“Not a clue. When the Reds took over, the church was converted into a museum for scientific atheism. It was looted and then it fell into disrepair. During the war, it was used to store sacks of potatoes. If you’d see the church today, you’d realize how appalling that was. The refurbishing started in the fifties under Khrushchev. The mosaics were black, but otherwise in good condition. Good thing the original paintings were turned into tile art. Otherwise they’d probably be sold out or stolen as well.”

Decker turned to McAdams. “Anything on St. Isaac’s stolen icons?”

“Images of what was there.” McAdams read to himself. “And there was lots of looting of churches by the Germans during the war.”

“Between the Reds and the war, it’s a miracle that any religious institution survived,” Sugar remarked.

Decker said, “No connection between those lootings and the Petroshkovich thefts.”

“Nothing,” Sugar said. “Not that I was trying to find a link: different cities, different countries, different times. I just relate it to you as a cautionary tale. If a major city like St. Petersburg can’t find its own treasured artwork, you can see what you’re up against.”

“This is more than an art theft case. It’s a double murder.”

“All the more reason why I think you’re up against something bigger than yourself. But I realize you still have to try. Good luck.”

Sugar placed his teacup on the scarred coffee table, then he shuffled over to a hutch and opened the bottom cabinet. He pulled out a box and lifted it to his chest, his legs sagging under its weight. Quickly Decker relieved him of the box. “Lot of forests died for this file. Are you going to read every page?”

“Maybe even twice,” Decker said.

“Tell me if you find anything I might have overlooked. I’ll help you in any way I can. My brain isn’t what it used to be, but this case is burned into the gray matter. It’s the one that got away.”

Decker said, “We all have those.”

“Yes, we do. For me and the Petroshkovich artwork, time is running out. I’m happy to pass the mantle onto someone younger and more clever.”

“Younger is a fact,” Decker said. “The clever part remains to be seen.”

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

WHEN HE OPENED the door to the West Side condo, Decker heard a tiny female voice.

“Hello?”

He and McAdams stepped inside. Decker was holding a bag and a thermos of coffee. Tyler dropped the Petroshkovich file box on the floor. Yasmine Nourmand was at a small, round table, papers spread out so that the surface looked more white than wood. She looked up with her big brown eyes and flipped her black hair off her shoulder. “Oh, Lieutenant.” She stood up. “I’m sorry. Gabe said you went back upstate.”