Decker took out a notebook and began to take notes. His wont was to sink into the back of the couch. Instead, he chose to be professional, precariously perched on the cushion’s edge, feeling about as balanced as a Cezanne painting. Weird that he should be thinking in art metaphors. “This is the deal, Mrs. Sobel.”

“Melanie, please. Mrs. Sobel is my mother-in-law.”

“Okay, Melanie, let me explain the logic. Detectives always work from the inside out—”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s always the husband who knocks off the wife.”

“I wasn’t thinking about guilt although you’re making a good point. I was thinking those closest to the victims of the crime usually know the most. I started with Ken, now I’m interviewing his children.”

“But there are a zillion people who know about the panels. My father-in-law has two brothers. My husband has cousins. Why start with Ken?”

“First of all, I’ve got your entire family on my list. I started with Ken because he was my first contact. And he seems to be the leader of the family.” Decker waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “I’m just going down in order. Your husband is working and you were kind enough to let me talk to you at ten in the morning. So here I am.”

She threw up her arms. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Ask away.”

“I’m going to ask some pretty obvious questions, so bear with me. Did you know that the crypt had original Tiffany pieces?”

“Of course. Everyone in the family knows. And probably a lot of people not in the family. Ken is not the model of discretion. And if you’re looking for someone to grill, I would suggest you talk to Max again. It’s like the one thing he wants that he can’t get hold of. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

Decker tried to keep his face flat. “Really?” She didn’t answer. He said, “I went online and looked at the Stewart and Harrison gallery inventory. The place has things far more valuable than the windows.” She still didn’t answer. “Does Max have any vices I should know about?”

“If you call greed a vice, then yes. With Max, it’s always about having more, more, more. And he accuses me of being a spendthrift.”

“He’s a spendthrift?” No response. “Is he in hock?”