Good Thief

9780373389735

0373389736

Perfect pizza!So many reasons to come to Naples, Lindsey thought as she finished off the final bite of a slice she'd ordered while waiting to meet her backup man. The fabulous view of Vesuvius and the bay; masterpieces at the Capodimonte Art Museum that took her right out of the here and now and into a different world; an exciting air of danger and intrigue from the city's long history with the Mafia; and, of course, the best pizza in the world.Eager to get into action, she drummed her fingertips on her water glass. She was waiting for Marko Savin at a patio table in the restaurant across the street from the world-famous National Archaeological Museum where she loved to browse, on quieter days, the best finds from Pompeii and Herculaneum.A sudden strong breeze stroked her neck. February winds off the bay could be quite chilly. Yesterday it had rained. She flipped up the collar of her black leather jacket, guessing the air temperature probably hung around fifty-six degrees. Billowy, gray clouds raced across the sky.She pushed the plate away and took a drink of bottled water. A sturdy Chianti, as the waiter had suggested, would make the wait easier, but she needed to be at her clearheaded best for today's buyback.After a month of investigation and then wangling, wheeling and dealing with a thief, she would buy back a painting, a small masterpiece, for its rightful owner. She would purchase an exquisite work by Artemisia Gentileschi. The little-known oil--three feet by four feet--was entitledCleopatra at the Bath.Artemisia had painted this Cleopatra in 1650. Lindsey loved the artist because she was one of the few acknowledged women masters of the time. During WWII the Germans stole the painting from the parents of Lindsey's clients. Recently, the grandson of an ex-Nazi officer who'd gone into hiding after the war had apparently stolen the piece from his own grandfather and put it up for sale on the black market. Lindsey's underground contacts--which were extensive since she had carefully cultivated them after becoming a middlewoman in this business over five years ago--ranged from street sages to shady "fences" to auctioneers, cabdrivers and snooty museum buyers. One had not only been able to help her find the painting, but shared the rumor with her that the grandson, Heinie Gottschalk, wanted the money from the sale to take his little drug-running business to new highs. Or lows, depending on how you looked at it.She sighed. Maybe that was true. Maybe not. She didn't allow herself to judge or guess at what people did with the money exchanged in the buys. Her job was to serve clients who could not get justice through the legal system. Insurance companies, private businesses and individuals--at one time or another, she'd negotiated a deal for them all. The blackmarket buybacks sometimes felt a little shady. After all, her clients didn't like paying for items they rightfully owned. But if her fees sometimes felt like thievery, she at least had the consolation of knowing she was a good thief, on the side of justice.A man at a nearby table cleared his throat and stared at Lindsey's hand. She stopped drumming. Why hadn't she at least ordered coffee? She recalculated the time to reach Capodimonte Park, the site of the exchange. She'd set up the buyback there not just because the location was convenient and public, but also because of the poetic justice involved. The Capodimonte Palace, built in the late 1700s and now the site of the art museum, displayed what was perhaps Artemisia's best-known piece, done in the chiaroscuro style of the more famous, but in Lindsey's opinion not more talented, Caravaggio, and entitledJudith Slaying Holophernes.Lindsey would buy back a piece of stolen art under the caring eye, so to speak, of the artist herself in the sense that Artemisia lived on in her work.Lindsey checked her watch. 12:56. Still early. But S