I stand and start for the front door. Connor takes a detour and leads me to The Ritz's Cigar Shop. The clerk seems to know him and makes polite conversation. Connor picks up two Cuban cigars and hands one to me.
I protest. 'I don't smoke.'
'You do now.' Pissant. Well, what the hell. When in Rome and all that stuff. So we fire them up, get in the Morgan and proceed to the reading of the will.”
My reminisces were interrupted. The door to the interrogation room opened. I was free to go.
July 1975 Philadelphia
He held the photograph up to the light.
'What do you think?' Anthony had been working feverishly since March. Three dozen 8' x 10' glossy, colored photos had arrived in the mail after the deal had been struck with Price Koch. The museum had documented every square inch of Van Gogh's 'Montagnes a Saint-Remy' for future reference and insurance purposes. It was from these that DeAngelo worked to create copy number one.
Simon swiveled his head from the full on photo to the canvas and back. The left side of his mouth rose; a smirk, and nodded his head. 'Brilliant. Will it stand up to scrutiny?'
Simon was uncomfortable with this deal from the very beginning. He and Jean Pierre had talked for hours working out the details; stripping away everything that was unnecessary and making a plan that was as elegant as possible.
'Yes and no.' Anthony glanced at Simon. 'Framed, displayed on the wall in the gallery, perhaps the only person that could tell the difference is Vincent. And, as you know, he is no longer with us. At some point in time, someone somewhere will have to do some conservation to the picture. Even then, the likelihood of detection is unlikely. Maybe one in ten thousand, probably higher. The problem lies with chemical analysis.'
'How so? The canvas is from the right period, the pigments were made from scratch, where's the problem?'
Anthony's head dropped slightly, closed his eyes halfway and said, 'The pigments. Yes, they were made from scratch. Here's the problem. Radioactivity. There is more in the atmosphere today than in Vincent's time. The pigments are distilled from natural products grown in soil. The soil's radioactivity level is higher. It will show up. But, these tests are expensive, they take time, some destruction of the painting is necessary; however small. The reality is that these tests will never be run.'
Jean Pierre had suggested limiting exposure as much as possible. He was adamant. Anthony DeAngelo was to go nowhere near the museum. Same with Simon. The weak link in the entire process was to fall upon Price Koch. If anything were to go wrong, it had to be there.
'And if the tests are run?' Simon wanted to cover all bases.
'A couple of things. First, the results will be inconclusive. Historically speaking, for every expert that claims the painting is fake there will be one that asserts its authenticity. Secondly, and once again this is based on historical precedent, even if the museum believes it to be a fake, well, they'll be too embarrassed to admit it. Quite the contrary. They'll defend it. There's too much money at stake, not to mention their reputation.'
Simon was happy with the artist's analysis. 'What's the next step?'
'Almost done, chief. We age it, in that big ass pizza oven that you bought. Another week, perhaps two. Then she'll be all set. What do you want me to do about the frame?'
'Nothing.'
This was another detail that Jean Pierre contributed to the plan. Simon was visiting JP's villa in the south of France during the hatching phase. 'The less moving parts, the better,' he suggested. 'The beauty of it is that the present frame adds to the illusion.'
'Call me when it's ready.' Simon turned to leave. 'Oh, Anthony, one more thing. I need some way to distinguish it from the original. Something additional, not something taken away. Something small that only you and I know about.'
'No problem, boss.'
Phase one was nearly complete.
One chief of staff, an ADA and a mystery man
The conference room at City Hall had a long, coffin shaped mahogany table with about twenty chairs. There were three exquisite crystal chandeliers, oriental carpets and walls covered with oil paintings of long dead city officials.
'Mr. Picker, I'm so glad that you could join us.' I was shown into the room by a lovely Latina secretary with dark hair, a light brown complexion, an incredible figure and four inch spike heels. The man speaking introduced himself as the mayor's chief of staff.
'My name is Charles Barker. This is Assistant District Attorney Margaret Moore.' Barker nodded to a mid- thirties woman with mousy brown hair cut shoulder length. She wore black rimmed glasses and a green skirt with a matching jacket.
They offered their hands. I just stood there. To my right was Laurence W. Finegold, both my friend and attorney. Larry is a junior partner with the prestigious Philadelphia law firm of Dewey, Cheethum and Howell.
CB: 'Shall we sit down.'
Everyone took a seat at the table except for me and a gentleman standing over by the window facing Broad Street. No one had bothered to make the introduction. Larry pulled a laptop from its case and set it up.
ADA MM spoke up. 'Mr. Picker, I apologize for the manner in which you have been treated. When the FBI requested that we take you into custody we had no idea that you were harassed by rogue federal agents.'
I stood there and said nothing.
Apparently, during my brief incarceration, TJ had recovered the security footage from the house. If either the police or any federal agency had searched the premises, they would have found the cameras but not the recordings. When activated, the cameras record nearly everything both inside and immediately outside my house. These recordings include rather clear audio. However, while the cameras are on the property, the actual devices that record the footage are located in a secure room up at the main house.
The powers that be had ample opportunity to view those tapes. What they witnessed were two men that came into my home, held Kelly and me at gunpoint and searched the property. Equally, if not more important, they failed to identify themselves as federal agents.
COS: 'Of course, it goes without saying, that all charges against you are to be dropped.'
I stood there and said nothing.
ADA: 'Naturally, in return for dropping the charges we would appreciate it if no one spoke any further about this matter. Additionally, we want a statement in writing which indemnifies the government of any wrong doing. And, we would like to have procession of all of the recordings.'
I stood there and said nothing. Larry, on the other hand, took this occasion to speak up. 'First, and this is non-negotiable, we want all of the booking materials, including but not limited to photographs, finger prints and printed material to be handed over to us. All digital information erased and a written statement that no charges have been or will be filed against my client in regards to this matter. That includes federal, state and local authorities.
'In return, my client will not file a lawsuit. As for gagging my client, I'm afraid that it's too late.'
Did I mention that TJ is rather handy with computers? During my brief stay with the local authorities TJ managed to accomplish the following:
He went online with a proxy server, this to elude detection. Set up a new Gmail account and in turn a new YouTube account.
I finally spoke up. 'Those security recordings will go live on the internet in,' I looked at my watch, 'five, four, three, two, one. Now!'
