“Suppose she wasn’t ‘stealing’ anything,” Mike suggested. “Maybe it was something that was hers, a painting Lowell didn’t know about that she had warehoused at the gallery. Or that she had hidden up there in one of his storage areas.”

Elsa didn’t know anything about the Caxton business dealings, so now Mike was talking to me. “Maybe it was something that she felt she had every right to take, but Deni knew that Lowell’s people wouldn’t let her leave his place with anything. She goes in with lots of bags, makes her rounds, gets what she’s after, and walks out before his manager can check what she’s got. Then she stops by the little ledge and leaves this package-which I expect is wrapped in something protective. Am I safe in guessing this spot isn’t very well trafficked?”

“I’ve never seen anyone here except Denise Caxton. I’d be willing to bet that ninety-nine percent of the people who work in this building don’t even know it exists.”

“She makes the drop and continues on to the lobby. Lowell’s guy is waiting for her there. He either assumes, or she tells him, that she stopped off to see someone else in another gallery. Gives her a perfectly valid excuse for a short detour on her way downstairs.

“Then she comes back that same night or the next day to pick up her painting. Hell, she could even have circled the block in the cab and gone right back for it ten minutes later. Everyone says she was a risk taker.”

Elsa looked concerned. “I hope this has nothing to do with her death. It was such a silly story-it didn’t seem worth repeating when I heard about it. I never connected the two things.”

“No reason for you to have thought anything about it,” I assured her. Mike squinted to look at the number displayed on his beeper, which must have been vibrating on his waistband, while I went on talking. “At this point, we’re just grasping at anything. It’s good to know about this.”

“Let’s get back to the phone. The lieutenant’s looking for me. This’ll go over big when I tell him I’m at your hairdresser’s.”

We retraced our path back to the kitchen, where I had left my handbag. Mike called the squad while I asked Elsa to keep her eyes and ears open for information about the Caxton Gallery’s closing and move.

Mike started singing the opening bars of Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” as he hung up the phone. “Either make yourself comfortable and let Elsa lighten up your silken tresses, or I’ll get you some escorts from Midtown North to take you back to work. I’m off to beautiful downtown Piscataway.”

“What’s there?”

“Man checked himself into the local hospital this morning. He’s got an infected wound in his groin that’s festering away. Told the E.R. staff that he had an accident on a construction site, but the X rays show there’s a bullet inside. Right now the Jersey troopers are holding him. Could be that Mercer hit the bull’s-eye after all. Patient matches the description of Anthony Bailor.”

31

It pained me to admit that Pat McKinney might be right about anything, but there was no point in my asking Mike to go along with him on the ride to New Jersey. If Anthony Bailor was the person under guard in a hospital, then it was likely that he had been the gunman who had aimed at me, shot Mercer, and killed the young receptionist in Chelsea on Sunday. I had no business being anywhere near him.

“What’s your plan?”

“To get my ass down there to Piscataway before that pair of clowns from Major Case find out about it.”

Physicians were required by law to report gunshot wounds, and some clever detective in the town where Bailor sought treatment, recognizing that there were no open cases in his jurisdiction in which anyone had claimed to have injured an assailant, had the great sense to notify police in the tristate area about the suspect’s appearance.

“It looks good?”

“Yeah, the guy’s a transient, a walk-in. Used a common name but has no I.D. to back it up, and gave a phony address- a street that doesn’t exist, in a neighboring town. Fits the physical scrip of Bailor. Elsa, she’s all yours for the next fifteen minutes. Loo got a uniformed detail from the North to ferry you around and keep you safe till I come back this evening.”

There was no point arguing. Mike wasn’t going to undercut Battaglia’s direction that someone escort me from place to place. “Should I keep working on trying to find Caxton?” I asked.

“Yeah, as long as you do it from behind your desk. If you get a lead on where he is, we can confront him tonight or tomorrow morning. What you could do, in the meanwhile, is let these cops take you to Denise’s new gallery on your way downtown. See if you can charm Daughtry into telling you what he found out last night about Lowell Caxton’s exodus from the city. You may do better with him if I’m over the border, Coop. Maybe you could coax him into letting you look around the storage area.”

“Remind me what I’m looking for, exactly. The Vermeer? The Rembrandt?”

“Maybe I’ll have a better idea of that after I talk to Bailor.” He looked at his watch. “Give me an hour to get out to Piscataway, and another hour to talk to him, then I’ll either beep you or call Caxton Due looking for you.”

“Meet you at Mercer’s room when you get back tonight?”

Mike was distracted. “Suppose you were Deni and you had something-a painting, in all likelihood-that someone else wanted. Where would you hide it?”

“Let’s begin by recognizing that she had more options than most of us could even imagine. And who’s she hiding it from? I mean, if it’s Lowell, then I doubt she’d have it at home or anyplace they use together. If it’s Daughtry, then she wouldn’t hide it at their gallery. Depends, in part, on who she’s avoiding, don’t you think? It would help to know that first.”

“Forget who it is. What I’m thinking is, if it’s any kind of artwork, she could have hidden it in plain view, if you know what I mean. She could have had Marco Varelli undo any restoration. He could re-create the cover of a restored painting, or obscure a masterpiece. She could hide something like that in a warehouse, and if she treated it casually, maybe nobody would pay it any attention. You’d need her eye, her knowledge, her tutor. Maybe Deni could even carry it around in a shopping bag and nobody’d think twice of it. Maybe what’s at the heart of this case is one giant optical illusion, Coop.” Mike’s idea wasn’t altogether crazy.

“So I’ll crank up the search for Lowell, stop in to schmooze with Brian Daughtry and scan the gallery’s warehouse at the same time. Will I jinx things for you if I buy a bottle of champagne to open at Mercer’s bedside when you come back from checking out Anthony Bailor?”

“Dom Pérignon. But you gotta promise that I can be the one to break the news to him. If you get over there before I do, don’t even raise his hopes. I’d hate for this to be a false alarm. If it’s the real deal, I want to tell Mercer myself.”

Mike was ready to take off. “Great to meet you, Elsa. Keep an eye on blondie till the precinct cops get here.”

I called Laura to check my messages. There was a note from McKinney, who wanted to talk to me as soon as I got back to the office. I had a couple of hours to kill until I could expect to hear from Chapman about the identity of the man with the gunshot wound, and I had no intention of returning to Hogan Place until I knew whether this new development could turn the investigation around.

The more urgent message was from the sergeant at the Special Victims Squad, about a new case that had come in several hours ago. I phoned him immediately.

“What have you got?”

“Victim’s at New York Hospital. Twenty-six-year-old businesswoman from Georgia, staying at a hotel in town. She’s being treated for an inner ear disorder, comes to town to see a specialist. Woke up this morning but blacked out on her way out of the bathroom. She was able to call her husband back home, and he phoned the manager. Two hotel security guards got into the room and radioed for an ambulance. Then the older one told the second guy to go downstairs and wait for the EMS crew. He assumed the woman was unconscious, but she was just too weak to respond. In any event, he ripped her pajama top off and started to molest her. Finally she came around and was able to tell him to stop. Reported it to the ambulance driver as soon as she got inside and they closed the doors.”