Portrait of an Unknown Woman (Gabriel Allon #22) (87)
“He gravitated to the art world,” said Gabriel. “Because that’s where the money was.”
Evelyn nodded. “Phillip started turning up at gallery openings and museum fundraisers, always with a beautiful woman on his arm and a pocketful of business cards. You have to hand it to him. The art-based hedge fund was an intriguing idea. Prices for blue-chip art were rising faster than equities or any other asset class. How could he possibly go wrong?”
“It never worked. That’s why he started loading up his book with forged paintings.”
They had arrived at Grand Army Plaza. “You never mentioned your whistleblower’s name,” said Evelyn.
“Magdalena Navarro.”
“Where is she now?”
Gabriel glanced toward the Pierre Hotel. “It’s her New York address. She has fifty-six million dollars invested in Masterpiece Art Ventures, all of which she earned selling forgeries for Phillip.”
“So she says. But I can’t accuse Phillip Somerset of the greatest art fraud in history based solely on the word of a former drug dealer. I need proof that he’s knowingly selling forged paintings.”
“What if you were able to hear it directly from Phillip’s mouth?”
“Do you have a recording?”
“The conversation hasn’t happened yet.”
“When will it?”
“Tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock.”
“What’s on the agenda?”
“Me.”
They threaded their way through the gridlocked traffic along Fifth Avenue and came whirling through the Pierre’s revolving door, into the refrigerated cool of the lobby. Upstairs, Gabriel knocked softly on the door of Magdalena’s suite. Sarah confirmed his identity before opening the door.
“How’s the prisoner?” he asked.
“The prisoner is resting in her room.” Sarah offered Evelyn her hand, then turned to Gabriel. “Do we need to clarify the ground rules before we begin?”
“Ms. Buchanan has agreed that your name and the name of your highly regarded gallery in London will not appear in her copy. She will describe you only as an art world insider.” Gabriel glanced at Evelyn. “Isn’t that correct, Ms. Buchanan?”
“And how will I describe you?”
“This story isn’t about me. It’s about Phillip Somerset and Masterpiece Art Ventures. Any information that I provide is for background purposes only. You may not quote me directly. Nor are you to say where this interview is taking place.”
“An undisclosed location?”
“I’ll let you choose the words, Ms. Buchanan. I’m not the writer.”
“You’re just the consultant to the Italian police who painted a fake forgery?”
“Exactly.”
“In that case, perhaps it’s time for me to meet the prisoner.”
Gabriel knocked on the door of the bedroom, and a moment later out stepped Magdalena.
“My goodness,” said Evelyn Buchanan. “This story is getting better by the minute.”
55
Pierre Hotel
They went through it once from the beginning. And then they went through it a second time, just to make certain of the relevant facts and dates. Magdalena’s childhood in Seville. Her formal training as an artist in Barcelona. The years she spent dealing cocaine in New York. Her introduction to Phillip Somerset at Le Cirque. Her role in building and maintaining the most lucrative and sophisticated art-and-financial fraud scheme in history. There were no discrepancies between the version of the story she revealed under interrogation in Umbria and the one she recounted for Evelyn Buchanan of Vanity Fair. If anything, thought Gabriel, the Pierre Hotel edition was even more captivating. So, too, was the subject herself. She came across as cosmopolitan and sophisticated and, most important, credible. Never once did she lose her composure, even when the questions turned personal.
“Why would someone with your talent become a drug dealer?”
“At first, I did it because I needed the money. And then I discovered that I enjoyed it.”
“You were good at it?”
“Very.”
“Are there similarities between selling drugs and forgeries?”
“More than you realize. For some people, art is like a drug. They have to have it. Phillip and I simply catered to their addiction.”
There was a gaping hole in Magdalena’s account—namely, the precise set of circumstances by which she had ended up in Italian custody. Evelyn pressed Gabriel for details, but he refused to budge from his original statement. Magdalena had been arrested after purchasing a forged Gentileschi in Florence. The painting was now in an art storage warehouse on East Ninety-First Street. In the morning it would be moved to the gallery of Phillip Somerset’s town house on East Seventy-Fourth Street. And at 1:00 p.m. it would be the subject of a conversation that would provide Evelyn with all the ammunition she needed to expose Masterpiece Art Ventures as a fraud.
“Will Magdalena be wearing a wire?”
“Her phone will be acting as a transmitter. Phillip’s phone is also compromised.”
“I don’t suppose he gave his consent to being hacked.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”