Michael McGarrity - Nothing But Trouble

“Sometimes, in the past, you’ve returned the things you’ve taken, or given them away as gifts.”

She opened the locked desk drawer, looked at her new possessions, and caressed each of them. “These are too beautiful to give away. I’m going to display them in my Paris apartment. No one there will ever know I stole them.”

“What else are you feeling?”

“Alive, euphoric, irritable, sexy, depressed. The usual stuff.”

“Have you stopped taking your medication entirely?” Cohen asked.

“It turns me into a zombie.”

“It helps to stabilize your mood.”

“How boring.”

“I think it would be best if you came back to the city for a time so we can talk about this in person,” Cohen said.

“I can’t stand New York. I’ll never live there again.”

“You need to think about what you’re doing, Crystal.”

“I hate it when you judge me.”

“I’m judging you?”

“There’s always that undertone, at least that’s what I feel. Crystal doesn’t need to steal. Crystal is a rich girl who can buy anything she wants. Crystal is so uncooperative and difficult. You don’t say it, but it’s there.”

“Why have you decided to go back to Paris?” Cohen asked.

“Because Daddy’s returning to Santa Fe next week and I don’t want to see him. Besides, Paris is fun and sexy. The French are so accepting.”

“Do you think Paris will ease your guilt?”

“Why not? I got a gun last week. A pistol. It’s very small, so I can keep it in my purse.”

“Whatever for?”

“Protection,” Crystal replied. “Women get raped in Santa Fe all the time.”

“You sound pleased about having a gun.”

“In a strange way, I am. It gives me a feeling of control.” She opened the expensive, imported crocodile handbag she’d stolen last year from a Fifth Avenue department store and took out the pistol, a small nickel-plated. 22-caliber semiautomatic. It was Daddy’s gun that he kept in a nightstand next to his bed. The weight of it felt good in her hand.

“Tell me some more about feeling in control.”

“The world is a dangerous place.” Crystal had never fired a gun. She wondered what the sensation was like.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Crystal said defensively. There was a switch or something above the trigger. What was it? She flicked it back and forth a couple of times and decided it must be the safety catch.

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself?”

“Not yet.”

“But soon?” Cohen asked.

Crystal pointed the gun at her reflection in the mirror on the wall behind the desk. “Maybe.”

“I know a very good psychiatrist in Santa Fe, Dr. Candace Robbins. I think it would be wise for you to call and ask to see her immediately.”

“So she can hospitalize me? No way.”

“So you have someone to talk to face-to-face. Let me give you her name and number.”

“I suppose I could call her.”

“Good,” Cohen said.

While Cohen paused to look up the name and phone number of the local shrink, Crystal pushed a lever at the top of the pistol grip and the magazine popped out. The bullets in it looked small, not dangerous at all.

She reinserted the magazine as she pretended to write down the shrink’s phone number that Cohen gave her.

“I’ll consult with Dr. Robbins,” Cohen added, “and tell her to expect your call.”

“Okay.” Crystal disconnected, put the gun back in the handbag, and went into the bedroom to dress. Yesterday at the post office, when she’d picked up Daddy’s mail, she’d seen an invitation for a preview of an art-and-antiquities show this evening.

Crystal decided she would go. Perhaps something would catch her eye. She shivered with anticipation.

Five minutes after Detective Sergeant Ramona Pino returned to her office, Chief Kerney stepped through the open door and sat in the chair next to the desk.

“Anything new on the art-theft cases?” he asked. Pino’s desk was unusually tidy, and the framed snapshot of Ramona and her boyfriend, a vice cop with the Albuquerque PD, taken while they were on vacation together last year, was missing.

“Not that I know of, Chief. I’ve been working a commercial burglary case today. Somebody broke into a construction trailer at a building site last night and took a couple thousand dollars’ worth of power tools. We’ve got a suspect. All we’ve got to do is find him.”

Kerney stretched his legs, crossed his feet, and nodded. “I’m sure you will. I’ve noticed a pattern to the art thefts that I wanted to mention to you.”

“Are you talking about how more expensive items are being taken each time?”

Kerney smiled approvingly. Pino had a razor-sharp mind and great cop instincts. “Exactly. Do you think it’s one person?” he asked.

“If it is, based on what’s been boosted, I’d bet she’s female, and not your ordinary garden-variety shoplifter either. It’s all quality stuff, which shows a certain degree of sophistication and knowledge about art.”

Kerney examined the bulletin board on the far wall of Pino’s small office, where she’d thumbtacked photographs of the stolen art. “All the objects could have easily been hidden in a large tote or a handbag,” he observed. “But is she stealing on impulse or is it planned?”

Kerney paused to see if Ramona got his drift. Planning a crime was not what a kleptomaniac would normally do.

“I think it’s impulsive, Chief. But she seems to be putting herself at a greater risk of discovery each time out by stealing more expensive items.”

“Do you think she has just been lucky?” Kerney asked.

Ramona settled back in her chair. “Yeah, and maybe not even aware of it.”

“How so?” Kerney asked.

“Both galleries where the opening receptions were held have good surveillance systems. But when they arranged the exhibits, nobody thought to reposition the cameras. The bronze statue and the miniature oil painting were on display in blind spots within a few feet of the entrances. Easy in, easy out.”

Ramona pulled two videocassettes out of a desk drawer. “We’ve been over these tapes a dozen times, looking for people who attended both openings, looking for anybody who might have disguised themselves, looking for any sign of suspicious behavior. We’ve had the gallery owners identify as many people as they could who were in attendance, and then we followed up with interviews.”

“Did you check the mailing lists the galleries used to send out notices and invitations?”

Ramona nodded. “There was no overlap of names. But remember, these were public events, Chief. Besides the mailings that went out, there were ads in the newspaper and announcements on the radio. Plus, gallery hopping on a Friday or Saturday night is a Santa Fe tradition.”

The telephone rang. Ramona picked it up, listened, said, “Okay, I’ll be there in a few,” and disconnected.

“Let’s go with the theory it’s a woman who’s stealing for the thrill of it and unable to resist the impulse,” Kerney said. “If she’s true to form, she’ll place herself at risk again, and I’m betting it will be at another exhibit opening or show.”

“Why is that?” Ramona asked.

“Because she’s stealing for the pleasure, not profit, and has upped the excitement for herself by doing it in plain view, surrounded by other people. There are six gallery openings tonight, if we include the preview of the art-and-antiquities show at the convention center. Let’s put a detective at each gallery, and two at the convention center, which should have the biggest draw.”

“Consider it done, Chief.”

Kerney stood, pointed at Ramona, and tapped his chest with a finger. “We’ll cover the convention center together.”