Page 55 of The Love Thief
“Yes, of course,” I said eagerly, pushing my empty plate to the side.
“When Lassie’s home was raided, and he was taken into custody, a thorough search of his home turned up an underground bunker filled with priceless art and an old, well-used, leather-bound ledger with a bounty of details written in simple coded German.
Once I obtained a copy of the ledger, I went through Barry’s passport and in a matter of minutes was able to determine the dates of every visit he made to Budapest over a five-year period.
“Those dates coincided with the sale of a dozen paintings, the names of which were clearly identifiable in the ledger, and all of which matched up with the art confiscated from the Tavers’s estate,” Jackson explained.
“The only thing the prosecution needed now was undeniable proof that both Barry and his mother knew that the art was stolen.”
I nodded, indicating my understanding.
“Marc Russell, Mrs. Tavers’s attorney, called AUSA Susan Karson almost daily, trying to get the charges against her dropped.
Seizing the opportunity, Karson offered Phyllis a ‘Queen for a Day’ meeting, and Marc jumped at the chance to see what other new evidence they might have against his client.
For his part, Marc was well aware that most of his clients were top-notch liars and he was interested in hearing what Mrs. Tavers would reveal in a no-holds-barred interview where she was sworn to be completely truthful.
“As her defense attorney, keeping Mrs. Tavers out of prison was Marc’s only priority and he really didn’t care what happened to Barry, whom he suspected had been living high on the gravy train of family money his entire life.
“And so, to get the old lioness to act in her own best interest, he convinced her to agree to the Queen for a Day offer and to not tell Barry anything about it, either before or after.”
My eyes widened at the prospect of hearing Phyllis’s side of the story. Jackson continued.
“So, on the morning of Phyllis’s Queen for a Day interview, she, myself, Marc Russell, and Susan Karson all met in a conference room on the fifth floor of the federal building to hear what Mrs. Tavers had to say about the arts’ origins.
“Susan had her laptop hooked up to a projector, and on the giant screen were the handwritten ledger pages detailing the names of the paintings that had been confiscated from Phyllis’s home. Next to each one was a dollar amount indicating the sale price for each painting.”
“Okay,” I said, not really understanding the relevance of that detail.
“You see, per my training, I’d been watching Mrs. Tavers intently as Susan went through each painting and its sale price line by line. As they went through the accounting, I could see the blood practically drain from her face, then rise again, her cheeks flushing with anger.
“And at that moment, I had a strong hunch as to why.”
“Yes?” I asked, on the edge of my seat.
“So just as I’m about to ask Mrs. Tavers if the sale prices on the ledger matched her recollection of what she paid Barry for their acquisition, she flies into a rage and screams, ‘That fucking no good liar! I paid him twice what he paid for those!’”
Suddenly transported back to the present moment at the Bombay Heaven Café, Jackson and I both looked around a little self-consciously. Thankfully, most of the lunch crowd had already dissipated and the restaurant was nearly empty.
“Unbelievable,” I said, even though a part of me wasn’t at all surprised. Barry had lied to and stolen from me from the very beginning. What made me think he would spare his mom? Shaking off that distasteful thought, I managed a small smile and urged Jackson to please continue.
“After Mrs. Tavers’s outburst, Marc, Susan, and I all looked at each another in silence, realizing that the path to Phyllis’s freedom had just been revealed, along with the sure path to Barry’s indictment. Then, of course, Marc asked for a moment to consult with his client.
“Marc quietly explained to Phyllis that if she truly wanted to be done with the nightmare of this situation, he could negotiate a plea bargain for her in exchange for her testifying against Barry. Of course, she’d have to forfeit the art, and agree to a probation sentence, probably with an ankle bracelet to keep her homebound for a year or less, but at least she’d avoid prison.
And, of course, Phyllis, still seething from her son’s betrayal, hissed at Marc to make the deal.
“So Marc turns back to Susan and says, ‘If my client can prove that her son always knew the origin of this art, can you grant her full immunity?’ Susan thought about this for a minute, then responded, ‘First, I’d like to hear the whole story.’”
I listened carefully as Jackson related Phyllis’s story.
“It turns out that in 1949, Phyllis traveled to Dusseldorf to visit her cousin Ilona, who was the mistress of an infamous art dealer, Hildebrand Gurlitt—notorious for his role as the head of Hitler’s art theft brigade during the war.
Even though Gurlitt was guilty of many crimes, he had skated by in a trial by claiming that as ‘part Jew’ he had been persecuted by the Nazis and was forced to participate.
“During that same trial, he was also able to prove that he had legitimately inherited some of the artworks he possessed.
After the war, Gurlitt went on to open art galleries and display over seventy exhibitions of leading modern artists.
He would broker the sale of paintings while at the same time dealing privately and purchasing works for his own collection.
“Then, a few years later, Ilona had an illegitimate son with Gurlitt, a cute little boy named . . .”
“Lassie!” I shrieked as previously disconnected bits of information began clicking into place. A grin started to spread across my face.
“You got it!” Jackson said, playfully. “Gurlitt and Ilona are the ones who introduced Mrs. Tavers to the world of fine art and even gave her a small Renoir etching as a gift. This was the start of her love affair with fine art.
“Then, after Mr. Tavers struck it rich as a slumlord, Mrs. Tavers decided to begin collecting art. It had been decades since she had heard from Ilona, so she sent Barry to Budapest to search for her and hopefully gain access to a good deal on some rare art. Barry easily found Lassie, by now a well-known art dealer and collector himself. He explained that his beloved mother had died many years earlier. Even though Lassie didn’t remember ever having met Phyllis, he was familiar with a photograph his mother kept on her vanity table of the two women bookending his birth father, dressed in his Nazi uniform.
“Apparently, Barry was captivated by the photo and brought home a copy of it framed in antique sterling silver as a gift for his mother, along with the first painting for her collection, a rare signed Pissarro that Lassie swore was the deal of a lifetime.”
I drifted off for a moment, remembering the official tour Phyllis had given me of the Tavers’s home shortly after Barry and I began dating. I couldn’t say with any certainty whether they owned a Pissarro, but I knew for sure I’d seen that creepy old photo.
Jackson cocked his head to the side as if to ask where I’d gone. I brought myself back to the present and nodded for him to continue. “So, at this point in the interview, Susan asks Phyllis if she knew that the paintings were part of the cache stolen from the Jews.
“And after some stalling, Phyllis finally admits that she assumed they were stolen because Ilona had told her all about Hildebrand and what he did for Hitler. With that bit of information, Susan’s next task was to find out if Barry also knew, so she asked her point blank, ‘Did Barry also know the origin of the artworks?’
“Phyllis again mentioned the photo of herself and Ilona with Hildebrand that Barry so proudly brought back as a gift and confirmed that, yes, Barry knew the origin of the artwork and knew exactly who Hildebrand was to Hitler.”
Jackson flashed his wry little smile, and as if reading my mind, he said, “Holly, Marc had taken a picture of that photo with his iPhone days earlier when he met with Phyllis at her home to prep her for the interview.”
A little gasp escaped my lips as Jackson said this, and I felt pretty sure I knew where the story was going. “Okay, go on!” I practically begged.
“At that point, Marc pulled out his phone and showed the picture to Susan and me as undisputable evidence that Barry had full knowledge of the art’s origins.
And Mrs. Tavers confirmed that he had always known.
” I sat there, speechless, a more complete picture of Barry’s evil nature now coming into view.
Jackson sat in silence with me, giving me time to process all that he had just said.
“Wow. Thank you for explaining all of that,” I managed finally, then realized there was still one piece of the puzzle I didn’t understand.
“What do you think finally convinced Barry to take the plea deal?” I asked.
“Well, Holly, Barry tried every stall tactic in the book to delay the proceedings, but I think he was really counting on having his mother’s testimony thrown out.
He actually convinced the judge to order a competency hearing, which Phyllis passed with flying colors.
Much to Barry’s surprise and dismay, Phyllis is still sharp as a tack with an impressive memory.
That setback, coupled with the number of federal charges against him which could have resulted in a sentence of more than forty years, finally made him realize that he was going down for this. His best bet was to take the deal.”
Jackson paused for a moment, his expression growing brighter.
“And, Holly, you’ll be happy to know that Susan used that video footage you captured of Barry offering you the hundred grand as the final nail in the coffin, saying that it was further evidence of his attempts at witness tampering,” Jackson added, looking satisfied.
“Now, before we leave that corrupt family in our rearview mirror forever, is there anything about what transpired that you didn’t understand?” he asked.
“No, sir, I think I got it all. Thanks to you, a very bad, bad guy is going to prison for ten years. Did I get that right?”
“Yep, you sure did.”
“And I am one hundred percent free and clear from any prosecution or suspicion of illegal activity?”
“Yep, you sure are.”
“Then I am all good.”
Before I knew it, three hours had flown by.
After rehashing the sordid details of Barry’s final downfall, we discussed everything from our shared love of watching Cash Cab to our favorite Michael Franti tunes to my crazy-busy months in Delhi and the opening of its hottest new restaurant, Moondoggie’s.
Jackson listening to me was healing in itself.
His questions showed he was genuinely curious about me, and I felt heard in a way that I never had with Barry.
I realized that, with Barry, the focus was always on him: his wants, his needs, his plans.
It all seemed so exciting at the time that I didn’t notice, or didn’t want to notice, that it was never about me.
I was just a useful pawn in his chess game, distracted by his gifts, traveling, and orchestrated romance, and I had cast him a starring role in my lifelong fairy tale.
Ultimately, we had both used each other, and while the cost to me was significant, his would be public disgrace through the media and include ten years’ prison time.
I discovered Jackson was amicably divorced with two tween kids, Sam and Zoe, a boy and a girl, and that he co-parented with his ex, who was also an FBI agent.
Their marriage had fallen apart when he was assigned to train in Budapest as part of an international art fraud task force.
Over the years, he advanced from trainee to instructor, which led to his work chasing Lassie and his sleazy collectors.
When Jackson’s ex-wife was transferred to San Diego a few years ago, he arranged to be relocated there as well.
It became clear in the restaurant we were sitting at that it was time to go when the only people left besides us were the busboys who were anxious to clear our table for the early evening dinner reservations.
As we reluctantly left the restaurant, my body felt elated, exhausted, exhilarated, and eager to move forward into a new life. I didn’t want to salute Jackson this time, so I extended my hand instead, which he warmly embraced with his.
“Do you like the beach?” he asked as he pocketed his phone in his jacket.
I swallowed hard. Was he asking me to walk on the beach like Barry had an eternity ago?
“We live in San Diego. How could I not?” I smiled warmly, hoping I didn’t sound too harsh. In truth, I was overcompensating for my heart doing backflips at the thought of seeing Jackson again.
“I’ll call you,” he said as he escorted me to the parking lot. After he opened the car door for me, I slid behind the wheel, grabbing it with both hands to contain my excitement.
“I’d like that,” I replied softly, not knowing where else to look but straight into his gray eyes.
His body blocked the sun as I squinted in his direction.
Placing his hands in a namaste, he backed away from my car toward his Jeep.
Did he just namaste me? I wondered as I fired up the ignition.
What else do I not know about him? In just a matter of days, I was about to find out.