“Sure, there are people who steal from graveyards all the time. The most famous theft that I know of was Alastair Duncan who was convicted of stealing a five-hundred-pound Tiffany window and selling it to a Japanese collector for over two hundred thousand dollars. He was teamed up with someone who lived in Queens.”

“Anthony Casamassima. Salem Fields Cemetery. He claimed he was liberating broken-down treasures in very poor condition. That one was solved using an undercover FBI agent.”

Max stared at him. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

“It’s all at the click of button, Max. My partner also found a very old art theft from a Russian Orthodox church in Marylebone, Rhode Island. That one interests me a little more because it’s still unsolved and the thief took items in the art nouveau period. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“The Petroshkovich icons. That was before my time, but I do remember my dad talking about it. It was a big deal.” A pause. “Now that was a professional job.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because the thieves only took the Petroshkoviches, nothing else in the church. There were things that were a lot flashier. They knew what they wanted.”

“Just like the thieves knew that your father-in-law’s pieces were real Tiffany.”

“I do not deny the value of Tiffany . . . Lord knows that’s how I put bread on the table. But the Petroshkovich icons are way more valuable because they’re rarer. When did the theft take place? It must have been around thirty years ago.”

“Yep. It’s an old case and a cold case, but it’s still wide open. And that makes it interesting.” Decker folded his notebook and stood up. “I don’t even need wide open, Max. I have confidence in my skills. All I need is just a toe in the door.”

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

ONCE OUTSIDE THE gallery, Decker and Rina walked glove in glove down Fifth Avenue, dodging the crowds of shoppers, executive and middle management suits, and tourists who didn’t mind braving the cold to get the winter discounts at the hotels. There were a couple of kosher restaurants nearby and it was around twelve-thirty, so lunch was in order. They nabbed one of the last tables at a meat restaurant in Midtown. Erelong, there wasn’t a chair to be had. Service was slow, but that gave Decker a chance to make a few phone calls, confirming interviews with other Sobel family members.

Forty-minutes later, the waiter served two hamburgers that were slider sized at prime rib prices. Still, it felt good to get out of the small town. He could actually feel his pulse rise. “How’s your food?”

“It’s tasty . . . perfect if it were a first course.”

“And therein lies the rub.”