Painted Ladies

He stood and came to the window. A silver BMW sedan with tinted windows was parked in a tow zone on Batterymarch.

“How do you know someone’s in it,” Lloyd said.

“Motor’s running,” I said. “See the vapor from the exhaust?”

“So probably some guy waiting for his wife or something,” Lloyd said.

“They followed me here,” I said.

Lloyd was silent. I glanced at him. His face seemed pale. He swallowed a couple of times.

“What are you gonna do?” Lloyd said.

He sounded as if his mouth was dry and talking was hard.

“I was thinking of asking you to tell me what you know about the Herzberg Foundation.”

“And if I don’t tell you?”

“I leave,” I said. “What else can I do.”

“They’ll kill me,” he said.

“If you talk?” I said.

“Yes.”

“And if you don’t,” I said.

“Whaddya mean?” he said.

“There’s a leak sprung somewhere in their enterprise,” I said. “They’re running around trying to button everything up. You know stuff. Button, button.”

“Don’t you even care?”

“Not especially,” I said.

“You can’t leave me alone,” he said.

“Can, too,” I said.

“I need protection,” he said.

“Cops can give you that,” I said. “If you got anything to give them.”

He stared down at the BMW.

“Okay,” he said. “Will you stay with me till the cops get here?”

“I will,” I said. “And beyond.”

“I don’t want to go to jail,” he said.

“Not my department,” I said. “But the cops and the prosecutors generally don’t like to put cooperative witnesses away. It discourages other cooperative witnesses.”

“You got a gun?” he said.

“Yes.”

He stared down at the BMW some more.

“And you’ll stay with me until they get here,” he said. “I can pay you.”

“Coin of the realm here is information,” I said. “I’ll protect you.”

“Okay,” he said. “Call them.”

About ten minutes after I called, Quirk and Belson walked into the office with a couple of uniformed cops. I could see a little color come back into Lloyd’s face. The uniforms stayed in the outer office, to protect us. Belson followed Lloyd into the inner office.

“Who’s in the Beamer,” I said to Quirk.

“Lee Farrell,” Quirk said. “It’s his car.”

“Tell him he does a good ominous,” I said.

Quirk grinned, and we went into Lloyd’s office, too.

61

If you don’t mind,” Quirk said, “I’d like to tape this interview.”

“I don’t mind,” Lloyd said.

Quirk took a tape recorder out of his briefcase and put it on the desk between him and Lloyd. He punched up record and put some identity on it, then nodded at Lloyd.

Lloyd looked at the recorder as if it made him uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” Lloyd said.

Lloyd was changing shape before my very eyes. The presence of the cops probably helped him feel safer. And he was probably heartened by his own decision to tell what he knew. In any case, he no longer seemed frightened. He seemed, actually, sort of dignified.

“What’s your relation to the Herzberg Foundation?” Quirk said.

“Legal counsel,” Lloyd said.

“Why do they need a legal counsel?” Quirk said.

Lloyd smiled and clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his swivel chair.

“Everyone needs a legal counsel, Captain,” he said.

Quirk nodded.

“Everybody I meet,” Quirk said. “How did you get to be legal counsel to the Herzberg Foundation?”

“It’s a tad circuitous,” Lloyd said. “I am on the board at the Hammond Museum. Through that position, I came to know Ashton Prince. And it was through Ashton that I met Ariel Herzberg.”

“What did you counsel him about,” Quirk said.

“The mission of the Herzberg Foundation,” Lloyd said, “is to locate objets d’art confiscated by the Nazis during the Holocaust, and to restore them to their rightful owners. As you might imagine, the question of rightful ownership, after all this time, is complex. I was asked to research the legality of possession and advise them of their rights in this matter.”

“What if they can’t find the rightful owner?” Quirk said.

“I believe in that case, once all possibilities are exhausted, they donate it to a museum or another appropriate entity.”

“You on retainer?” Quirk said.

“No, this was pro bono,” Lloyd said.

“Why?”

“Why pro bono?”

Quirk nodded.

“You’re not known for it,” he said.

“I’m Jewish,” Lloyd said.

“I could tell by the name,” Quirk said.

Lloyd smiled.

“My grandfather’s name was Loydjeviche,” Lloyd said. “When he got to Ellis Island, the immigration officers Americanized it.”

“And you worked pro bono because you believed in the cause?” Quirk said.

“You’re Irish,” Lloyd said.

Quirk nodded.

“My grandfather’s name was Quirk,” he said.

“You cannot, probably, know what the Holocaust means to a person of Jewish heritage.”

“I can learn,” Quirk said.

It was always a pleasure to watch Quirk do an interview. He was pleasant, calm, implacable, and patient. One had the feeling he’d be perfectly happy to sit there and ask you questions until Flag Day. He showed emotion only when it served his interest to show it. And when he did, its contrast to the patience-of-Job posture was very effective. He was one of the two best I knew. If it weren’t that I had the edge in charm and physical beauty, he’d have been as good as I was.