Amish Undercover Page 3

  Marvin scratched the gray stubble on his chin once more. “How long will that be?”

  Bailey shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Where’s this safe house?”

  “I can’t tell you anymore until you agree.” Bailey looked around. “You’ll be out of this place; one officer will stay with you at all times and you’ll be given three decent meals a day. You can’t contact anyone at all. When visitors come here to see you, they’ll be told that you’re in solitary and aren’t allowed visitors until further notice.”

  Marvin swiveled in his chair. “You’re a hundred percent I’ve got a pardon if I do this?”

  “One hundred percent and you will leave with me right now if you agree.”

  The edges of Marvin’s mouth turned upwards, and he nodded slowly. “I’ll do it.”

  Bailey stood up. “Don’t tell anyone what’s happening. The guards will accompany you straight out to sign for your personal belongings and then we’re out of here.”

  Marvin jumped to his feet. “I’ll need some things.”

  “Let’s just get you out of here and we can arrange all that in the car. I’ll drive you straight to the safe-house.”

  One prison guard led Marvin away, and one waited in the room to accompany Bailey out.

  “Ready to go?” The raspy deep voice of the prison guard reverberated through Bailey’s head.

  Bailey held up his hand and spoke to the prison guard who was behind him. “Give me a moment.” Bailey looked around the room. The walls, that were obviously once brick, were now covered in thick pale yellow paint; the large tiles on the floors were gray and dismal. The room was filled with gray, cold metal tables and chairs, four chairs to every table, and in the corner of the room stood a vending machine of snacks.

  The only light in the room came from narrow horizontal windows just where the walls met the ceiling. As bleak as it was, everything seemed familiar. Something told him he’d been there years ago, maybe as a boy. Could he have visited someone in this very room and if so, who?

  The deep voice once again disturbed Bailey’s thoughts. “It’s nearly visiting hours and I have to escort people in. I’m sorry, sir, I have to take you back out now.”

  An hour later, Bailey was driving Marvin Forsythe, the best painting forger in the country, to a safe-house in Lancaster County. Bailey had approached Wil, on behalf of the FBI, to use his house as a temporary safe-house and Wil had kindly agreed.

  “Now I’m doing you this favor, can you get me some decent clothes?” He was out of the prison supplied orange jumpsuit and into the clothes amongst his personal belongings. “I was arrested in these a year ago.” Marvin sniffed each armpit. “Pew, they could have laundered ‘em for me.”

  Bailey pulled up at a Wal-Mart store on the way. “Get two pairs of pants and five shirts, whatever else you need and make it quick.”

  Marvin walked into the store with Bailey close behind him. As Marvin gathered up clothing in his arms, he said, “Now you can tell me what I’ll be painting.”

  After a quick look to see if anyone was in earshot, Bailey said, “I need you to paint Manet’s Chez Tortoni.”

  Marvin rubbed his chin hard and squinted his eyes. “Wasn’t that one of the paintings that was stolen in the big 1990 art heist?”

  Bailey nodded. “That’s the one.”

  “That’s a hard ask. I’ve never seen it myself. That’s the man in a top hat and the half pitcher of beer?”

  “Something like that. He’s got a black top hat and a glass of something next to him. I know it’s painted in oils.” Due to his job Bailey had become familiar with many old Master painters and painting techniques.

  “I hope you’ve got a good variety of photos and info on it.”

  Bailey nodded. “As many as I could get my hands on, and the people who’ll be viewing it would never have seen it before either, so don’t worry.” But Bailey could not tell Marvin everything; he could not tell him anything about Richard Starks, neither could he tell him what he planned to do with the painting when it was completed.

  “I usually paint from something that I’m looking straight at or at least that I’ve seen before. I need to get the brushstrokes right, the nuances of light, the depths of color.”

  Bailey looked around about them once more. It was not a good idea to talk in the store in case they were overhead. “C’mon, you got everything?”

  Marvin nodded. Bailey paid for the goods, and they got back in the car. The next thing Marvin wanted was to eat fast food and lots of it. Bailey headed to the McDonalds drive through service.

  After Marvin polished off his first burger, he asked Bailey, “Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

  “We’re going to Lancaster County. You’re going to stay at an Amish community in a make-shift safe-house.”

  “Amish? So, these Amish people, they live like they did hundreds of years ago, don’t they? Are you telling me there won’t be any television, no video games?”

  “There’s no electricity at all. No television, no telephone, no computer; I did tell you that you can’t communicate with anyone, besides, you’ll be busy painting.” Bailey chuckled.

  “I need to be relaxed when I’m painting. Can’t you hook up a generator?” Marvin offered Bailey some French fries.

  Bailey shook his head. “I’m taking out a short lease and I’m sure the Amish don’t want me to do things like that.”

  Marvin blew out a deep breath. “I like to watch the tele to wind down, just a couple hours a night. Can’t you arrange for me to have one?”

  Bailey shook his head.

  “Aww, I even had a tele in prison.”

  “I can take you back there.”

  Marvin pressed his lips together then took a mouthful of Pepsi.

  “Careful you don’t spill that in my car.” Bailey glanced over at him. “I got you out, be grateful for that. Tell me this, I’ve always been curious to know, if you’re such a good artist why don’t you sell your own paintings?”

  Marvin was quiet, and Bailey glanced at him sideways again, while still trying to watch the road. “Well?” Bailey asked.

  “I’d starve, that’s why. I tried doing that for ten years. I’d sell one here and there, but no one wants to buy a painting from an unknown artist. They only want to buy a painting from someone if they think that they’re going to become famous. I painted seven days a week and sold enough to live on, but just barely. I met Page, and

  then she got pregnant. I had to marry her, then I had three mouths to feed soon after.”

  Bailey glanced over at him again. He sensed the frustration that Marvin had at not being able to sell his own paintings.

  Marvin shrugged. “What was I to do? I only knew how to paint. Someone approached me at one of my showings and he offered me big money if I could copy something for him. I was four weeks behind in the rent, what was I to do? And I had another kid on the way. I just thought I’d do one and catch up on the rent, but then other offers came my way. It was hard to refuse – I was finally getting paid good money to paint.”

  “Good money; that’s an understatement. The couple you were working for made millions.”

  Marvin’s cheeks flushed with color. “I told the court, and I’ll tell you; they only gave me $3,000 for every painting; what they did with them after that I don’t know. I didn’t know they were raking in so much money.”

  “Did you ever give a thought to the people you were deceiving by painting those forgeries?”

  “I was providing a service; if I didn’t do it they would’ve gotten someone else to do it. Besides, they were happy to buy the art and sometimes they thought the art was stolen, so that makes them just as guilty. What’s the real difference if I or someone else painted it? It’s snob value; they want something painted by someone famous. Ya know what? Sometimes they don’t even like the paintings. They only buy ‘em because other people want ‘em.”

  “I guess that’s what makes the art valuable. The
fact that so many people want the same thing,” Bailey said.

  “Understand where I’m coming from?”

  Bailey laughed. “No, I don’t see where you’re coming from at all. You broke the law.”

  “I was trying to feed my family. I never would’ve done it if my paintings had sold well. Can’t you see that? I’m the same painter. My paintings didn’t sell under my own name, but they sell when I paint them under someone else’s name.”

  Bailey shook his head; all criminals were the same in his eyes. “You could’ve done something else to make an honest living.”

  “Yeah, and I would’ve done something else. I never thought I’d end up going to jail for just doing a few paintings,” Marvin said. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t have done it.”

  “You must have seen that coming. You must have known you were taking a risk by breaking the law in the first instance.”

  “To tell you the truth, I didn’t think about it that much. I’ve got two kids now you know. If you hadn’t gotten me out, it’d be two years before I would’ve been eligible for parole.”

  Bailey sniggered. “You’re welcome.”

  Bailey could feel Marvin staring at him and then Marvin said, “I guess you’re a rich boy, and you’ve never been through hard times have you?”

  Bailey opened the middle console between the two front seats and popped his sunglasses on. “I’ve been through hard times; that’s why I got into doing what I’m doing. I’ve seen bad things, don’t you worry about that. Things that you would not even be able to imagine. Things that would give you nightmares.”

  Marvin scoffed. “I’ve seen men stabbed and I’ve seen men bashed while I was inside. I’ve seen five men set on the one man. I don’t think you could’ve seen anything worse than that.”

  Bailey kept his eyes on the road. He was not sure about what he had seen. He caught glimpses of it in his nightmares. He was sure it was far worse than anything Marvin had described. “Maybe you’re right,” Bailey said as he buried the past back deep into his mind.

  “Thought so, rich boy.” Marvin looked out the window and muttered, “The only thing I know how to do is paint. Anyway, it’s big business now. There are big companies set up in Hong Kong and all over Asia with factories that are full of artists recreating famous paintings. The good old days are gone.”

  “Difference is that they aren’t selling them as real.” Bailey was glad to divert the conversation away from the darkness of his past.

  Chapter 5.

  A faithful man shall abound with blessings:

  but he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent.

  Proverbs 28:20

  Bailey arrived at Wil’s old haus and FBI agent, Simon Peters, was waiting to stay with Marvin. “I’m staying with you too, and when I’m not here, Peters will be here. Write out what you need us to get by way of art materials.”

  “I need photos of the Chez Tortoni and every detail you’ve got on the composition of the painting. I’ll need the best photo to be made into the exact same size of the painting.”

  “I’ve got all that in the house. How long do you think it will take to paint?” Bailey asked.

  Marvin scratched his head. “If you get me everything I need by tomorrow, I’d say it’d take a good two weeks to paint, and then it would need to dry. All up, it’d take three weeks, at a guess. What are you doing about the frame?”

  Bailey rubbed his chin. “We don’t need to recreate the frame exactly. The frame’s the last of our problems. I’ll check, but I’m 99% certain that the Chez Tortoni was one of the paintings taken out of its frame when it was stolen. Either way, I’ll scour the antique and second-hand stores for an old frame, similar to the one it would have had. You go inside with Peters and relax, look at all the photos and I’ll be back in two hours to pick up your list of everything you’re going to need.”

  “What are you going to do with the painting when I finish it?”

  Bailey frowned. “I can’t tell you that.”

  Marvin shook his head and walked into the house with Peters.

  Bailey got back in the car and realized he was quite fond of Marvin. He was an interesting and talented man, even though he had been on the wrong side of the law.

  Bailey headed straight to Detective Crowley’s office in town to brief Crowley’s team of local policemen on the operation that they were about to put into place.

  “Good to see you, Rivers.” Detective Crowley stood up from behind his desk and walked to the front of his office to shake Bailey’s hand.

  “You too, Crowley. So, you got my brief?”

  Detective Crowley gave a huffing sound. “Yes, it took me some time to wade my way through it. There was a lot of information there. I’ve absorbed most of it.”

  Bailey gave a quick nod. “Good.”

  “Take a seat,” Crowley said as he walked back behind his desk.

  When they were both seated, Crowley said, “I’ve got the team organized to meet in half an hour, and you can go through everything with them. Normally, I don’t like the FBI coming in here and taking over, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

  Bailey smiled at the gruff detective who so easily spoke his mind. “I appreciate that.”

  The detective picked up his phone and asked a constable to bring in two coffees. “Just a minute,” he said to the constable. “How do you have your coffee, Rivers?”

  “Black, two sugars.”

  “My usual and black with two sugars.” Crowley hung up the phone and looked up at Bailey. “Rumor is you're going to marry Silvie?”

  Bailey tried to hide the smile from his face; he was sure that he had told the detective that himself last time he was in town. “That’s the plan, but I’m keeping it on the low. Wouldn’t want anyone to know that I’m leaving. I’m hoping to get this case wrapped up or at least get it closer to wrapping up stage before I leave.” Bailey lowered his voice. “I’ve given Silvie a time-frame, I’ve only got a few more months then I’m joining the Amish.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Have to keep her happy.”

  At that moment, a young, dark-haired police officer brought in their coffees. “Anything else sir?” she asked looking hopefully, at Crowley.

  Crowley’s mouth turned down and he shook his head without even looking up. Bailey noticed that the eager female officer looked decidedly disappointed at Crowley’s lack of attention. When the woman was out of the office, Bailey said, “I think she’s keen on you.”

  Crowley looked shocked. “No, well, if she is, she’s far too young and I don’t approve of these work relationships.”

  “You married?” Bailey asked, knowing the answer because Silvie had already told him.

  “No, I’m not married and that’s the way I prefer it.”

  Bailey studied the detective’s hard face. Maybe he did prefer to be single and unmarried. He wasn’t very nice to people from what Bailey had seen, although both his aunties regarded him highly. Maybe not everyone grew lonely. Not my problem, he reminded himself. “Now, do you have any questions for me?”

  Bailey was at the police station for two hours before he returned to the safe-house. He walked into the kitchen where Marvin sat. “What do you need?”

  Marvin looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Art supplies, and such; do you need an easel and what sort of paints, canvas or what?” Bailey pulled out a chair from under the table and sat opposite him.

  Marvin’s eyebrows rose, deepening the lines in his forehead. “Yes, get me some hundred year old canvas to paint on will ya?”

  Bailey could feel his whole body tighten with stress. “You said you could do this.”

  “Relax, it was a joke. I need canvas, and I’ll have to age it before I paint on it.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I can’t tell you that, I need to keep some tricks up my sleeve. It’ll take a couple of days, and that’ll give me time to study Manet’s work. I’ve never done a Manet before.” Marvin threw back his
head and laughed. “Not that I’ll admit to.”

  Bailey rubbed his head; the tension was getting to him, and he found no amusement in what Marvin said.

  Marvin, appearing to sense Bailey’s discomfort, straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. “How real do I have to be? I can put a layer of resin over the top to make it look old, but that’ll be picked up by tests. I need to know what tests it’ll be having so I know what kind of paints to use.”

  “I’m getting someone lined up to do authenticity papers for me, but best you go as close as you can just in case. We need to visually fool the experts.”

  Marvin frowned. “What do you mean, ‘just in case’?”

  Bailey grimaced. “Just as a back up. No doubt they’ll look at it through a twenty or a thirty times magnification loupe.”

  Marvin scribbled an address on a piece of paper then handed it to Bailey. “Have someone go to this address and say it’s for Marvin, then give him the list.” Marvin continued to write on a notepad.

  “We can’t say it’s for you. No one’s supposed to know you’re out of prison,” Bailey said.

  Marvin furrowed his eyebrows. “Look, we don’t have long and if you want this done as soon as possible, I have to get the goods through Frank. I don’t have the time to find anyone else. Time is a factor, isn’t it?”

  Bailey nodded and hoped that going to this man called Frank was not going to jeopardize the whole operation.

  “Don’t worry about Frank. He’s a good friend and he’ll know to keep his mouth shut.” Before Bailey could say anything, Marvin said, “You’re going to use this painting as bait, aren’t ya?”

  Bailey smiled and said, “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  Chapter 6.

  It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed,

  because his compassions fail not.

  They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.

  Lamentations 3: 22- 23