Heinz Noonan, the “Bearded Holmes” of the Sandersonville Police Department was in heaven. Figuratively speaking, that is. His plate was full, again figuratively, with all of the activities which make the minions of law and order smile. Again, figuratively. Law and order minions do not smile when it comes to crime. Crime reporters do, but no officers of the law. Or the court.

Noonan was not smiling but he was pleased to see law and order services were needed in Sandersonville and its environs. There had been a rash of burglaries down the North Carolina coast and the State Troopers were on the lookout for a pair of Picasso originals which had vanished along with a 1912 Stanley Steamer.

How you could hide a Stanley Steamer anywhere in America was beyond Noonan but then again, stranger things had happened than a bright red, steam-belching, antique auto with florescent yellow hubs which had been refurbished to attract attention wherever it went.  And with two Picasso painting in the back seat?  Spare me! There has also been a theft from a gold and diamond franchise in Manteo, an extortion attempt (unsuccessful) in Waves, a kidnapping (successful, sort of ) in Rodanthe, a hostage standoff in Ocracoke (ongoing) along with the usual rash of armed robberies, shoplifting, mental health calls and missing persons inquiries. Someone was vandalizing the outside of school library walls with Shakespearean quotes (really?!) and there had been a peaceful protest inside City Hall in favor of fighting global warming. On days like this, with both the temperature and humidity in the upper nineties, Noonan was in favor of fighting global warming.

It was also a grand day because Noonan’s wife’s cell phone was dead(!). It had finally succumbed to the ravages of age and use-age. It was of some make and model Noonan cared not to know – or investigate – and it had finally given up the ghost. It went to sleep – [Did cell phones sleep? He knew they died. His wife’s phone had died. OH, HAPPY DAY! But she was going to get another one. (frown).] – and sometime during the night it had gone to that great Best Buy in the sky.

Better yet. His majesty, the Commissioner of Homeland Security for Sandersonville – and his boss – was on a junket in Washington D. C. Junkets being what they are, it was unlikely Lizzard would waste so much as five minutes to call back to see ‘how things were going’ in the home office.  Afterall, that was the purpose of a junket: to go to an exotic location courtesy of the home office and tell the home office all about it.  When you returned, not while you were there.

Things were going well – badly if you were law-abiding resident – until the electronic lucifer began to hum in his breast pocket.

Speak of the devil!

But it was a Washington D. C. number.

“Noonan.” His voice had to be professional just in case it was Lizzard on borrowed phone.

“Captain Noonan?”

“You are correct, sir. To whom am I speaking?”

“Leopoldo Sokolov.” The voice had an accent thick enough to cut with a meat cleaver. “I am with the Russian consulate here in Washington D. C. I am a cultural attaché.”

“Sandersonville has quite a few Russians, Mr. Sokolov, but our culture is strictly American.”

There was a chuckle on the other end of the electronic void. “It is Russian culture I represent. And call me ‘Leonard.’ It’s easier that way. Your Commissioner, a Mr. Lizzard, told me to call. We, that is, the Russian Cultural Director, received a rather unusual message from one of our traveling exhibitors. We, that is, the Russian consulate, does not have the manpower to investigate such matters. The local police are, shall we say, disinterested.”

“I’ll see what I can do for you, Leonard. Exactly what is the problem?”

“Persons unknown stole an exhibit of duct tape samovars and matryoshkas dolls. Then they returned the stolen artwork.”

* * *

The “Bearded Holmes” caught up with the Russian cultural exhibit in Nags Head. From the comments by Sokolov, Noonan has assumed the traveling show was somewhat small – particularly if it were traveling down the North Carolina coastline. If it had been large, it would have bounced from large city to large city; Boston to New York to Washington D. C. to Richmond to Virginia Beach and then maybe Charleston or Atlanta. When he entered the Nags Head arena, he was surprised to find the exhibit was ten times the size he imagined and offered all manner of Russian arts, crafts, inventions and clothing. There were paintings, furniture, jewelry, flatware, software, dinnerware and casual wear.

Noonan wandered the convention hall for a good half-hour for ‘the lay of the land’ and ended up at the duct tape artwork booth against the most remote back wall the convention center had. To call the exhibit unusual would be stretching the definition of the term. While the artwork was superb, it was clear it was either from recycled trash or the clever usage of everyday objects.

Old glue tubes had been transformed into stick soldiers and plastic pens into forest animals. There were horses composed of forks for legs and a spoon scoop for the head. There was a double-headed eagle, the logo of the coat of arms of the Russian Federation, made of a dried colloidal substance which could have once been mayonnaise and an interesting collection of figures for a matryoshka, the nesting Russian dolls.

This the largest of the matryoshka was a figure which was clearly of a king. Obviously made of duct tape but painted so well only the edges of the tape could be seen through the lacquer and only if you were very close to the creation. The face was portrayed so well one could have called it a portrait and the gems in the crown and scepter were painted bread crumbs.

The next smallest doll was a queen. She was made of a thinner tape, probably masking tape. She was a masterful creation and, again, her face was painted fine enough to be called a portrait. Her pleated dress was elegant and, if life size, she would have truly been the belle of the ball. Her crown also had bread crumb jewels.

The third figure was of a witch. Of that there was no question. Made of what appeared to be scotch tape, she was in the traditional garb of the sorceress. She was wearing a full length, jet-black cloak with only her pitch-white face visible. The face, Disney-like, had an extended, bent nose with a mole on top. Flush along her right side was a broom with a brown handle just light enough to be visible against the black gown and rusty colored channeling of possibly dried toothpaste for the broom’s brush.

The next figure, oddly vertical, was a frog of what appeared to be Christmas packaging and finally, the size of an index finger tip, was a prince. Minuscule those he was, the face of the prince, again, was intricate enough to be considered a portrait.

Noonan was examining the full-size duct tape samovar when he was approached by a young man in traditional Russian dress. Traditional, that is, for the Czarist era. He was a man in his fifties with a Lenin-like mustache and goatee. He was dressed in Western clothing and – quite pleasing to Noonan – did not have a tie.

“Commissar Noonan?” His accent was thick.

“Isn’t commissar a Soviet term? A bit old, eh?”

Then the man broke into perfectly formed American English. “It is all part of the sales pitch, as you say here in America. Marketing. It is all marketing.”

“How did you know I was commissar Noonan?” Noonan stressed the term, commissar.

“Commissar, police, agent, bear, bull, Cossack, copper, gendarme, flatfoot. They are the same the world over. Besides, since the robberies along the coastline, we’ve had a lot of your people looking at all our artwork.”

That took Noonan by surprise. “Why?”

“Captain Noonan, that’s your title, right?”

“Heinz. Until my visit is official. Heinz will work just fine.”

“OK, Heinz. We are a traveling show sponsored by the Russian government. We came on a diplomatic flight and we will return to Russia on a diplomatic airplane. Your federal people want to make sure we aren’t stealing things along the way. Once we are on the plane, the federal people cannot search us. Here in Nags Head,” his spread his arms wide, “we are in the United States and can be searched.”

“What do you think the police are looking for?”

“From where they looked, Picasso originals. They brought some portable X-ray machines and looked into some of the framed artwork the same size as the missing paintings.”

“Did they find anything?”

“Of course, not. Only a fool would try to paint over a Picasso original and have it hanging here. Besides, Heinz, is it?, that’s not the way things work. You know that. You steal the painting and hide it. Then you let the police examine the paintings you have that are the same size. After you have been cleared of the theft, you replace the painting. But the police are not stupid. They will be back. Before we board the flight to Russia, there will be another search with the X-ray. I am sure of that.”

“You speak English well for a Russian.”

“All educated people speak English well. American English, that is. That’s because the money is here. In the United States.” He handed Noonan a business card. It was printed in English on one side and Cyrillic on the other. “Everything is marketing. The Cyrillic,” he pointed to the back of the card, “is to authentic the artwork. We,” his right hand swept the horizon, “are all here to sell our wares. This is not a traveling art show. It is a traveling marketing expedition. We show our wares, pass out business cards and hope to make sales here and when we get back to Russia. Don’t’ think of us as artisans, think of us as international entrepreneurs.”

“But you are Russian, correct?”

“Oh, I’m very Russian. I grew up a l-o-n-g way from Moscow. My earliest memories are sleeping on an oven because it was the warmest place in the hut at night. We got water from a river and had to chop through the ice during the winter. The only arts supplies I had was what you call trash,” he pointed to his shelves of artwork. “I sold enough to keep the family fed. When my artwork was noticed in Moscow, I moved into the city. When my trash-work – that’s what my agent calls it – sold well in New York, I knew where the money was. I learned English, American English, and finagled myself onto this expedition. Yes, I am Russian, but I will be an American citizen soon.” He smiled, “But I will still have a Moscow address so my artwork is still considered Russian.”

“I see,” Noonan said nonchalantly. “The reason I am here. . . .”

“Oh, I know why you are here. I’m the one who called the consulate. My artwork disappeared for a day. One night, actually. It reappeared and nothing was missing and nothing was tampered with.”

“Are we talking janitors? I mean, could your artwork have been removed to clean floors. You are here against a wall.”

“I doubt it. But that’s not the point. The point is almost all of this artwork,” again, his arm swept the convention floor, “will be on a Russian diplomatic flight in two days. Those Picasso paintings have not shown up so I am sure your federal people will do another search. They are going to do what the police always do. They will look over all paperwork. Then they will come to me and look at my exhibit. Afterall, it disappeared and then reappeared. Why?”

“That’s good question.”

“Do you have any answer?”

“No. Do you?”

Noonan chuckled. “OK, let’s see if we can figure it out together. How much did you pay for all of the materials for your artwork?”

“You are kidding, yes?”

“No. I know you are using recycled material. Did you buy anything new for the artwork?”

“OK. We will do it your way. Yes, I bought all of the tape for the artwork. And the wrapping paper, glue sticks, spoons, forks and the metal plugs. The metal plugs – you can’t see them – are on the underside of most of the artifacts. The tape, all varieties, are light. That is, they do not have a lot of weight. I have to put metal plugs on the bottoms to keep the artwork upright. Maybe a pound for the samovar,” he pointed to the largest piece of duct tape artwork. “The smallest plugs are for the animals,” he pointed to the horses, moose and bears. “They have plugs the size of a pencil eraser.”

“Those plugs, are they lead?”

“Clever man! Yes, of course. And just in case you think the plugs would be gold from your robbery up the coast, the artwork was weighed when it was put on the plane in Moscow. And it will be weighed before it leaves the convention. I am sure our law enforcement people will do that. Particularly after all the publicity for the robberies, the Russian Embassy does not have the slightest hit of impropriety to hit the newspapers. Neither do any of us. We’re business people, not thieves. According to the newspapers, the gold theft was about $50,000 dollars. That’s about four pounds. I might have four pounds of lead in all of the artwork,” he pointed to the shelving. “But like I said, all of this artwork is going to be weighed before it leaves the convention floor. If there is a weight difference, it’s going to be noticed.”

Noonan smiled. “OK. I have some other questions for you. Other than you, who has access to your artwork here? How did you know the pieces were missing? In Moscow, who has access to your artwork? What was your largest sale here? Have you sold any of these pieces? I mean, has anyone bought any of these pieces so they are not going back to Russia? If so, when are you going to make the delivery? How much does your artwork sell for? What was your largest sale? When was your largest sale? Do you ship all of your artwork to buyers or does you agent do that?”

The Russian smiled. “That’s a lot of questions. Let’s see what I can do. This is a convention and during the day I watch my artwork because I am here. No one is watching when I got to lunch or dinner. I don’t know what kind of security there is at night. But I do know the artwork was missing one night because when I came back in the morning, the artwork was out of place. I am in a remote corner and the security cameras do not cover me.

All of this artwork has been sold. All of it. After it clears security it will go to my agent in New York and she will be sending it to buyers. As far as the sales price, that’s handled by my agent. I get orders and I fill them, She handles the money end of the business. My product, so to speak, is unique. I don’t make the same samovar over and over. Each one is different. Every buyer is different. At least, that’s what my agent says.

So, to answer a handful of your questions at once, I have no idea who has bought what because when someone wants to buy this piece or that one, I have that person contact my agent. If there had not been those robberies, I suspect all of the artwork here would simply be put on a plane. With the robberies, the police being suspicious fellows, (pause) and gals, will be examining all of the artwork carefully. In my case it will be easy. Gold is easy to detect, if not by weight than by touchstone.”

Noonan kind of smiled. “I see. And you will be here in Nags Head for how many more days?”

“Seven. Do you know who stole and returned my artwork?”

“Not yet. I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

Noonan was fighting a recalcitrant tape dispenser when Harriet came into his office with a large package.

“I didn’t know you knew any Russians.”

“I didn’t know I did either. Why?”

“This just came by courier,” she said and set the package on his desk. “It’s from the Russian Embassy in New York.”

“Hummmm,” said Noonan nonchalantly as Harriet attacked the packing tape with a pair of scissors. She popped the box open and reached inside.

“Oh, hello dahling!” she said as he pulled out two bottles of Vodka. “And the best Vodka on the planet!”

“I don’t drink Vodka,” Noonan said flatly.

“I do,” snapped Harriett. “And you can’t accept gratuities. Fortunately for me, I can.”

“Anything else in there?”

Harriett dug around in the packing and came up with an envelope. She ripped it open even as Noonan was reaching for it.

“It’s from a Leopoldo Sokolov. Do you know him?”

“Barely.”

“It says, ‘Thanks for the lead. The FBI in New York made an arrest and the Russian Embassy was not mentioned in the press.’ Above his signature, in large, black lettering is the word skol.”

“How nice of Leopoldo to remember me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Oh, a favor I did the Russian Embassy.”

“Did it have anything to do with the recovery of the diamonds from the Whitford Gold and Diamond robbery in Manteo?”

“Who knows? All I know is I suggested the FBI look into a possible link between an art agent in New York who sells Russian trash-work . . .”

“Trash-work?”

“Yes. Artwork made of recycled material. In this case, duct and packing tape. I suggested the FBI look under the plugs in the bottoms of the artwork. The plugs were needed to keep the artwork erect because duct tape is not that heavy. So the FBI removed the plugs and found the diamonds from the robbery. Diamonds do not weigh very much so there would have been no weight disparity between what the artwork weighed when it came to the United States and what it weight after the show.”

“Why would anyone weigh artwork after a show? Usually it’s sold and that’s that.”

“I am sure it was part of the plan. The perpetrators knew there was going to be intense scrutiny of the show because of the theft of the Picasso originals and the gold. But the real money was in the diamonds. The originals and gold were just distractions. The police were intent on finding the originals which were of a specific size and the gold a specific weight. The Russian artwork convention was a natural focus because it was on the move. The police had to search it while it was in the area. So they searched it with a fine-tooth comb. They x-rayed the paintings and weighed everything with metal.

When it came to the trash-work, it could not hide a Picasso painting and the lead weights on the bottom of the artwork were examined with a touchstone. And the trash-work was weighed and the poundage was compared to the incoming cargo manifest. That’s what the perpetrators expected. I’m betting the diamonds were wrapped in very light tissue paper and shoved up inside the artwork. Even if the plug holes were examined, the tissue paper would have been considered part of the trash-work.”

“Let me guess,” snapped Harriet carefully hiding the twin bottles of Vodka behind her back. “The thieves bought the artwork at the convention and then expected to pull the diamonds out when it was delivered.”

“Maybe. Or the agent was involved. Or not. My guess, a perpetrator visited the cultural exchange convention and saw the trash-work artifacts. The art work was the perfect way to get diamonds out of the area. So the perpetrator robbed the Whitford Gold and Diamond franchise in Manteo. The gold was just a distraction. So were the Picasso originals. I’ll be the Picasso originals were in the Whitford offices. I’ll bet the Stanley Steamer was there too. You can sell gold anywhere. You don’t need to ship it out. And the Picasso originals, I’ll bet they just appear. Maybe in an abandoned home or warehouse.  Along with the Steamer. I find it hard to believe the thieves would have driven a bright-red antique automobile designed to attract attention any farther than a few miles. Even at three or four in the morning someone would have noticed and when the robbery appeared in the paper, there would have been a tip from the public.

The real target was the diamonds. Their laser-codes can be adjusted. After the diamond robbery, the perpetrators broke into the convention one night, put the diamonds into the trash-work. They knew the artwork was going to the agent in New York. They had probably already bought the artwork, trash-work, excuse me, in the show up the coast and knew the objects were going to be sent to the art agent in New York. If the FBI ever found the stones, everyone could claim to be innocent. The FBI could not tie the stones to anyone.”

“Really? And you believe that?”

“Not really. The trash-work display was against a back wall of the convention center in Nags Head. It was in a place not covered by the security cameras. Only someone local would know that. I told the FBI to check the paperwork for the Nags Head convention center. It should not be too hard to find the local connection.”

“And that links to the perpetrator.”

“I hope so.” Noonan paused. “And while you are enjoying that Vodka, remember, a well-balanced Russian is one with a shot of Vodka in both hands.”