Stealing the Countess

 

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RENÉE, ALWAYS

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author wishes to acknowledge his debt to Hannah Braaten, India Cooper; Pat Donnelly, Former's Insurance; Tammi Fredrickson, Keith Kahla; Bill Peterson, Apostle Island Marina; Alison J. Picard, Dr. James Schlaefer, and Renée Valois.

 

ONE

The Maestro insisted that it wasn't his fault.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “Handcuff her to my wrist? Hire armed guards to escort us to rehearsals, to concert halls? You can't live like that. It's untenable. The fact is, she was essential to me, to my profession. She was an extension of myself. I took her to every major city in the world. It was either that or quit my job. Of course, I was always aware of my surroundings when she was with me. I never let her out of my sight. But if you worried about someone running off with her, if you gave in to paranoia, you'd never leave the house.”

“The fact remains,” I said. “Someone stole your four-million-dollar Stradivarius violin.”

“It wasn't my fault.”

“According to the newspaper, it was taken from the room in the bed-and-breakfast you were staying at while you went for a walk.”

“Should I have taken her with me?” he asked again. “Walk the streets with her slung over my shoulder? People say I was careless. And clueless, I heard that, too. A policeman claimed I was ‘criminally negligent.' I don't think my behavior was unreasonable at all. I even had a GPS transmitter embedded in the violin case, although…” His voice became softer. “They found the case in the street. It was supposed to be fun, McKenzie. A concert in the park in my hometown, with all my childhood friends in attendance to see how well I had done since I left for the big city. Fun…”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Paul Duclos leaned back in his chair and stared at me as if he were suddenly aware that he was speaking to a dull and listless child. We were sitting at a window table in the Great Waters Brewing Company, about a stone's throw, if you had a good arm, from where the offices and rehearsal space for the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra were located in the Hamm Building. I was drinking a house ale that was a tad too hoppy for my taste, while the Maestro nursed a coffee, black, the way God intended. I liked him partly because of the way he drank his coffee but mostly because he was a world-renowned concert violinist who was now working as an artistic partner with the SPCO, which meant he also conducted. I've always had a soft spot for hometown musicians.

But then he swung his fist down like a judge's gavel and started pounding the tabletop. Conversation ceased. Customers and waitstaff turned to face him. He spoke at a volume loud enough to be heard by anyone within fifty feet.

“I expect you to get her back,” he said.

“What's the magic word?”

The Maestro stared at me some more. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he began to glance around the tavern. Some customers met his gaze; others looked away as if embarrassed. He lowered his voice.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “McKenzie. Please. Please bring her back to me.”

“A crime like this—the FBI has a special unit, an Art Crime Team, that's probably already on the case, not to mention investigators from the state and county cops. They won't like it if a civilian gets involved. How did you get my name, anyway?”

“Vincent Donatucci called me.”

“Midwest Farmers Insurance Group—are they the ones who insured the violin?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Donatucci is their chief investigator. He's very good at his job. I'm surprised he'd give up my name. He wouldn't want me to meddle, either.”

“He
was
their chief investigator. They retired him because of his age.”

“I didn't know that. Still…”

“He told me that the Stradivarius might never be recovered now because of what the insurance company did, what the foundation did. However, he said someone acting independently might be able to…”

“What did the insurance company do?”

“Donatucci said no one steals a Stradivarius worth four million dollars with the idea that they're going to pawn her. She's famous. She even has a name. Countess Borromeo. No art dealer would dare touch her, she's so recognizable. Instead … Donatucci said this isn't the first time a Strad has been stolen. After a time, the thieves would usually send in mules—that's the word he used, mules—that would pretend to find the violin and return it to the rightful owners for the reward, no questions asked. Except the insurance company, at the insistence of the foundation, took that option off the table. It's still offering a reward—$250,000—but it specified that it won't release the money unless there's a conviction. Someone needs to be arrested. Someone needs to go to jail. This greatly reduces the profit incentive while increasing the risk, according to Donatucci. He said the thieves are now just as likely to toss the violin into the nearest Dumpster as hang on to her. Cut their losses, he said.”

“They could wait until the investigation dies down,” I said. “Try to cut a deal on the quiet, although—why would Midwest do that?”

“The foundation—”

“What foundation?”

“Georges and Adrienne Peyroux Foundation for the Arts. What you need to appreciate, McKenzie, is that I don't actually own the Countess. The foundation owns her. It's just lending her to me. Not many musicians, even highly successful ones, can afford to own a really fine violin. That's where wealthy music benefactors step in. An investor or a foundation with an interest in the arts will secure an instrument and entrust it to an artist. That's how Countess Borromeo and I became companions. I was starting to build a reputation for myself, especially in Europe, and representatives from the foundation asked if I would be interested in using their Strad. They chose me because I have a relationship with the community. I grew up in Bayfield, Wisconsin. I attended the University of Minnesota before transferring to Juilliard.

“I leapt at the opportunity, of course. It's been a very satisfying relationship on many levels. It was tough at first, McKenzie, making it work, don't be mistaken about that. The Countess has a way of maximizing your strengths and illuminating your weaknesses. The most difficult part was learning how to relax with her in my hands; stop working so hard, to just let her be herself. In the past twelve years, though, she and I have become such good and loyal friends. In many ways she's a part of me now. She knows my moods so well. And she's ungodly beautiful. It's the wood, McKenzie. Gorgeous maple. So smooth, so sensual…”

Is he talking about a violin or a girl?
my inner voice asked.

“You call her Countess Borromeo?”

“A Stradivarius nearly always goes by the name of a previous owner. This one belonged to Count Borromeo of Milan, Italy, who presented it to his wife, Celia Grillo Borromeo, the famous mathematician and scientist, somewhere around 1760.”

“What does the Peyroux Foundation get out of the deal?”

“There's the financial investment of owning the Strad, of course—it'll never go down in value, that's for certain. It also benefits from the private parties and fund-raisers I play for them. That's how I met my wife, you know.”

“Your wife?”

I wonder if her wood is smooth and sensual.

“Renée, Renée Marie Peyroux,” the Maestro said. “She runs the foundation now. She took control when her father passed. She's adamant, too. Nothing I can say will change her mind. Renée simply will not reward the thieves for stealing from her—that's the way she looks at it. But McKenzie, I will.”

“You will what?”

“I'll pay $250,000 for the safe return of the Countess. No questions asked. Donatucci said it's the only way.”

“When did you speak to him?” I asked.

“Saturday afternoon. He called right after he heard what Renée and the insurance company were going to do. He was just as upset as I was. It was he who suggested that I offer a reward of my own. He told me to call you. He said you were dependable.”

“Opinions differ.”

“McKenzie…”

“Mr. Donatucci wants you to pay off the thieves?”

“It happens every day, that's what Donatucci said.”

“What would your wife say?”

“I don't care. Actually, I care a great deal, but that's for later. I'll think of something, later. Right now, all I want, all I need, is to have the violin returned to me. Will you help?”

“Help you what? Be specific.”

“Take the money to Bayfield, find out who stole the Strad, and buy it back.”

Hell no,
my inner voice shouted.

“Let me think about it,” I said aloud.

What's to think about?

“I'm going to need some legal advice before I decide.”

“Please, McKenzie,” the Maestro said. “I'll do anything to bring the Countess Borromeo home safely.”

“Yeah, well, it's the ‘I'll do anything' part that makes me nervous.”

*   *   *

I said good-bye to Duclos outside the Hamm Building, crossed the square to Wabasha Street, and walked north toward the Fitzgerald Theater, where Garrison Keillor holds forth on
A Prairie Home Companion
—or so I've been told. I've never actually listened to the program myself. As I approached my car, I pulled out a cell phone, tapped
CONTACTS
, and scrolled down until I found the icon for G. K. Bonalay. Her admin answered on the third ring.

“McKenzie, is that you?” she asked.

“Caller ID never lies.”

“Is this an emergency? Are you in custody?”

“Ahh, no and no.”

The way she exhaled suggested that she had been holding her breath.

“You haven't been arrested,” she said. “That's good.”

“Why would you think—”

“Let's face it; the only time you call G. K. is when you're in trouble.”