Marked Man by William Lashner

Impeccably planned, flawlessly executed. Taken was Mr. Randolph’s collection of religious icons, made of gold or silver, that he had purchased from all over the world, including Russia and Japan. None of those icons have been recovered, and it is assumed that they have been melted down for their precious metals. Also taken was an amount of currency and a large quantity of jewelry owned by Mr. Randolph’s wife and kept at the trust because of its supposed tight security.”
    Thinking of the haul of jewels in my desk drawer, I tried to stop my eyes from widening with interest at that little nugget.
    “Any idea of who was behind it?” I said.
    “Not really. There appeared to be an inside contact, which was puzzling, because most employees of the trust had been hired by Mr. Randolph and were insanely loyal. A young curator was suspected of being involved, but there was never enough evidence collected to prosecute her. Still, of course, she was let go.”
    “What was her name?”
    “Chicos, I think,” said Quick. “Serena Chicos. But as for the Rembrandt, its inclusion in the robbery was always puzzling. It is a signal piece, not easily sold, and, in fact, from what we can gather, it has never appeared in the black markets that deal with stolen art. It simply vanished, along with a small Monet landscape taken at the same time. Both paintings disappeared without a trace.”
    “Until now,” said Spurlock, “when you come to us claiming to have a client who can return the Rembrandt to us. For a fee, I assume. This is a shakedown, I assume.”
    “Why do you assume that?”
    “Another part of your reputation precedes you, Mr. Carl.”
    “Whatever the circumstances,” said Quick, “we cannot be involved in a shakedown.”
    “I would be appalled at the very suggestion,” said Spurlock, “simplyappalled. Except that the specific work in question is a very valuable piece to the trust, in more ways than you can imagine. One of the claims they are using in trying to wrest control of the trust is a supposed laxity in our security over the years, and the missing Rembrandt is Exhibit A. It would be very valuable to our cause to recover that painting. Unfortunately, Mr. Carl, our finances are at a difficult stage. To be frank, we are worse than broke, we are tragically in debt. We would not be able to pay near to what the painting is worth.”
    “How much is it worth?” I asked.
    “It is priceless,” said Quick.
    “Everything is priceless until a price is placed upon it,” I said.
    “At auction,” said Spurlock, “similar Rembrandts have fetched upwards of ten million dollars.”
    “Yowza,” I said.
    “But of course those paintings weren’t stolen,” said Quick. “The trust is the rightful owner of that painting. As such, the painting could not be sold at auction, it could not be sold to a legitimate collector, it could not be shown. It is ours. If we find it, we can simply take it.”
    “If you find it.”
    “How do we know your client isn’t taking us for a ride?” said Quick. “The details of the robbery have been in all the papers. You wouldn’t be the first person to come to us with supposed information about one or the other of the missing paintings. The other claims have proven to be fraudulent. Somehow I expect that this claim is fraudulent, too.”
    “There’s an L,” I said.
    “Excuse me?” said Spurlock.
    “On the back of the canvas. Apparently the work was damaged at one point. You can’t tell from the front, but my client informed me there has been a restoration. From the back of the canvas it is clear. There is an L-shaped repair.”
    Spurlock looked at Quick, who opened a file. Slowly, he paged through the documents until he found what he was looking for. An old photograph of a browned piece of canvas. He fought to contain his excitement as he passed the photograph to Spurlock.
    “Who is your client, Victor?” said Quick, leaning forward now. “And what does he want?”
    “He