original back to the museum.”
“If you sell it as the original, it’s a forgery not a copy.”
“Call it whatever you want. The important point is that a Degas masterpiece is returned to both the Gardner and the world. A pretty good thing, don’t you think?”
I speak as if coming out of a drug-induced fog. “But some innocent collector is going to be out millions.”
“Not so innocent. Remember, whoever buys it believes he’s buying a stolen masterpiece.”
“Like that guy? What’s-his-name?” My mind refuses to work. “You know, that dealer in New York who had duplicates of paintings forged then sold both as the original? Starts with E . . . Ely Sakhai.”
“Claire,” Markel says. “You’re not listening. Not even to yourself. Yes, Ely Sakhai did forge paintings and sell them both as originals. But that’s not what we’re going to do. We’re going to give the original back to its rightful owner. It’s a completely different thing.”
“Then the buyer will find out about it,” I protest. “He’ll go to the police.”
Again the twinkle. “And what will he tell them? That his stolen masterpiece turned out to be a fake? And anyway, he’ll have no idea who sold him the painting. I know how to protect myself.”
I need him to slow down. His fast answers are coming too fast. Yet my questions won’t stop either. “What about the sellers? Won’t they be pissed?”
“They get their money, what do they care?” Markel shrugs.
Then I realize what’s really bothering me. “The other paintings. The other ones stolen from the Gardner. You know where they are.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “I have no idea.”
I hold his gaze. “You know where you got this one.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“But—”
“I was contacted by someone who asked if I had a high-end client who might be interested in a ‘significant’ piece of art. I said that, of course, it depended on the piece, but yes, I probably did. To make a long story short, I had a number of conversations with a number of people, who used what I can only assume were false names—which is exactly how I intend to handle the sale from my end. And finally, one told me what they wanted to sell.
“At first I said no, that I had no interest. But then I started to think about returning it to the Gardner and came up with this plan. I called them back and said I thought I had just the right person.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Think about it,” Markel says, warming to the subject. “ After the Bath, back in its rightful place in the Gardner Museum. Millions of people are thrilled. The seller gets his money, and the collector gets what he believes is a Degas, at least until he finds out the truth in the press, and then it will be too late. You and I get to feel really good about ourselves. Not to mention, your own work gets the exposure it deserves.”
“It can’t be that simple.”
“The alternative is that some other broker sells it to some crook who most likely keeps the painting underground, moving it through the black market as collateral for weapons or drugs. Not taking care of it. Never to be seen. This will save After the Bath from that fate.”
I don’t really understand what he’s talking about, and I’m not sure it makes sense. “Why don’t you just give it back to the Gardner now? Why do you need the rest of it?”
“I have to cover my back. And my expenses.”
“You need money?”
“ Don’t be naive, Claire. It doesn’t suit you.”
“But the gallery? All your artwork?” I’m honestly puzzled.
Markel hesitates, then says, “The last few years have been tough. Business is way down, as is the value of art. And those alimony payments never change.”
“But you could collect the reward.”
“Not if it’s returned anonymously. And I can’t get my name or the gallery involved. Even if there’s no chance of prosecution.”
Markel has clearly thought this through, and I can’t find any
“If you sell it as the original, it’s a forgery not a copy.”
“Call it whatever you want. The important point is that a Degas masterpiece is returned to both the Gardner and the world. A pretty good thing, don’t you think?”
I speak as if coming out of a drug-induced fog. “But some innocent collector is going to be out millions.”
“Not so innocent. Remember, whoever buys it believes he’s buying a stolen masterpiece.”
“Like that guy? What’s-his-name?” My mind refuses to work. “You know, that dealer in New York who had duplicates of paintings forged then sold both as the original? Starts with E . . . Ely Sakhai.”
“Claire,” Markel says. “You’re not listening. Not even to yourself. Yes, Ely Sakhai did forge paintings and sell them both as originals. But that’s not what we’re going to do. We’re going to give the original back to its rightful owner. It’s a completely different thing.”
“Then the buyer will find out about it,” I protest. “He’ll go to the police.”
Again the twinkle. “And what will he tell them? That his stolen masterpiece turned out to be a fake? And anyway, he’ll have no idea who sold him the painting. I know how to protect myself.”
I need him to slow down. His fast answers are coming too fast. Yet my questions won’t stop either. “What about the sellers? Won’t they be pissed?”
“They get their money, what do they care?” Markel shrugs.
Then I realize what’s really bothering me. “The other paintings. The other ones stolen from the Gardner. You know where they are.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “I have no idea.”
I hold his gaze. “You know where you got this one.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“But—”
“I was contacted by someone who asked if I had a high-end client who might be interested in a ‘significant’ piece of art. I said that, of course, it depended on the piece, but yes, I probably did. To make a long story short, I had a number of conversations with a number of people, who used what I can only assume were false names—which is exactly how I intend to handle the sale from my end. And finally, one told me what they wanted to sell.
“At first I said no, that I had no interest. But then I started to think about returning it to the Gardner and came up with this plan. I called them back and said I thought I had just the right person.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Think about it,” Markel says, warming to the subject. “ After the Bath, back in its rightful place in the Gardner Museum. Millions of people are thrilled. The seller gets his money, and the collector gets what he believes is a Degas, at least until he finds out the truth in the press, and then it will be too late. You and I get to feel really good about ourselves. Not to mention, your own work gets the exposure it deserves.”
“It can’t be that simple.”
“The alternative is that some other broker sells it to some crook who most likely keeps the painting underground, moving it through the black market as collateral for weapons or drugs. Not taking care of it. Never to be seen. This will save After the Bath from that fate.”
I don’t really understand what he’s talking about, and I’m not sure it makes sense. “Why don’t you just give it back to the Gardner now? Why do you need the rest of it?”
“I have to cover my back. And my expenses.”
“You need money?”
“ Don’t be naive, Claire. It doesn’t suit you.”
“But the gallery? All your artwork?” I’m honestly puzzled.
Markel hesitates, then says, “The last few years have been tough. Business is way down, as is the value of art. And those alimony payments never change.”
“But you could collect the reward.”
“Not if it’s returned anonymously. And I can’t get my name or the gallery involved. Even if there’s no chance of prosecution.”
Markel has clearly thought this through, and I can’t find any
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