“If it was a shooter, he’d have gone to the police. Maybe a harassing phone call or someone tailing him. All of us think he’s still hiding something. We all think that it could be that he was involved in the thefts.”

“Could be if he took a header. I’ll make a dozen copies of the keys and we can begin to search for the missing bin—if there even is one. When are you back in Greenbury so I can send you a copy to compare it with Angeline’s keys.”

“I’ll call up my captain and let him know. He’ll take care of it.”

“Good. What’s your next step?”

“Since it appears that Angeline was stealing art plates from the Petroshkovich book, I’m going to visit Jason Merritt—the dealer who specializes in Russian art. It seems a little lightweight for him, but I have to check it out. Any word from Professor Gold?”

“Nope. I’ll give him a call. Keep me informed.”

“I will. Bye.” Decker hung up, called up Mike Radar, and explained the situation.

Radar said, “So you want me to see if Angeline has an identical key on her ring. And if she does, to start looking for storage bins in our area.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll assign the hunt to Ben and Kevin. If there is a match, they’ll let you know.”

“So can you call Chris Mulrooney in Summer Village and set it up?”

“Yeah, sure. When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Tonight, hopefully.”

“Good. I’m going to Rayfield Library to pull Lance Terry’s card. While I’m there, I’ll nose around, talk to some of Terry’s pals, find out if the kid was actually threatened. We’ll trade notes later in the day. Just watch your back. No heroics.”

“I hear you.” Decker disconnected the line. Oliver came into the breakfast room: he was back to his old dapper self—pressed white shirt, red tie, black suit, and polished shoes. He sat down and picked up a slice of toast. “I could get used to this.”

“Don’t bother. It’ll only make it harder in the long run.”

“I say live in the moment. Oh, before I forget . . .” Oliver pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Courtesy of Detective Dunn. Mr. Merritt isn’t Mr. Squeaky Clean.”

Decker looked over the rap sheet. Merritt had been cited twice for drunk driving. The two incidents had been six years apart and the last one was eight years ago. Those priors weren’t nearly as interesting as the fraud charge ten years ago.

“Two years’ probation,” Oliver said. “I’m thinking that he represented something as genuine when it wasn’t.”

“But to get the charge to stick, he had to have known it wasn’t genuine.”