is a story about a man who led a double life, one open, one completely secret, and he’s found dead—conceivably murdered—under mysterious circumstances. Whatever he says on the eve of his puzzling death becomes highly relevant, even if the facts cast a shadow on others.”
Well put, Counselor! But it did nothing to slow Topping’s tachycardia. Just then Stan Friedman came into the room with a very sad-looking John Smith in tow. Ed felt like addressing the whole group and saying, “Why, hello, Stan. Managed to get your ace investigative boy reporter back into the room, have you? But why? He’s such a child, he can’t even stand to listen to what he’s done to us all for the sake of his own childish ambition. Couldn’t even show enough backbone to stay in the room and listen to how it’s turned out, could you? Short Hills, St. Paul’s, Yale—yaaaaaagggh!… So this is what the paneled mahogany life turns out these days—weaklings who nevertheless think they have the birthright to do what they please, no matter how much it hurts mere commoners. No wonder you’re hanging your head like that. No wonder you’re afraid to look at anybody.”
The little bastard, led, practically by the hand, by Stan, was heading straight for Ira Cutler. The entire room was quiet. Everybody, every shaken body, wanted to know what this was supposed to be about. Even Ira Cutler looked bemused, something he tried never to look. Stan left John’s side and went to the pit bull’s and said something, quite a bit, in fact, in a very low voice. After a while both glanced at John Smith, whose head was hanging down so low, he probably couldn’t see them.
Stan said, “John—”
John Smith walked toward the two of them, hangdog all the way. He nodded feebly at Cutler and said something to him in not much more than a whisper. From a pocket inside his blazer he pulled several sheets of paper and handed them to Cutler. They seemed to be handwritten. Cutler studied them for what seemed like ten minutes—then the whine of the metal lathe and Cutler said, “I think John wants me to apologize for him for ducking out of the room so much. He had his phone on vibrate and had to keep stepping outside to take these calls. Gloria, at Stan’s desk, had his phone number so she could reach him. So far he’s had queries”—Cutler raised the sheets of paper as evidence—“queries from literally all over the world, and they’re all panicked about the same thing. In the relatively short time since the Korolyov Museum of Art opened, they have bought tens of millions of dollars’ worth of paintings—or maybe not worth—from dealers representing Korolyov. And that’s just the ones who have called the Herald. God knows what the total will be. I never knew he was selling pictures on the side.” Cutler looked about the room… Nobody else had, either.
Cutler broke into a pit bull grin. “Hmmmm… I wonder if he’s taking a seventy-million-dollar tax deduction from forgeries he gave the museum to wipe out whatever he’s making from forgeries on the side… On this list John has all the names, all the contact information, and he has taped recordings of the calls he made from Gloria’s desk. He’s had calls from galleries, dealers, other museums—well, you can imagine. But the one that intrigues me is the one from a guy who owns a small printing press in Stuttgart. He’s worried because he thinks he’ll be blamed for something he did in all innocence. For some Russian company he manufactured a catalogue of a Malevich show, in French, from the early nineteen twenties. He says the company provided paper from at least as far back as the twenties, old typefaces, layouts, designs, binding thread, the works. The guy thought this was for some kind of Malevich centennial, and hey, what good fun! Clever, too. Then he saw some Maleviches on the wire and internet coverage of John’s story and the possibility of forgery by some Russians and put two and two together. Gentlemen, I think what we’re looking at is maybe the biggest scam in art history unraveling right before our eyes.”
Ed and everybody else had their eyes pinned on John Smith. ::::::My God, this kid’s the one who has broken this case wide open! So why is he still there with his eyes all downcast, shaking his head?:::::: He heard Stan explaining to Ira Cutler that John Smith