Alley Katz (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator Book 27) Page 6

  “You gonna share those?” I asked, nodding at the cookies.

  Aaron pulled the plate closer to him and didn’t answer. “You said Gustafson told you Cummings was in on the bank robbery?”

  “Yeah, and the way he said it suggested he wasn’t too impressed. Do you think Cummings was involved?”

  Aaron shook his head and picked up one of the cookies. “No, we don’t think, we know. We were able to pull his prints from one of the teller windows. They were wearing masks, but the images on the security cameras correspond to his physical description, and then with the fingerprints, it’s him, Eli Cummings, in both bank robberies. A lot of risk for not a lot of money.”

  “Yeah, and figure he’s got to split it with the partner. Are they even clearing a grand apiece?” I asked then quickly reached across and stole a cookie.

  “No, more like maybe eight hundred bucks. Fortunately, no one has been hurt yet. But it’s only a matter of time before something will happen. Trying to find him is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

  Doris suddenly returned with two platters weighed down by gigantic cheeseburgers and a mountain of French fries. As she set them down, the delicious smell wafted up, and I could almost feel the heat.

  Aaron grabbed the Ketchup bottle, turned his cheeseburger upside down, and lifted the bottom of the bun. He squirted Ketchup, slapped the bun back on the cheeseburger, and pushed the Ketchup bottle over to me. I followed suit. We didn’t say anything for the next few minutes.

  “Any idea where he might be?” I finally asked.

  Aaron made an audible swallow and said, “Who?”

  “Cummings. Who do think we were talking about?”

  “Sorry, I missed lunch today and was focused on regaining my strength.” He grabbed a couple of French fries, dragged them through a puddle of Ketchup, and shoved them in his mouth.

  “I know we’ve checked the usual known acquaintances, but we’ve come up empty-handed. Not a lot of family around. His brother and sister-in-law were killed in a car accident some years back. Parents are deceased. There’s a sister living down in Winona, but all indications are there’s been no contact between them for a number of years.”

  “It seems like a stretch that he would drive up from Winona to rob a bank where he wouldn’t get much money.”

  “Yeah, we’re pretty sure he’s laying low somewhere in town, maybe working on paintings.”

  “Painting? You mean he’s painting houses?”

  “No, Dev, paintings as in art. The type of things that hang on walls in museums and people come and look at them.”

  “The guy is an artist?”

  “Yeah, maybe, but he never seems to stick with it. Last year, there was a question of a forgery, but it was never pinned on him. He was maybe one of four or five people that were being checked out.”

  “And it turned out not to be him?”

  “If I recall, no one was ever held responsible. A portrait of a Governor’s wife from a hundred years ago. They couldn’t pin it on anyone. It’s still an unsolved case.”

  “And now the guy is robbing banks?” I asked.

  “Another very poor choice. If we had all the facts, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s one of those guys who is actually pretty smart, but he has this habit of making one bad decision after another.”

  I was thinking back to the dumpy apartment on the east side with the landscape painting on the walls and the portraits sitting on the floor. Was Cummings involved in a forgery? More importantly, had he forged something for Tubby and gotten caught?

  “Hey, Dev, come back to the here and now, buddy. Where are you?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about the other day when I went to that dive apartment where Cummings had been living. There were maybe a half-dozen paintings, three landscapes, all pretty similar, and three portraits of an older woman that were leaning against the wall in a grubby bedroom.”

  “Hmmm-mmm, it would be interesting to run those past someone in the biz who could tell if he was working on a forgery.”

  “You aware of any forgeries or thefts from a museum lately?”

  Aaron shook his head as he took the last chocolate chip cookie. “No, I’m not aware of anything, but then we’re spending all our time on nutcases shooting someone for ten dollars. That or someone looked at them wrong, so that becomes grounds to shoot. It’s crazy, man.”

  Doris suddenly arrived. “What about some dessert tonight, gentlemen?”

  “None for me,” Aaron said.

  “Yeah, I’m out too. I think just the check when you’ve got a moment,” I said.

  She reached into her apron pocket and set the check in front of me. “Pay me when you're ready, fellas.”

  I looked at the bill. Twenty-four bucks, and Aaron’s strawberry shake and chocolate chip cookies weren’t on the bill.

  “You want to split that?” Aaron asked.

  “No, I got it, and next time we’ll go somewhere fancy, and you can pay,” I said and pulled out a twenty and a ten.

  We chatted for a couple more minutes then headed out the door. Aaron was parked right next to me, and we talked for another minute or two then took off in opposite directions. Aaron, being sensible, was probably headed home. I decided that one beer couldn’t hurt and headed toward The Spot and Louie.

  Chapter 14

  There were only a couple of people in The Spot— two guys on stools and a husband and wife seated in a back booth. Louie was sitting on his favorite stool reading a two-day old copy of the local paper, the Pioneer Press. He didn’t notice me until I pulled the paper down.

  “Oh, hey, Dev, how’d your dinner go?”

  “Good, had a nice chat with Aaron, learned a little bit about Eli Cummings.”

  “I don’t suppose that little bit includes an address or what hotel he’s staying at.”

  “I only wish. But, he did confirm that Cummings is one of the bank robbers. They got a set of fingerprints at the last robbery, and they belong to Cummings. Turns out, he’s also a person of interest in an art forgery case. I told Aaron there were some nice looking paintings in that dive place Cummings skipped out of over on the east side.”

  “So when you say a person of interest, does that mean he actually forged something or that he might have forged something?”

  “More like he might have, he’s never been convicted of art forgery, but it’s another bit of information on the guy. Now I’m wondering if some aspect of that might be what has Tubby Gustafson’s attention. I just may have been way off-base with the idea of a gambling debt.”

  Mike suddenly set a beer in front of me and a fresh drink for Louie.

  “I got this. Put it on my tab, Mike,” Louie said and handed Mike a five-dollar tip.

  “Thanks, Louie,” I said and took a healthy sip.

  “So what’s your next move on Cummings?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’m thinking I’ll call the Art Institute and see if there’s someone there I could talk to regarding forgeries, maybe start in that direction.”

  “I know someone who was involved in investigating forgeries,” Louie said. She works for an insurance company. She was on a case maybe a year or two ago, some guy over in Northern Michigan who ran an art forgery ring. I think he had forged the work of two or three artists. I don’t know who they were, but she might be a good place to start.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like just what I’m looking for. You got a phone number or an email address?”

  “I do,” Louie said and pulled out his phone. He began typing in a name. “Oh, yeah, here we go. Her name is Annette Dinicci. She lives over off of Highway 10.” He proceeded to give me her phone number and then the correct spelling of her last name. “She’s a nice lady, a lot of fun, and after her second glass of wine, she’ll talk for hours about the cases she’s been involved in. Art forgery is a lot bigger business than we realize, at least based on what she’s told me over the last couple of years.”

  “Thanks, Louie. I
’ll give her a call tomorrow. Great, this guy Tubby wants me to find is a bank robber and an art forger.”

  “You ever think maybe Tubby wants to hire him? Sounds like he might be a great fit for Tubby’s organization,” Louie said.

  We chatted on for two more beers. I stayed at The Spot longer than I should have. When I finally made it home Morton was asleep and I joined him in bed.

  Chapter 15

  I was up the following morning just in time to turn off the alarm before it sounded. I shaved, showered, got dressed, and was down in the kitchen on my second cup of coffee when Morton finally made his appearance. After his morning scratch behind the ears, I let him outside and poured myself another coffee. We were down in the office by 8:30. Louie hadn’t made an appearance yet, so I made a fresh pot of coffee and settled in at my desk. I phoned Annette Dinicci at exactly 9:00. She answered on the third ring.

  “Dinicci.”

  “Hi, Annette. My name is Dev Haskell. I share an office with—”

  “With Louie Laufen. Oh my God. Dev Haskell, Louie has told me all sorts of stories about you.”

  “Well, don’t believe any of them. I’m actually a very nice guy.”

  She laughed at that and said, “Listen, we all need a friend like Louie. He’s a big fan of yours. What can I do for you?”

  I went on to explain the little I knew about Eli Cummings and how Tubby Gustafson was after me to find him.

  “Eli Cummings, the name rings a distant bell, but that’s about it. As for your Mister Gustafson, I’m a little more familiar with him but mostly based on what I’ve read in the papers. Interesting all the same. I’m wondering if you might have time for lunch. I’d love to finally be able to associate a face with all the tales Louie’s told me.”

  “Lunch? Yeah, sure. You name the day.”

  “Would you be available today?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I think I can. Let me make a couple of calls and clear some time,” I lied.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, that would be great. I’ve got an afternoon appointment in downtown St. Paul today. If we could meet a little early, say 11:30 or so?”

  “That will work just fine. You have some place in mind?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay, how about this? We’ll meet at the Gnome…” I proceeded to give her directions and finished up with, “Any problems, just give me a call. I’m wearing a black t-shirt with Bob Seger written across the front in red letters. There’ll probably only be two or three guys at the Gnome wearing t-shirts like this.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Hello, Annette?”

  “Yeah, I heard that last bit. God, Louie wasn’t kidding. See you at 11:30.”

  The Gnome is within sight of my front porch. I took Morton home and let him out into the backyard then walked over to the Gnome. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and I grabbed a table on the back deck. I sent Annette a text message telling her where I was sitting.

  Five minutes later, an attractive, dark-haired woman stepped out of the restaurant and onto the deck. She glanced around for a second or two then smiled and headed toward my table. Her straight, dark hair was neatly trimmed at about her jawline. She was dressed in blue jeans with a striped black and white top and a black blazer.

  “Dev Haskell?” she asked from about ten feet away.

  “Yeah, that’s me, nice to meet you, Annette,” I said as I stood.

  “I wasn’t sure. There are two guys in the bar with Bob Seger t-shirts,” she joked.

  “Yeah, they follow me around all the time.”

  She shook her head as she sat down, glanced around, and said, “You really are pretty funny. Hey, nice choice. This place looks gorgeous.”

  “The food is pretty good, too. Thanks for making the time to meet with me.” We took a moment to look at the menu, ordered, and chatted back and forth. We talked about Louie and some general things for maybe ten minutes until our lunch arrived. A salad for Annette and a shrimp taco for me.

  Annette took a bite of her salad and said, “So, you think Eli Cummings is involved in a forgery?”

  “No, not exactly. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure what he’s involved in. Like I told you, I’m supposed to find him for Tubby Gustafson, and I have no idea where to start looking.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned him on the phone. I read about in the paper from time to time. Do you deal with him often?”

  I nodded, wiped the taco sauce from my chin with my napkin, and said, “Certainly more than I would like. He seems to have taken an odd liking to me, unfortunately.”

  “And what will you do if you find Eli Cummings?”

  “If you’re asking will I hand him over to Tubby, the answer is no. I’ll probably give him a warning. Tell him something like, if I can find him, Tubby can’t be far behind, and he’d better leave town. That said, he’s also a suspect in a couple of bank robberies that took place over the past couple of weeks. Fortunately, no one has been hurt, and they didn’t take much money, but sooner or later, somethings bound to go wrong.”

  She nodded, taking it in, and said, “Well, after your call this morning, I did a little research on Mr. Cummings.” She reached into her purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me.

  “I’ve detailed what I learned in there. It’s not much. He’s recently been named as a suspects in three cases over the last two years. I should mention other people are suspected as well. Eli Cummings is the new kid on the block in forgery. The paintings involved were definitely forgeries, excellent forgeries. Cummings was one of a number of suspects. No one ever been charged in any of those cases. That said, there does seem to be a pattern.”

  “A pattern, you mean his particular style of painting? Is it something that’s identifiable?”

  “Not exactly, I was referring more to the market aspect of the forgery. Let me start by saying he seems talented and can copy a number of different styles. Here’s one of the keys to his suspected forgery career, and it’s actually pretty smart. The forgeries he’s been suspected of are works done by second-tier American artists. Not that they aren’t talented. In fact, they’re extremely talented. But, for whatever reason, they’re known more regionally than nationally.”

  “Can you give me an example?”

  “Oh yeah, the three recent forgery cases he’s been suspected in were sold as works by a Surrealist artist named Gertrude Abercrombie and two Precisionism painters, a man named Ralston Crawford, and another man named George Copeland Ault. They were all part of the representational movement that embraced geometric compositions with clear outlines and simple shapes.”

  I must have had a blank look on my face.

  “So, picture block buildings, simple square structures, that’s what these folks do. They painted in the first half of the last century, say from maybe 1910 to 1950. Gertude Abercrombie had a 1947 painting entitled ‘Coming Home’ that sold for, I think, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars just a few years ago. It has since been identified as a forgery. Crawford’s Smith Silo sold for almost four hundred thousand, and Ault’s Morning in Brooklyn sold for two hundred thousand, and both of those paintings have been labeled forgeries as well.

  “How is it determined that they’re forgeries? Do the original artists get involved?”

  “No, the original artists have all passed away. Usually, careful examination by experts makes the determination. Ault’s ‘Morning in Brooklyn’ was actually done in 1929. Examination of the canvas in question contained materials that weren’t available back in ’29. In that case, it was a Hansa Yellow pigment and acrylic paint. Don’t get me wrong, the work on the forgeries was excellent, but, at the end of the day, they’re still forgeries.”

  “And these things sold for two to three hundred grand?”

  “Almost four hundred for Crawford’s ‘Smith Silo.’ They were all sold at auction. Usually, but not always, to private collectors. The auction house was not involved in any way, shape, or form, and indeed had competen
t, responsible individuals initially certify the paintings. In the art world, it’s not uncommon for the auction house to purchase the paintings and then auction them off at a later date, which means that the auction house was out a big chunk of change as well, not to mention the damage to their reputation.”

  “Just for the sake of argument,” I said, “let’s say Eli Cummings was the forger. We’re still talking a lot of money on these paintings. Why would the guy be living in a two-room dive? Why is he suspected of being involved in bank robberies that can’t be worth more than six to eight hundred bucks?”

  Annette shook her head and said, “Who knows? Drugs, gambling, maybe a bad investment. He may have sold the forgeries five or six years ago to a middleman who held them for a few years. Cummings may have been paid pennies on the dollar if he didn’t have the connections.”

  “You think Tubby Gustafson might be a middleman in all this?”

  “It’s quite possible. The little I know of him, he strikes me as someone who would be quite capable in that vein.”

  We chatted some more over lunch, and just as I was about to suggest a dessert, Annette said she had to leave for a meeting. I gave her directions to her meeting.

  “Thank you for lunch, Dev. A real pleasure to meet you, especially after all the stories I’ve heard from Louie. I hope we can get together again sometime when I don’t have to run off.”

  “Yeah, I would enjoy that.”

  “Don’t forget to read through my notes and let me know if you ever find Mr. Cummings.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. Thanks again, Annette.”

  She leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek then hurried back into the restaurant. I sat at the table for a few minutes waiting to pay the bill then headed out the side entrance on the deck. I was just about to go down the three steps to the parking lot when a voice called, “Haskell?”

  There at a corner table sat a woman I didn’t recognize. Unfortunately, she was seated across from a woman I did recognize, Evelyn Marco, AKA Evil Evelyn. One of Gladys’ close friends. Her mission in life seemed to be to rain on everyone’s parade. If someone was enjoying themselves, it was Evelyn’s job to put a stop to it.