“My brother-in-law is a good guy. Why he married Melanie is the family mystery. Well, I know why he married her. She’s beautiful. But she’s also unpleasant and a shopaholic. And don’t look at me that way, Ken. They’re going to ask their questions anyway, right?”

“Right,” McAdams said.

Sobel was angry. “I guarantee you that none of our relatives stole the panels.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Sobel,” Decker said. “But I have to start somewhere. Anyone innocent won’t mind talking to me.”

“Sure, talk to Melanie, talk to whoever you want, I don’t care.” Sobel turned to his son-in-law. “You don’t really think that Melanie stole the panels.”

Stewart put his arm around his father-in-law. “Honestly, no. That would be a new low even for her.”

“Make us a list and we’ll take it from there,” Decker said. “Also, what about locally? Anyone in town know about the panels?”

“Just Pellman here and the other watchmen.”

“We put all the mausoleum keys in a lockbox, Mr. Sobel.”

“That doesn’t mean one of you didn’t use it.” When the caretaker blanched, Sobel said, “I’m not accusing you, Isaiah. Just saying out loud what the police are thinking.”

McAdams snapped his fingers. “What about anyone at the colleges? Maybe an art professor knew about them from your parents’ time? Littleton has been around for a while and back in my dad’s time, it was noted for bringing in local experts on regional painters and craftsmen from the area. Tiffany’s studio wasn’t all that far from here.”

The boy had a brain. Decker said, “That’s a good thought.”

“I never had any dealing with the colleges,” Sobel said.

“We can find out,” Decker said. “Would you know if the panels had ever been loaned out to a museum exhibition or recorded in a book on Tiffany?”

“Or any other art glass book?” McAdams asked.

“I don’t know,” Sobel grumped. “You don’t know how depressing this is for me.”

Stewart put his arm around his father-in-law’s shoulders. “The good news is we know the panels weren’t destroyed, Ken. They were taken by someone who wanted them because he knew what they were. And the panels can’t be sold in a reputable auction house, because there’s no provenance of ownership. So if the thief is going to sell them, he’d have to use the black market. We’ll find them. If not, you’ve got insurance.”

“I don’t want insurance. I want the works.” The man teared up. “They were my grandparents’ legacy. My grandmother commissioned them from Tiffany Studios.”