The Play of Light and Shadow & Writing by Barry Ergang Read Free Book Online

Any ideas about the blue stuff?”
Darnell asked him.
    “ Nah. Can’t say till it’s
analyzed.”
    “ How about prints?”
    “ Only old ones. Your thief probably
wore gloves.”
    “ That’s no surprise. The prints on the
outer doorknob are Dr. Driscoll’s and mine.”
    Warner sent a uniformed man to summon
Lakehurst, then spoke quietly to a technician who knelt alongside
the easel examining the stretcher. He rose with a painful grunt,
muttered, “Damn arthritis,” and dusted the knees of his trousers. A
few minutes later, the uniformed man escorted Lakehurst into the
gallery. Warner introduced himself, directed the art dealer to sit
on one of the benches, and sat beside him. Darnell and I stood a
few feet away. Darnell seemed suddenly remote and pensive.
    “ I need to ask you some questions, Mr.
Lakehurst,” Warner said.
    “ I‘m happy to provide what help I
can.”
    “ Thanks. How long have you known Derek
Trevor?”
    “ I met him today when Alexis introduced
us.”
    “ You’d never seen him before
today?”
    “ No.”
    “ He had your business card on
him.”
    “ He inquired about my gallery and
whether I ever display photographic art.”
    “ Then he approached you about a
business proposition?”
    “ Indirectly, I suppose. He said he had
a portfolio of photographs he hoped to exhibit someday. I said I’d
be happy to look it over.”
    Warner nodded. “Did he discuss Dr. Gaines’s
painting with you?”
    “ Not as I recall, no.”
    “ I’m told you’re the one who proposed
having this party.”
    “ That’s right. Barton was worried that
Marchand might make an attempt to steal Nomad . I thought having a crowd here might
discourage him.”
    “ So you know quite a lot about Charles
Riveau and Paul Marchand.”
    Lakehurst bent his balding head in a
brief nod. “Not nearly as much as Barton does, but I am acquainted with some of the
history, yes. I’ve learned a lot from Barton’s researches, and from
Riveau‘s journal.”
    “ Does Marchand have a history of
violence?”
    Lakehurst pursed his lips, his gaze wandering
toward a
    Cezanne. “I don’t recall hearing anything of
the sort.”
    “ So over the years, he’s been able to
pull off all his thefts without anyone getting hurt.”
    Shrewd eyes came back to Warner’s face.
“I said I don’t re call hearing
that he ever committed any acts of violence, Detective. It’s not a
fact I can verify.” His smile broadened, striving for amiability.
“If you’re asking whether he might resort to brutality to acquire
the Riveau paintings he swore to destroy, then I’d have to say yes.
Riveau’s journal suggests a passionate desire for revenge on
Marchand’s part.”
    “ Then if someone tried to get in his
way, he wouldn’t think twice about killing him?”
    “ I’ve never met Marchand,” Lakehurst
answered, his gaze unwavering. “I can’t address his thought
processes.”
    “ You think he exists?” Darnell
asked.
    “ I beg your pardon?”
    “ Do you think Marchand is a real
person?”
    “ What a question!” Derision curled his
mouth. “In his journal, Riveau recounts their years together as
partners in crime, how Marchand stole paintings from museums and
private collectors, and how Riveau painted over the genuine works
to conceal them until they found buyers.”
    “ Some were masterpieces, weren’t
they?”
    “ All of them
were. Several have never been recovered.”
    “ How could he paint over them without
ruining them?” Warner asked.
    “ By applying a gesso—a plaster and glue
mixture—to the canvas, which he could paint on. Later, if
necessary, one could safely remove the surface painting. The work
beneath would be intact.”
    “ Theft is pretty common in the art
world, isn’t it?” Darnell asked.
    Lakehurst nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so.
Many of the thieves are ingeniously clever, right down to providing
falsified provenances to deceive dealers and collectors into paying
millions for worthless paintings.