A Darkness More Than Night - Michael Connelly [34]
“That was quick, Jaye. Thanks.”
“We aim to please. I spoke directly to Scott and he said if he couldn’t help you he would find someone who could.”
“You mention the owl?”
“No, it’s your interview.”
“Right.”
McCaleb knew he had another chance to tell her about Hieronymus Bosch. But again he let it pass.
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
“See ya.”
He closed the phone and unlocked the car. He looked over the roof at the parole offices and saw a large white banner with blue lettering hanging across the facade above the building’s entrance.
WELCOME BACK THELMA!
He got into the car wondering whether the Thelma being welcomed back was a convict or an employee. He drove off in the direction of Victory Boulevard. He’d take it to the 405 and then head south.
11
As the freeway rose to cross the Santa Monica Mountains in the Sepulveda Pass, McCaleb saw the Getty rise in front of him on the hilltop. The structure of the museum itself was as impressive as any of the great artworks housed within. It looked like a castle sitting atop a medieval hill. He saw one of the double trams slowly working its way up the side of the hill, delivering another group to the altar of history and art.
By the time he parked at the bottom of the hill and caught his own tram ride up, McCaleb was fifteen minutes late for his appointment with Leigh Alasdair Scott. After getting directions from a museum guard, McCaleb hurried across the travertine stone plaza to a security entrance. Having checked in at the counter he waited on a bench until Scott came for him.
Scott was in his early fifties and spoke with an accent McCaleb placed as originating in either Australia or New Zealand. He was friendly and happy to oblige the L.A. County sheriff’s office.
“We have had occasion to offer our help and expertise to detectives in the past. Usually in regard to authenticating artwork or offering historical background to specific pieces,” he said as they walked down a long hallway to his office. “Detective Winston indicated this would be different. You need some general information on the Northern Renaissance?”
He opened a door and ushered McCaleb into a suite of offices. They stepped into the first office past the security counter. It was a small office with a view through a large window across the Sepulveda Pass to the hillside homes of Bel-Air. The office felt crowded because of the bookshelves lining two walls and the cluttered worktable. There was just room for two chairs. Scott pointed McCaleb to one while he took the other.
“Actually, things have changed a bit since Detective Winston spoke to you,” McCaleb said. “I can be more specific about what I need now. I’ve been able to narrow down my questions to a specific painter of that period. If you can tell me about him and maybe show me some of his work, that would be a big help.”
“And what is his name?”
“I’ll show it to you.”
McCaleb took out his folded notes and showed him. Scott read the name aloud with obvious familiarity. He pronounced the first name Her-ron-i-mus.
“I thought that was how you said it.”
“Rhymes with anonymous. His work is actually quite well known. You are not familiar with it?”
“No. I never did much studying of art. Does the museum have any of his paintings?”
“None of his works are in the Getty collection but there is a descendant piece in the conservation studio. It is undergoing heavy restoration. Most of his verified works are in Europe, the most significant representations in the Prado. Others scattered about. I am not the one you should be talking to, however.”
McCaleb raised his eyebrows in way of a question.
“Since you have narrowed your query to Bosch specifically, there is someone here you would be better advised to talk to. She is a curatorial assistant. She also happens to be working on a catalogue raisonné on Bosch — a rather long-term project for her. A labor of love, perhaps.”
“Is she here? Can I speak to her?”
Scott reached for his phone and pushed the speaker button. He then consulted