Page 25 of Burning Caine
“I know it was red-flagged due to its value, so I wanted to give you a quick overview.”
Harry gestured to the large table in the middle of their space, and Lucy and I sat. She popped a bubble and I glared at her until she nodded and threw it in the trash.
“There are a lot of photos of this painting,” commented Quinn, scanning through them all.
“Yeah. We’ll likely need several of them to confirm its identity. The owners went through a process in 2015 to prove it was authentic. Up until then, it was attributed to Chagall—”
“Attributed?” interjected Lucy.
“It means they were pretty sure it was by him, but they didn’t have proof. In the art world, a lot of weight is given to what we call provenance, the trail of documentation, sales, and evidence proving the painting went from the artist to person A to person B and so forth. The Scotts had gaps in the provenance trail, so it was initially insured for the price Mr. Scott paid for it, about two hundred thousand dollars.
“After Hurricane Sandy destroyed so many works of art in New York, someone recommended they have it authenticated and insured correctly. It was a big deal. Chemical analysis of the paints, ultraviolet photos, x-rays, the whole nine yards. Anything by Marc Chagall can only be authenticated by the Chagall Committee in Paris. So, the Scotts sent all the research they paid for and the broken provenance trail to Paris in 2015. Fortunately for them, the Committee confirmed it. Under French law, the Committee would have the authority to burn it otherwise.”
“But he paid two hundred thousand for it!” said Lucy.
“Doesn’t matter. They have the authority. You need to be confident it’s authentic before you send something in for their review. Afterwards, the Scotts had it appraised by Sotheby’s for a million dollars, and the Scotts called us to set the limits correctly.”
“With strings,” added Quinn, reading from her screen. “Policy has restrictions on it: smoke alarm connected to a central station, wall mounted professionally, and confirmation of authenticity before claim payment.”
“Yeah, so like I was saying, we have all of the documentation from the authentication process which gives us a lot of options for verification. Once we’re done, we can pay it out.”
Harry clicked his pen a few more times and pointed it at me. “If it’s the real deal.”
“Exactly. However, the police took it.”
Quinn suppressed a laugh. “Not surprised. Those cops think they can do anything.”
Harry rolled his head back to look at her, but she kept going.
“You’re the expert. What’s your first step?”
I got up and stood behind Quinn. “Roll back to the first photo I added Friday.” Nothing but a blackened, charred sheet of tattered canvas. “We can’t authenticate it until we have it cleaned.”
“Taking it to Ferraro’s?” asked Harry, who had swiveled around to face us. “Watch out for them. Given the painting’s state, they may try to screw you on the one-month standard contract we have with them.”
This was why I was here. I dropped my hands into my pockets and pursed my lips. “Do you trust them, Harry?”
“I’m in SIU. I don’t trust anyone.”
“Neither should you, Sam.” Quinn was back to inspecting the original photos of the Chagall. “Although that son of Dom’s…”
Lucy giggled. “We were just there. He’s got the hots for—”
“Lucy! Are you going to be a help or a hindrance? Because I can tell Cliff we’re done with this little experiment.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “Helping, promise.”
Quinn chuckled at her monitor.
I ran a hand over my face and sat at the table, passing the Parker’s Restoration card to Harry. “Here’s the thing. Lucy and I were over at Mason’s Gallery for an unrelated claim. I spoke with the curator there, and she told me we should avoid Ferraro’s, recommended this company instead. They aren’t on the approved vendors list. I thought we could vet them?”
Harry handed the card to Quinn, who had stopped looking at the photos. “Already done, hun. Harry says they don’t make the cut.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Hailey told us about this in the spring when she picked something up from the gallery. Curator told her the Ferraros were—what was it she said, Quinn?”
“Talentless hacks.”