The Shark of SoHo

Chapter 2: Troubled Waters

Teresa's fairy godfather remained on Neal's mind throughout the subway ride back to June's house. Was he being overly influenced by what happened to him in high school? His art instructor had requested he copy a painting by Degas. Neal later discovered the man tried to sell it as an authentic work. That experience had been his introduction to the dark underbelly of the art world. Something similar appeared to be happening to Teresa.

She was right about Sheffield's reputation. His gallery was one of the most prestigious in New York, and there was no doubt that Georgia O'Keeffe's works were extremely popular. In the current seller's market, expert reproductions could command a high price.

Georgia never signed her works, so Teresa wasn't faced with the issue of counterfeiting her handwriting. As long as the bill of sale identified the work to be a reproduction, it would be a legitimate transaction. Teresa should sign the canvas, but had she? When Neal suggested it, she remained non-committal.

When he returned to the loft, a streak of light under the door indicated he had a visitor, and the strains of a Don Giovanni aria alerted him to the caller's identity. Mozzie didn't drop in as much as he used to, but his girlfriend Janet was in the midst of final preparations for a clothing-as-art exhibition at the Cecile Gallery. Despite his love of the shadows, Mozzie was at heart very much a social animal. Neal looked forward to hearing Mozzie's take on Sheffield. It was a safe bet that Neal already knew the answer.

"What's up?" Neal asked as he opened the door. His attention was immediately drawn to the dinette table, newly littered with photos and copies of old newspaper articles. Mozzie's laptop was powered on. It looked anachronistic next to the documents on the table.

"Cow tunnels, mon frère!" Mozzie had made himself at home, helping himself to a spicy Zinfandel from Neal's collection. He sighed expansively. "Ah, New York, what a marvelous city you are!"

Neal poured himself a glass while there was still some wine left. Cow tunnels were a new phenomenon. Had Mozzie abandoned his quest to find the Tudor Crown to focus on the cowboy side of Manhattan? "Care to explain?"

"Joseph Bassus provided the clue."

At that, Neal realized the Tudor Crown remained on the top of Mozzie's stack of interests after all. He'd become convinced that the Illuminati had hidden the fabled lost crown of Henry VIII. Mozzie had managed to uncover a probable descendant of a member of the Illuminati. His name was Joseph Bassus. The trail went cold when Bassus was murdered in 1982, but Mozzie was undeterred, arguing that his murder was likely committed by someone else also searching for the crown.

"I succeeded in locating an aunt of the late lamented Joseph," Mozzie continued. "She's a prickly octogenarian but I was able to appease her with liberal helpings of honey wine." He gestured toward the photos. "These are from Joseph's collection. She'd kept a chest of his belongings. The woman is quite a packrat." He paused to sigh. "If only I'd had time alone in her house, the treasures I might have unearthed ... But revenons à nos moutons"—he snickered—" or even better, à nos vaches."

When Mozzie started making jokes in French, it was a clear signal he was in a good mood. Neal settled back to be entertained about why his friend was herding cows rather than sheep.

"I've long been drawn to the possibility that the crown lies hidden somewhere in Manhattan's network of tunnels," Mozzie confided as if he were revealing a state secret. "But after an exhaustive search of the tunnels underneath Columbia University, I was forced to conclude the location lies elsewhere."

If Mozzie had relinquished the search, Neal wasn't about to argue the point.

"It was my friend Joseph who pointed the way. Do you know where this was taken?" Mozzie held up a grainy photo of several cows on a street. They were accompanied by two men on horseback.