Reid brought his portfolio case over to the table. He unlatched the sides and opened it.
“If you don’t mind, I would prefer you not touch them,” he said. “But look as much as you like. As we discussed, there are three in total.”
Ellis examined the first Pollock, hovering over it to get a closer look. He then turned to Allison, silently asking her to opine.
“Perfect,” she said.
“May I see the others?” Ellis asked.
“Of course.”
Reid carefully flipped over the first Pollock, revealing the second one beneath it. Once again, Ellis looked up at Allison after examining it. This time she merely nodded.
That was Reid’s signal to flip the page. He repeated the ritual a third time.
“Three million dollars, cash,” Ellis said.
Reid didn’t sense that he was questioning the price. He was merely stating it.
“Yes,” Reid said.
“Tell Mr. Ellis how you came upon these pieces, Reid. As you know, collectors always like hearing about that.”
“The seller is a man who was very close to Lee Krasner, Jackson Pollock’s widow, for much of Lee’s later years. These were given to him by Ms. Krasner as gifts before she passed.”
“And why is he selling now?” Ellis asked.
“He just feels it’s time. He’s an older gentleman, and he’s considering estate-planning issues.”
“Do you have any other questions, Harrison?” Allison asked.
“I don’t. Do you?”
“No. I think we’re all good here.”
“All except the payment,” Reid said.
That’s when the door flung open. Even before Reid saw who was on the other side, he knew what was happening. And cursed the fact that he hadn’t listened to that hinky feeling.
20
Captain Tomlinson knocked on Gabriel’s half-open door.
“The pleasure of your company has been requested by our brothers and sisters on the federal side of the street.”
Gabriel looked over at Asra.
“What about?” she asked.
“All they said was that they had some information that might be relevant to your investigation and wanted a sit-down.”
“When and where?” Gabriel asked.
“They were kind enough to slum it over here,” Tomlinson said. “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
Gabriel hated these interdepartmental meetings between the FBI and the NYPD, but they were a fact of life in law enforcement. They didn’t at all resemble the way they were portrayed on TV, however, like celebrity marriages gone bad with screaming on both sides about jurisdiction. In reality, they were simply a different constituency you had to manage. Like a boss you didn’t necessarily like.
When Asra and Gabriel arrived in the captain’s office, the feds were already there. A man and a woman.
Tomlinson’s office wasn’t quite large enough to accommodate four guests. Two squad room chairs had been pulled into the room for Gabriel and Asra, but it made for an awkward seating arrangement: Tomlinson behind his desk, the feds in his guest chairs facing him, and Asra and Gabriel sitting behind them, as if they were the audience and Tomlinson was performing onstage. The feds, at least, twisted their seats to form something of a circle.
For most people, ADA and AUSA are interchangeable titles. They’re all prosecutors. But much as the NYPD and FBI each have their types, so do local and federal prosecutors. As a general matter, those budding attorneys who had the choice chose to go to the federal side. The pay was better, and the level of criminal more sophisticated. That mattered more for lawyers than for cops because it made for an easier transition to the private sector later in their careers. On the other hand, the work was more interesting on the local side. Gabriel thought that being in federal law enforcement was all about financial crime, with the victims sometimes even less sympathetic than the perpetrators. Ella seconded that opinion, and she should know—unlike him, she’d had a choice of employers, and she’d chosen the DA’s office without hesitation.
“I’m AUSA Parker Henderson,” the man said.
He looked like a federal prosecutor. Young, clean-cut, probably from money, or maybe he’d had a big law firm job before going to work for the government.
“Special agent Allison Lashley,” the female fed said.
Gabriel looked to Asra. From her smile, it had clicked for her too.
“We’ve been looking for you, Ms. Lashley,” he said.
“Apologies for waiting so long for this reveal,” Henderson said. “We wanted to see how things played out before we had this meeting.”
“Someone want to tell me what it seems like you all already know?” asked Tomlinson.
“Special Agent Lashley here was the last person to see James Sommers alive,” Asra said.
“Second to last,” she said. “I didn’t kill him.”
Henderson said, “Mr. Sommers was, unfortunately for him, ensnared in a federal operation concerning stolen art. Special Agent Lashley told Mr. Sommers about his misfortune only a few hours before his murder.”
“I was undercover as an art appraiser for a client,” Lashley said. “I accompanied my CI—a guy who had done a previous deal with Mr. Sommers a few years earlier—to do a buy. A Jackson Pollock to be purchased from Mr. Sommers and his partner, a man named Reid Warwick. After that went off without a hitch, I reestablished contact with Mr. Sommers and we arranged a more significant buy. A three-purchase sale. I met with Mr. Sommers and Reid Warwick in Mr. Sommers’s office to discuss this sale. After Mr. Warwick left, I revealed myself to Mr. Sommers as a federal agent.”
“Was Sommers going to flip?” Asra asked.
“He didn’t have much choice. Under the sentencing guidelines, even for a first-time offender, he was looking at real time. And guys like James Sommers, they’re not built for prison.”
“So what happened that caused Mr. Sommers to crack his skull shortly thereafter?” Gabriel asked.
“Not sure,” Lashley said. “Sommers and I discussed the next steps. The standard stuff. Not to tell anyone, even his wife. That he should pretend that the deal we were doing went off without a hitch. That he’d wear a wire for the payoff with Reid Warwick. And when we were done, I left him very much alive in his office.”
“We figure that, despite our instructions, Sommers told Warwick,
