“I don’t give the list out to anyone just for the asking.”

“But it’s on your computer. How hard would it be to access?”

The man pursed his lips and considered the words. “It is just a file and I’m not at my desk all the time.”

“Thank you for being honest,” Decker said. “Has the gallery had any suspicious thefts in the last three months?”

“No.”

Oliver said, “Did anyone in your employ recently take a sudden vacation?”

Decker looked around. “Speaking of which, where’s Victor?” A long silence ensued. “Victor Gerrard. He was here when we first visited. Where is he?”

Another long silence. “It wasn’t a vacation. Victor’s father is ill. He asked for time off.”

“Okay.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Uh . . . how long has he worked for you?”

“About a year. And I’ve had absolutely no problems with him at all.”

“Where does Gerrard live?” Oliver asked.

“He rents a room when he’s in the city during the week. He’s in Philadelphia on the weekends. His cell has a Philadelphia area code.”

“What about his father? Where does he live?”

“I believe he told me that his dad lives in Chicago or maybe it was Cleveland.”

“How long has Gerrard been gone?” Decker asked.

“About two weeks.”

“Right after the time of our visit, “McAdams said. “Has he called in?”

“No . . . he hasn’t. And I haven’t called him. I figured he must have his hands full. And business is traditionally a little slow in the wintertime.”

“Can I have his number?” Decker asked.

“I’ll call,” Merritt said. “I’m not giving out any numbers without his permission.”

“Then please go ahead and do it, sir.”

“Very well.” Merritt punched in the digits. A moment later he got voice mail and left a message. “I’ll let you know when he calls back.”

“No, no, no,” Decker said, “We need to find his whereabouts as in now. When he applied for the job, he filled out an application, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Go pull up his application. Maybe he gave you his father’s number for contact information.”

“It might take a few minutes.”

“Mr. Merritt, this is a murder investigation. We need the information. Please get me his application.”

Merritt said, “Very well. I’ll be right back.”

After he left, Oliver said, “Think he’s telling the truth?”

“I do.”

“Me, too.”

McAdams said, “Shouldn’t someone be there when he makes the call?”

Oliver said, “He’s being cooperative. Let’s not push it.”

“What we really need is the client list,” Decker said. “Maybe we’ll find a fence among the names. But he’s not going to give it to us without a warrant.”

“We can use eminent danger to get the list.”

“Yeah, that might be worth a try.”

Five minutes passed. Rina said, “Maybe I’ll go grab a book.”

“What do you think of him, Rina?” Decker asked. “Do you think he’s lying?”

“I’m not an expert, but I don’t think he’s lying. He’s just prickly.”

“I agree with you,” Oliver said.

“The iceman cometh,” McAdams whispered.

“More like the snowman,” Oliver said. “He’s white.”

Merritt said, “The application form in my computer has been erased. But I keep the paper applications in a separate file. On it, he claims his father died five years ago.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Dear God! What is going on?”

Oliver said, “We need your client list.”

“I can’t give it to you, Detective. It’s confidential.”

“We’ll get a warrant.”

“Then do so.”

“And while we’re doing that, whoever else is brutally murdered is on your conscious.”

“That’s a horrid thing to say.”

“Don’t get mad at him,” McAdams said. “He just doesn’t want you to wind up like me. At least I’m breathing. The next one may not be so lucky.”

Merritt buried his head in his hands. Decker looked at him. “We need the list.”

“What makes you think that Gerrard was dealing illegally with one of my clients?”

“Do I really have to answer that?”

Merritt nodded. “Wait here. I’ll print it out for you.”

“Thank you. You’re doing the right thing.”

After he left, Oliver said, “Who do we contact about Gerrard? NYPD? Philadelphia PD?”

“I’ll do Philadelphia first. Cindy works there.”

“Yeah, right. How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine. She should be moving up to detective soon.”

“Good for her. And the boys?”

“They’re ready to play pro basketball.”

A moment later, Merritt returned with several sheets of paper in hand. “It goes back five years, but I haven’t updated in years. Some of the people may even be deceased.” He handed it to Decker. “And should someone ask, you didn’t get the names from me.”

“Got it.” Decker scanned the names with Oliver looking over his shoulder. “It’s your complete client list, though.”

“It’s the only list I have, yes.”

“Could you look it over for me? Make sure no one important has been erased.”

“It’s over three hundred names.” When Decker didn’t answer, Merritt grabbed the list back and with an index finger went over the names. It took him more than a minute, which meant he was paying attention. “I’m not positive but it looks complete.”

Rina stood on her tiptoes and whispered into Decker’s ear. He turned to her. “Can you do that?”

“I can’t. Maybe Tyler can.”

“Do what?”

“See if the client list was recently updated,” Decker said.

“I told you I haven’t updated it in a while,” Merritt said.

“And you also told me that it isn’t hard to get access to your computer. We’re wondering if this list was updated right before Gerrard left.”

“How would I know that?”

“Check previous versions of the file,” McAdams said. When the dealer didn’t answer, he said, “I could check. If you have an automatic backup, it’s not hard to do.”

“You’re not touching my computer.”

“You can watch me.”

“It’s a murder investigation,” Decker reminded him.

Merritt gritted his teeth. “I suppose it would be okay if I was there.”

“We’ll all come.” Decker smiled. “If it’s okay with you.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” The dealer marched off and the crew followed him to his office. It was a decent-size office but not meant to accommodate five people let alone a wheelchair. McAdams elected to leave the appliance outside. He hobbled over to the desk chair, sat down, and it didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. “The list was updated three weeks ago.”

“That’s not possible!” the dealer exclaimed.

Decker said, “Tyler, can you pull up an older version of the list?”

“Yep.” A few moments later. “Here we go. Can I press the print button?”

“Yes, yes.” Merritt removed it from the printer and gave it to Decker who put the two lists side by side and started going down the names. Within a few moments, he found his first discrepancy. Two more followed, making it three clients missing from the updated version of the file. He showed the names to Merritt.

“Alex Beckwith?” Merritt said. “Why on earth would anyone delete him?”

“Who is he?”

“He heads the Cultural American-European Liaison Association.”

“Which is?”

“Just what it sound like. Beckwith acts as a go-between when museums want to borrow from each other. For instance, if the Met was having a Renoir exhibit and wanted a painting from the Louvre, he’d liaison from one museum to another. He’s a very prominent individual.”

“Does he buy stolen art?” Oliver said.

“I won’t dignify that with an answer,” Merritt said. “His position is critical. Since Chabad’s challenge to the pieces in the Russian Library, European countries are disinclined to loan anything out to the United States without an indisputable provenance.”

“I should hope so,” Rina said.

Merritt looked incredulous. “Art is above politics, my dear.”

“Not when it comes to theft, sir.”

Merritt bristled. “I’m afraid we are of two minds.”