“Yes, oh boy. It took our already explosive relationship and brought it that much closer to total obliteration.”

Decker saw that McAdams had polished off his bourbon and ordered another one for him. “You’re a smart kid. You’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe in a hundred years.” McAdams pulled out his iPad. “I got the names of the detectives on the Petroshkovich theft. Douglas Arrenz and Allan Sugar. Both are still alive.”

“Hold on.” Decker took out his notepad. “Can you spell the names for me?”

Tyler complied. “Marylebone has a small police department, about the size of Greenbury’s. The case was huge. It took up headlines for months. The department even brought in several experts on art thefts, but the case didn’t go anywhere.”

“Any theories about where the icons went?”

“I found a retrospective article on the theft that came out ten years ago. When the icons were taken, the iron curtain was still up. Now that there is easier access to Russia, the hypothesis is that they were sold to some oligarch to adorn the walls of his dacha. Petroshkovich is better known in Russia than here. No doubt they could command high prices from the newly minted bourgeoisie. I really don’t see them as having any connection to the theft of two small Tiffany panels, but it’s your call.”

“I’m sure you’re right, McAdams. However, if the detectives are on our way to the city and they’re willing to talk to us about it, we should meet with them. Maybe they’ve come across some black market dealers.”

“Sure.” The server brought a refresh on the alcohol and the food. McAdams picked up the drink. “This is truly going to put me under. As if I’ll need help. I have a very loud alarm clock. You still want to leave at seven.”

“Yep. Find out anything tonight?”

“I found out that the student libraries are open late, late, but not the reference desks. The biggest one—at Duxbury—closed at eight. There are hundreds of books of antique plates and maps in that one library alone. I’ve paged through seven of them and they all looked clean. Then I went to Rayfield at Littleton—which closes at nine. I went through another five—all clean. The assignment is going to take hours.”

“God is in the details.” Decker munched on a celery stick. “You should go to law school, Tyler. You’ll be overworked but at least you’ll be compensated.”

“And this coming from a man who walked away from the title esquire.”

“I’m blue collar. You’re not. You know the salaries of an average working detective. You’re a rich kid. Why would you want to deal with all that jealousy from the department?”

“Are you jealous?”

“I might have been in my younger years.”

“And now?”