her getting nervous about anything unless it’s truly terrible. I blame myself for all this. I gave Dinah the go-ahead on that wretched project. I know some of the DDD&W people, and I thought they were okay,” Jonathan said.

“Maybe most of them are. But one of them must be a murderer, and murder is usually about love or money. Either or both could be an issue at DDD&W. Another thing: a murder investigation might uncover a lot that people want to keep hidden. Having guilty secrets can turn bad guys worse. People kill every day to protect their secrets. I think that office is dangerous.”

“They can all kill each other far as I’m concerned. I just want Dinah out of it. Do everything you can to help her, Rob. Spend whatever it takes. Hire experts. Get every kind of test, whatever. Make a list of things you want me to do. Anything you want, you’ve got. I’ll call on everyone I know, cash in every IOU.”

“It’s worrying to have Dinah mixed up in this, but remember: the police still have a long way to go before they have a case against her. They can’t come up with how she got in that office, and they have no idea what was used to loosen the shelves. Of course, if Dinah has an alibi, their case is toast,” Rob said.

“I know. But I want Dinah out of this mess with her reputation undamaged—that’s going to take some doing. She could be all over the tabloids at any minute, and if that happens, she’ll never recover. It would devastate her,” Jonathan said.

“I’ll do my best,” Rob promised.

Rob looked at his watch. He had to make a phone call before the meeting at Cornelia Street. He hadn’t been free to tell Jonathan that he’d encountered DDD&W during his work for another client. He needed to call the district attorney’s office to find out how much information he could pass on to his friends.

The DA was investigating sales-tax evasion by art dealers and buyers. The problem was huge: a person could buy expensive art, jewelry, furs, whatever, and arrange to have the vendor send empty boxes
to an address outside New York, since items purchased for use outside the state weren’t subject to the nearly 9 percent sales tax. Meanwhile, the goods remained—tax free—in New York.

A lot of money could be saved that way, and people—even the very rich—kept trying to get away with it. But some of them got caught. The late Leona Helmsley testified before a grand jury that she’d avoided paying $38,662 in taxes on Van Cleef & Arpels jewelry. She admitted that store employees sent empty boxes from the retailer to her Connecticut estate, while she took the jewelry to her home.

In 2003, Samuel Waksal, founder and former CEO of ImClone, pleaded guilty to dodging $1.2 million in city and state taxes on nine paintings valued at $15 million that he purchased from a New York art dealer. He’d claimed the art was for use outside New York, when, in fact, it was delivered to Waksal’s Manhattan apartment.

Ex-Tyco chief Dennis Kozlowski was indicted in 2002 for conspiracy to avoid paying sales tax on six paintings, including a Monet and a Renoir, by shipping empty crates to Tyco’s headquarters in New Hampshire. In 2006, Kozlowski agreed to pay $21.2 million to resolve the tax evasion case.

There’d been no recent big arrests, but the investigators in the district attorney’s office thought that those who’d been caught were the tiniest tip of a mammoth iceberg, and they were on the hunt for others up to the same tricks, perhaps with new approaches. DDD&W was on their “suspects” list, but so far, they hadn’t charged the firm with anything.

Rob reached his contact, who confirmed that DDD&W remained on the DA’s watch list. He insisted that Rob tell him everything he knew about the company and the nature of his friends’ involvement before he gave Rob permission to tell them anything. Rob told him all he knew about the consulting firm and how Dinah came to be involved with them.

“So your client Dinah Greene is their art consultant?” the ADA asked.

“Yeah, but she only got the assignment Tuesday, and she met the DDD&W art committee for the first time a few weeks ago. She can’t possibly be involved in a long-term sales tax evasion scheme,” Rob said.

“I’m sure you’re right, but can you fax me copies of her contract and her presentation? If her name comes up, I’ll need to be able to prove she’s in the clear.”

Rob smiled. Tactfully put. “Sure. Anything else?”

“Has anyone at DDD&W mentioned other art consultants they’ve employed?”

“Yeah, wait a second…I’ve got the name in my notes. Here it is—their curator told Dinah they’d employed a firm called Great Art Management. Dinah doesn’t know exactly what they did for DDD&W. There’s a lot of weird stuff going on at that place. This is Dinah’s first venture into the corporate world, and she’s had one hell of a baptism,” Rob said.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, that’s right, you couldn’t know yet. It only happened this morning—it seems like weeks ago. There’s been a death at DDD&W. The police think it’s murder.”

“My God! Does it have anything to do with art?”

“Maybe. The head of human resources was killed, but it could have been by mistake. She’s said to have looked just like her sister, Patti Sue Victor, the ‘curator’ I mentioned. Dinah says Victor doesn’t know anything about art, and there’s no art at DDD&W for her to curate, although they used to own a collection of some kind,” Rob said.

“And it was this Patti Sue Victor who mentioned Great Art Management?”

“Yes, do you know of them?”

“I certainly do. I’ll fax you our report on them. They’re up to their ears in sales tax evasion. But we hadn’t heard DDD&W’s name connected to GAM until now.”

“What made you suspect DDD&W?” Rob asked.

“Confidentially? An anonymous letter.”

“That’s interesting. Dinah Greene had an anonymous communication, too,” Rob said, and went on to describe the delivery of the Stubbs photocopies, their disappearance and the potential problems the firm faced if they were sold, lost, or stolen.

“Sounds like there’s at least one bad guy and a ‘Deep Throat’ inside DDD&W. Does Ms. Greene have any idea who her informant is?”

“Not a clue, but if she gets any more anonymous mail, I’ll send you copies. If Dinah still has the note about the Stubbs, I’ll send you that. I hope Deep Throat didn’t suggest Dinah was doing anything illegal?”

“No, not at all. The letter didn’t mention her—just advised us to check up on DDD&W personnel who collect art. If either of you has any ideas about who might be involved in the art tax dodge, let me know right away,” the ADA said.

Rob promised to stay in touch and glanced at the wall clock. He had a little time before he had to leave for Cornelia Street. Whom should he call? Law school, his years as a cop, and even more years as a private investigator specializing in art crime had brought him into contact with a lot of people employed in the pursuit of criminals. He could call on friends in police work all over the US, and in many other countries. But given DDD&W’s major activity—consulting to business organizations—he decided to start with the Securities Exchange Commission. His SEC contact was available, and after a minimum of small talk, Rob asked if his friend had heard anything about DDD&W.

His friend hesitated. Then, “Why do you ask?”

Rob explained, adding, “I think plenty could be going on there, based on the little I know. Dinah has run into some very odd people. I don’t have to tell you that if there’s one illegal activity going on, there are probably more.”

“I can’t comment formally, but your instincts are good. We got interested in the company because of the merger. Davidson & Douglas was a consulting firm, but Danbury & Weeks is an accounting firm. Many of the legal problems in the headlines about accountants in trouble involve firms that are auditing clients for whom they’re also consultants. Auditors have to be independent. If they get consulting fees from the clients they audit, it’s a conflict of interest.”

“Do you think that’s going on at DDD&W?” Rob asked.

“They have the same potential conflicts as other firms we’ve investigated, and some of those firms are now out of business. As you say, if you find one illegal activity at a firm, there’s usually more. Kozlowski’s art sales-tax indictment was the first indication that he might be involved in other crimes. We’re hearing from many informants and investigating every allegation. I’m sure you know we get a lot of our information from whistle-blowers.”

“Are any of your tips anonymous?” Rob asked.

“Yes, why?”

“My client, Dinah Greene, had an anonymous communication from someone at DDD&W, and so did the Manhattan DA’s office. Both tips had substance,” Rob explained.

“That’s interesting. I might be in a position to share some information with you soon. I’ll call you, okay?”

“Absolutely. And if I hear anything solid, or even a good rumor, you’ll be the first to know,” Rob said.

The SEC investigator had been discreet, but Rob was now sure both the SEC and the DA were investigating DDD&W. Rob didn’t know how what he’d learned could help Dinah, but the investigations certainly opened up some possible motives for murder. As he’d told Jonathan, people will kill to hide other crimes. DDD&W could have plenty to cover up.