“Yes, especially now that I found out that she knew about the Tiffany panels’ existence.”

“So what’s the next step?”

Decker said, “That’s why we’re here to talk to you. But get your food first. I’d love some coffee and a bite to eat. I’m sure McAdams would as well.”

“Blueberry muffin if they have it and coffee would be fine,” McAdams said. “Cream no sugar.”

“And you, Detective?”

“Black coffee. Maybe fruit—apple, orange, or banana.” Decker fished out a twenty, then thought better of it. This was Manhattan. He fished out two twenties. “On the department.”

“Sure. Let’s go upstairs. We’ll talk in my office.” He shook his head sadly. “Look, we can talk now. I can wait to eat.”

“Max, I make it a rule to never talk to anyone on an empty stomach—his, yours, or mine.”

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

THE OFFICE WAS cramped with desktops filled with paperwork. Max had cleared a small spot for the food and coffee. No coasters were needed. The furniture was weathered and scarred. As he ate a muffin, Max’s eyes scanned down the list of names. His expression was strained. “If the Rhode Island detectives didn’t find anything to indict the dealers on, I don’t see the point in adding to the rumor mill.”

Decker kept his frustrations in check—almost. “You know we’re beyond locating the stolen Tiffany panels or solving the Petroshkovich icon thefts. We’re looking for dangerous people who slaughtered two human beings. We’re going to check out everyone on the list. I’m just asking you where to start.”

Max played with the knot in his tie. “Check out Jason Merritt on Sixty-Third. Not that I think he’s done anything wrong. The Merritt gallery has been in family hands for almost a hundred years.”

Decker waited.

Max said, “His grandfather dealt in Russian icons. Like Armand Hammer, he was one of the few people who had access to Russia when it was dominated by Soviet rule. I’ve never heard that he looted anything, but he probably paid bottom dollar for religious items because postwar Russia was in shambles. People needed money and no one was interested in anything religious. Since the gallery still deals in Russian icons, it’s a good place to start.” Max turned quiet. “The second murder happened in Boston?”

“Outside of Boston,” McAdams said. “In Summer Village near Tufts.”

“I’m curious why you think someone in New York is responsible when both murders took place north of here.”

“The Marylebone detectives also started in New York. But if you have something you want to tell me about other cities, I’m here to listen.” Decker regarded the man’s downward eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m just making a simple statement—that there are lots of galleries other than the ones in New York.”