The Perfect Marriage(62)
“Welcome, Reid,” she said. “Allow me to introduce you to my client, Harrison Ellis. Harrison, this is Reid Warwick.”
The soon-to-be owner of three Jackson Pollock pieces was African American, which surprised Reid, although he realized it shouldn’t have. No rule said that only white people should have expensive art, or the millions of dollars in cash it took to buy it.
The buyer was wearing a three-piece suit, which didn’t mesh exactly with his goatee.
Reid shook his benefactor’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ellis.”
“Please, let’s be on a first-name basis. Call me Harrison. And may I call you Reid?”
“If you have the three million dollars we discussed, you can call me whatever you want.”
It was Ellis’s turn to smile. “It’s in my car, being guarded by my driver.”
Reid got that hinky feeling again. He’d brought the Pollocks, after all, and expected a simultaneous exchange. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to bail on the chance of walking out $3 million richer.
“Still don’t trust me, do you, Allison?” he said.
“Why would you ever say that?” Allison replied with a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth expression.
“So I guess one of us has to show the other his first, right?”
“I know you’re not shy, Reid,” Allison said. “Be my guest.”
Reid brought his portfolio case over to the table. He unlatched the sides and opened it.
“If you don’t mind, I would prefer you not touch them,” he said. “But look as much as you like. As we discussed, there are three in total.”
Ellis examined the first Pollock, hovering over it to get a closer look. He then turned to Allison, silently asking her to opine.
“Perfect,” she said.
“May I see the others?” Ellis asked.
“Of course.”
Reid carefully flipped over the first Pollock, revealing the second one beneath it. Once again, Ellis looked up at Allison after examining it. This time she merely nodded.
That was Reid’s signal to flip the page. He repeated the ritual a third time.
“Three million dollars, cash,” Ellis said.
Reid didn’t sense that he was questioning the price. He was merely stating it.
“Yes,” Reid said.
“Tell Mr. Ellis how you came upon these pieces, Reid. As you know, collectors always like hearing about that.”
“The seller is a man who was very close to Lee Krasner, Jackson Pollock’s widow, for much of Lee’s later years. These were given to him by Ms. Krasner as gifts before she passed.”
“And why is he selling now?” Ellis asked.
“He just feels it’s time. He’s an older gentleman, and he’s considering estate-planning issues.”
“Do you have any other questions, Harrison?” Allison asked.
“I don’t. Do you?”
“No. I think we’re all good here.”
“All except the payment,” Reid said.
That’s when the door flung open. Even before Reid saw who was on the other side, he knew what was happening. And cursed the fact that he hadn’t listened to that hinky feeling.
20
Captain Tomlinson knocked on Gabriel’s half-open door.
“The pleasure of your company has been requested by our brothers and sisters on the federal side of the street.”
Gabriel looked over at Asra.
“What about?” she asked.
“All they said was that they had some information that might be relevant to your investigation and wanted a sit-down.”
“When and where?” Gabriel asked.
“They were kind enough to slum it over here,” Tomlinson said. “They’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
Gabriel hated these interdepartmental meetings between the FBI and the NYPD, but they were a fact of life in law enforcement. They didn’t at all resemble the way they were portrayed on TV, however, like celebrity marriages gone bad with screaming on both sides about jurisdiction. In reality, they were simply a different constituency you had to manage. Like a boss you didn’t necessarily like.
When Asra and Gabriel arrived in the captain’s office, the feds were already there. A man and a woman.
Tomlinson’s office wasn’t quite large enough to accommodate four guests. Two squad room chairs had been pulled into the room for Gabriel and Asra, but it made for an awkward seating arrangement: Tomlinson behind his desk, the feds in his guest chairs facing him, and Asra and Gabriel sitting behind them, as if they were the audience and Tomlinson was performing onstage. The feds, at least, twisted their seats to form something of a circle.
For most people, ADA and AUSA are interchangeable titles. They’re all prosecutors. But much as the NYPD and FBI each have their types, so do local and federal prosecutors. As a general matter, those budding attorneys who had the choice chose to go to the federal side. The pay was better, and the level of criminal more sophisticated. That mattered more for lawyers than for cops because it made for an easier transition to the private sector later in their careers. On the other hand, the work was more interesting on the local side. Gabriel thought that being in federal law enforcement was all about financial crime, with the victims sometimes even less sympathetic than the perpetrators. Ella seconded that opinion, and she should know—unlike him, she’d had a choice of employers, and she’d chosen the DA’s office without hesitation.