Style, you
either have it or you
don't. And if you have it, you have it
all the time.The Rogue Goes Into A COMA
by Tux Toledo
Page 3
I
was operating in the modern art milieu at the request of Lars
Stinquist. Lars was a good friend of mine and a great patron
of the arts. He was also the president of COMA's board of
directors. He seemed to believe that the missing sculpture
was a serious matter. Obviously, I was in no position to
disagree.
According to Lars the theft was a complete mystery. One day
the piece was there, the next day it was not. The museum's
security system was adequate, with video cameras on all of the doors,
but the tapes revealed nothing. The piece had been taken by
very good professionals or it had been an inside job. Lars
was hoping it was the former.
"It was right there," Mary said, pointing to a gray, wooden platform
about three inches high.
"I see," I said, though I saw nothing. "What did it look
like?" I asked.
"Here's a photograph." She held an eight-by-ten up to my
face. "This is what it looked like."
I gazed at the photo of an L-shaped hunk of concrete, wood, and metal
cable.
"I hope you can solve this mystery before the public learns of the
work's disappearance. We can't afford to have their
confidence in us shaken. We're supported almost entirely by
their donations. Any bad publicity would be disastrous."
"I understand." I began to turn away.
She sighed deeply before she spoke.
"I don't want to tell you how to do your job, Mr. Churchill, but don't
you think you'd better keep this photo?"
I stared at her the way a jockey stares at a meddling owner who offers
too much advice.
"Yes, I suppose I do," I said, although I didn't see what good it would
do me.
She glared at me and stuffed the photo into my left pocket.
I'll have to admit that she was quite attractive when she
glared. Actually, she was quite attractive when she didn't
glare. She was of a nearly imperceptible age with every line
and wrinkle expertly covered up to the point where it gave her face the
dignity of a Dutch portrait. Pity about those paint stains on
her fingers.
"Mr. Stinquist has great faith in you, Mr. Churchill," she
said. "I hope his faith is not misplaced."
"I always do my best," I said.
"Let's hope your best is good enough." She turned to leave.
"Oh, by the way," I said to her. "Do you think it could have
been stolen during the day?"
"I doubt it," she said. "The security cameras are on all
day."
"What about the construction crew? They're here during the
day. There's lots of activity going on."
"What on earth would the construction crew want with a work of art?"
she asked. "They couldn't distinguish art from their building
materials!" She shook her head. "No, Mr. Churchill,
I doubt that any of them took it." Her chuckle was sarcastic.
"I wasn't implying that they did. Isn't the back entrance
open while they work? Couldn't someone have slipped in and
taken the piece?"
"No. The door is always closed and locked. The
temperature in the building must be carefully controlled to protect
some of our more delicate pieces. We make the workers bring
in whatever they need at the start of the day so they won't have to go
in and out. Besides, either myself or Fred Nilless is here at
all times. We would have noticed if someone had come in and
taken the sculpture. The piece is very heavy."
"Who's Fred Nilless?"
Mary couldn't believe my question.
"He's the museum's director," she said. "You didn't know
that?"
"No," I said.
"He's an important figure in the art world. Anyone who knows
anything about art knows Fred Nilless. He was very successful
in New York before joining us. We are very privileged to have
him."
"I guess I'm not too up on the art world," I said.
"So I gathered." She reached into her inventory of looks and
looked at me the way a landowner looks at a serf who unexpectedly
appears at the manor door.
© 2008 David Biagini