Chapter 18 – They Meet
The first people to show up at the press conference, an hour early, were the cops, in the form of the Chief. A few minutes later the Mayor showed, both of them barging into the Director’s office, stepping on each other's, “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell us you solved the case? This makes us look like goof-offs, blah blah blah.”
The Director said, “You know as much as I do. Stop yelling. I don’t like it either, but the insurance company said they won’t pay if we don’t cooperate with their guy. I want either the painting back or the two and a half million, and that’s why I’m doing what the guy says. He wants a press conference with champagne, and he’s paying for it, that’s ok with me.” He paused, looking at the Chief of Police, said, “You haven’t, by the way, solved the case, have you?”
The Mayor looked at the Chief, who said, “Not yet. Been working on the flag thing.”
“The what?” said the Mayor.
“You know what. You told me to get on it, day and night, and that’s what I’m doing. Me and the boys.”
The Director said, “What flag thing?”
The Mayor and the Chief looked at each other like the Director had been on Mars for the last week. The Mayor answered, “Some idiots are running Confederate battle flags up all the flagpoles around town, middle of the night. We take down ten, the next morning there’s ten more up, flappin in the wind. Gonna make CNN soon if it keeps up. The boys gotta stop it. All hands to the pumps.”
The Director said, “Ergo, why the insurance guy gets his way. It’s almost time, let’s go up to the gallery and see what he’s going to say. We can get a glass of bubbly; I need one.”
Both the Chief and the Mayor thought, ‘So do I. God damn flags.’
They went upstairs and walked down the long hallway at the end of which is the large glass case in which is displayed Gershwin’s piano. Past that is the silver collections gallery, outside of which were two long folding tables that held a hundred glass champagne flutes and ten bottles of champagne in ice buckets. The Curator stood behind the table with two of his staff, ready to pour. Tommy was inside the gallery, sitting on a chair at the base of the wall where the Bedgewood painting, until very recently, had hung. He was going over his notes when the Mayor, Chief, and Director came in, flutes in their hands.
The Director said, “The Mayor and the Chief want to know how you solved the case, and why you didn’t tell them.”
Tommy didn’t stand up, but stayed seated and stretched his legs out towards the illustrious trio. “How’s the champagne? I haven’t tried it yet, but I told them to buy good stuff. And I can use a drink.”
The Mayor said, “It’s good, it’s good. Now, how’d you do it? Where’s the painting? You gonna hang it back up there?”
The Director was hanging on Tommy’s answer, because, quite frankly, he had been hoping the painting was long gone, and he was going to get a check for two and a half mill that he was going to use to enlarge his office and put in new leather furniture, among other pet projects, maybe change the menu in the cafe, more seafood.
Tommy was ready for these guys and said, “I’ve been here six days, plus Sunday, which I took off, spent most of the day in church, and I know who stole it. I don’t have it yet, but I will. I’m not sure how soon, but you’ll get it back. We’re going to meet the thief tonight, in a few minutes. It may take me a while to convince,” and here he almost said, “her,” but caught himself and said, “the person to give it back. But I will.”
The Director looked at the Chief who looked at the Mayor, all of whom then looked at Tommy, still sitting in the chair with his legs stretched out. The Chief said, “You’re going to introduce me to the thief? And I’m going to arrest him? Now?”
“I said we’re going to meet the person. By that I mean the person’s going to be here, but I’m not going to introduce the person, nor are you going to arrest the person. That comes later, and the reason is that I don’t yet have the proof I need to prosecute. And I don’t have the painting. That will come later, also. The investigation began when I arrived, and tonight is the start of the chase. The painting will be back soon.” Before the three VIPs could start squawking, the media began coming into the gallery, talking to each other, asking if they ever had been to a crime press conference where someone was serving Verve Clicquot Yellow Label champagne.
The dialogue changed from the VIPs assaulting Tommy to the media and press assaulting the VIPs, which let Tommy relax for a few moments, watch the crowd file in, and scan for his target, who he was certain would attend. By 5:10pm the gallery was full, most of the flutes had been filled and placed in hand, and Tommy stood on a riser under the rectangle of faded paint on the wall, flanked by the three bigwigs. He clapped his hands for attention, then a second time, and the crowd quieted. He said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming this evening. This press conference will be very short, and afterwards I invite you to partake of another glass of champagne." He paused and looked around, relaxed, enjoying himself, hoping this scheme would work. "I want to thank the Director of the museum, the Mayor, and the Chief of the Charleston Police Department for their support. I represent the firm that underwrites the insurance for the museum, including the provisions for theft of objects. As you can see from the space behind me, we have had a theft, and the parties involved are taking that very seriously. It is the City of Charleston that will suffer the most if the painting is not found and returned. The painting was insured for two and a half million dollars, which is an indication of its value to the museum and the community." Tommy again paused, used the moment to continue his scan of the crowd, and recognized Gale and Jinny standing against the back wall of the gallery, as the two people who had been sitting with me in the cafe.
"The purpose of this conference is to provide a status report of the company's investigation to this point. Thus far we have completed an analysis of the facility's security system, and compiled a history of the painting. I cannot at this time provide you with copies of those, but I can say both have informed the investigation in very significant ways. The combined information in the reports strongly points to the identity of those who stole the artwork, and we believe the thieves and the painting still are in Charleston. It is my hope, my opinion, that the perpetrators will be caught and painting returned here, once again to grace the walls of this gallery."
Jinny leaned against Gale and said, "What's a perpetrator?"
"You, you idiot. You're the perp, us," she whispered.
Tommy went on, "That is all the information we have to share at this time. Let me simply emphasize the positive nature of the investigation. I know you will have questions, some of which I will be able to answer and some of which I will not. I cannot provide much in the way of details tonight, but as progress is made, and it surely will be made, we will issue other press releases in a timely manner. Thank you for coming, and again, please help yourselves to refreshments in the hallway."
Normally at this point the media would pepper the host of a press conference with a deluge of questions, but most of them now, strangely, seemed drawn back into the hallway and the tables on which sat the squat bottles with yellow labels. Three quarters of the crowd refilled their glasses and talked about what Tommy had said, while a few of the more serious ones did cluster around Tommy and asked him questions, most of which, apologetically, he refused to answer.
Gale and Jinny floated into the hallway, got refills, and came back into the gallery, where they looked at the fabulous silver collections in the plexiglass cases. Gale said, "See that teapot? I love it, and I'd have had it in my dining room now, but Gwen wouldn't let me take it. I don't see why she can steal stuff and I can't."
Jinny knew better than to answer, and circled around the small group who surrounded the the lone figure of Tommy - the Director, Mayor, and Chief all having left to get their own refills before the good stuff ran out. After ten m
inutes the last reporter scribbled a last note and headed for the tables in the hallway, leaving Tommy, Jinny, and Gale alone in the gallery. Tommy had been watching them watch him, and knew something was up. It looked to him like his scheme to flush out the thieves was working, and his excitement built. But, where was I, who he knew was the star of the occasion? He sat down on the chair against the wall, and waited.
Gale played coy for a couple of minutes, ignoring him and talking to Jinny about the silver, but then looked over at him and smiled. Tommy thought, 'God Almighty, I'll take that smile to decorate my living room, over the two mill painting, any day.'
Gale walked over to him followed by Jinny and said, accentuating her Charleston accent to devastating effect, "Good evening. Too bad about the painting. Such a loss."
Tommy smiled back at her, also to devastating effect, Gale being as easily influenced by handsome men as men are by her, and said, "Temporary loss. My name is Tommy Crown."
"This is Mr. Blistov, and I'm Gale. Do you work all the time, Mr. Crown? Twenty-four seven? Charleston can be a fun town when you have the right....friend."
Jinny knew there was no time for this stuff, having seen Gale work this ploy, successfully, a lot, and stepped in, not exactly displaying Charleston style and gentility, saying to her, "Knock it off. We got work to do here." He looked at Tommy and said, "We got a friend downstairs, wants to meet you. She's the shy type and didn't want to come up here with all these....reporters." Jinny almost said, '....with all these cops,' but managed to squelch that. "She's interested in the painting, just like you are. Funny thing." And Jinny smiled.
Tommy smiled back, then looked at Gale, wishing she'd kept going on the seduction thing, it was working, as it did on all who came under her influence, and said, "I've seen you before, I think. In the cafe, downstairs, maybe a week ago, right after I got here."
Jinny said, "That so? Maybe, 'cause we're aficionados, come here a lot, look at silver and stuff. But, hey, can you come downstairs?"
"Absolutely," Tommy said, and wondered what was coming next.
The media gluttons, never a crowd to turn down free food or drink, were draining the last bottles of Veuve, with the Curator still behind the tables. Jinny led the way down the long staircase to the entry foyer, Gale having linked arms with Tommy, showing both southern hospitality and her omnipresent horny streak, and out the main entry doors to the bluestone plaza. Parked in the middle of the plaza, surrounded on two sides by raised planting beds of flowers and on a third side by a flagpole, was a screaming yellow 1968 Mustang 390 GT, with the engine running and the exhaust issuing a restrained version of the burbling growl that fans of Bullitt know and love so well. Tommy stopped, looked, and listened; then looked at Gale and Jinny; then back at the car. This he had not expected. He said, "Umm, your friend is....?"
Jinny nodded.
"Your friend is?"
"Ms. June."
"The car? Mustang. Movie?"
Gale nodded.
Tommy's head slowly bent sideways as he processed the scene, as if looking at it at a forty-five degree angle was going to make it more believable. JeSuS, the car was beautiful; cooler looking than the dark green one McQueen drove in the movie. And the sound, in the quiet of the plaza evening....badASS. He straightened his head, took a breath, walked to the passenger side window, which was down, and looked in.
I said, "Get in Tommy. Let's drive."