Murder at the Library of Congress - Margaret Truman [65]
“I doubt if he has his own art collection,” Lucianne said, lighting up again. The small ashtray was filling rapidly.
“No, I’m sure he doesn’t,” said Mac. “How much was the painting worth?”
“Not much,” Lucianne answered. “The guy who runs the museum said it was used more to set a background scene, not displayed as a work of art.”
Mac looked at his wife. “You made a comment when we were preparing dinner, Annie, that maybe there was something else stolen along with the painting, something more valuable.”
“Like what?” Lucianne asked. Then, she answered herself. “Like something hidden in the painting. Or behind the painting? Like a map?”
“Las Casas’s so-called map?” Mac added.
“Can you hide something like a map behind a painting?” Lucianne asked.
“Sure,” Annabel said. “I mean, I don’t know the techniques used, but stories come out now and then about art conservationists discovering a valuable painting behind a less valuable one.”
“And you say Michele Paul had been researching this artist, Reyes?” Lucianne said.
“Yes.”
“More brandy?” Mac asked. When he returned from the small bar in the living room, Annabel was in the process of asking her own questions.
“You told me that you were sent on this assignment to the Library of Congress based upon some rumor that big money was being offered for the Las Casas materials through the rare books underground.”
“That’s right.”
“Have you learned any more about that? When? Where? By whom?”
The journalist sipped her brandy.
“We’ve been open with you,” Annabel said.
“I know, and I appreciate it. Ever hear of a part-time, rich collector of rare books and manuscripts named David Driscoll, the investment guru?”
“Sure,” Annabel said. “He’s one of the world’s foremost collectors of Hispanic documents and artifacts. I’ve met him. In fact, I once tried to buy a Mayan mask from him that he’d put up for sale. I don’t think he really wanted to sell it because he asked ten times what it was worth.”
“He lives in L.A., doesn’t he?” Mac said.
“That’s right,” Lucianne said.
“David Driscoll is also one of the Library of Congress’s leading benefactors,” Annabel said. “Why did you ask about him?”
“My boss back in Miami told me it’s Driscoll who’s spreading money around in search of Las Casas. Driscoll gets on to some obscure sources—and sometimes dubious stuff. Early on in his collecting career, he bought some of that dubious material but in recent years, maybe the last ten or so, his acquisitions and donations check out, or at least turn out to be worth quite a lot. It’s peculiar, a guy who traffics in the shade but who comes up with previously unknown or lesser work that turns out to be very valuable. I called his house in L.A. Whoever answered said he’s out of town.”
“He’s in town—this one,” Annabel said.
“I didn’t know that,” Lucianne said. “I’d like to interview him.”
“He was in for a morning meeting with Dr. Broadhurst. At least that’s the scuttlebutt. I think he went back to California. Shall I put on another pot of coffee?”
“Not for me, thanks,” Lucianne said, standing. “I’d better get back to the hotel. This has been great. You’re a good cook, Mac.”
“Thanks. I muddle through.”
Annabel walked Lucianne to the elevator.
“Do me a favor?” Lucianne said after pushing the Down button.
“If I can.”
“Keep being my eyes and ears inside the library. See what this David Driscoll and Broadhurst met about. Let me see the material Michele Paul had on Reyes. Tell me if—”
“Thanks for coming to dinner,” Annabel said. “We enjoyed having you.”
The elevator arrived and the doors slid open.
Lucianne said good night, stepped inside, and the doors closed.
Mac was cleaning the kitchen.
“She wants me to be her on-site spy at LC,” Annabel said.
“You said no, of course.”
“I said we enjoyed having her for dinner. What did you think of the globe-trotting Ms. Huston?”
“I liked her, like her style.”
“She’s certainly attractive.”
“That, too.”
“How’s your knee?”
“Lousy.