Part 10 (1/2)

He had decided to play a sleazy Canadian and had it in his head, for no very good reason, that the ideal outfit would be ”a tam-o'-shanter hat, a really garish orange-colored blazer, and yellow trousers. I tried to look like a complete Canadian a.s.shole. I told them I was going to sell all these wonderful medieval objects and paintings stolen from various churches to people who owned yachts in the Bahamas.

”You'd have to be some kind of eastern bloc jacka.s.s to believe the c.r.a.p I was coming out with,” Hill gasps, red-faced with laughter. ”But they loved it; they went for it.”

Nervy though he is, Hill chooses outlandish roles not to spice up the game but because he thinks he knows what crooks expect an art sleazeball to look like. ”You have to feed the art crook a.r.s.eholes' fantasies,” Hill says. ”You have to be what they want you to be.” Their notions are almost guaranteed to be wildly off, since they are based on guesswork and stereotype, but that's fine with Hill.

His job is to hit the notes that signify authenticity to his crook audiences. If a posh accent or a plush hotel room spells credibility, so be it. In the world of natural history, scientists have spent years exploring such triggers. When birds bring food to their nests, for example, they meet a host of gaping beaks pointed at the sky. If scientists take away a hungry chick and subst.i.tute even the crudest replica of an open beak, the hardworking parents will labor mightily to feed it it. Charley Hill is the least scientific of men, but the performances that he calls his ”amateur theatrics” are essentially experiments to find the triggers that cajole crooks into responding the way he wants them to.

Mark Dalrymple, the insurance investigator, is a far less impetuous man than Charley Hill. But even though he shakes his head at Hill's lack of prudence, Dalrymple is quick to acknowledge the detective's undercover skills. ”Charley Hill,” Dalrymple says, ”has more brains and more b.a.l.l.s than the rest of the police combined.”

Hill's aversion to any gear beyond the most basic is partly a personal quirk and partly a matter of experience. ”Brits don't do guns,” Hill will say, if he is pressed, but that is patently insincere. If he happened to favor favor going armed, he would just as happily chalk his preference up to his American heritage. More to the point, Hill's anti-gun bias is a legacy of his time in Vietnam. When guns are around, things go wrong, and not just for the person at the wrong end of the barrel. ”Going unarmed doesn't put me in extra danger,” Hill insists. ”It puts me in going armed, he would just as happily chalk his preference up to his American heritage. More to the point, Hill's anti-gun bias is a legacy of his time in Vietnam. When guns are around, things go wrong, and not just for the person at the wrong end of the barrel. ”Going unarmed doesn't put me in extra danger,” Hill insists. ”It puts me in less less danger, because carrying a gun gives you a false sense of security.” danger, because carrying a gun gives you a false sense of security.”

Guns foster a ”shoot first, think later” approach that can only mean trouble. In Vietnam, Hill himself had nearly killed one of his own men by accident. ”He was a little guy, named Peewee. He was Hispanic but he looked almost Vietnamese. He was one of those a.s.sholes who liked to put his helmet on the wrong way around, like wearing your baseball cap backward.” One morning Hill spotted something in a clump of elephant gra.s.s. ”Suddenly this head popped up, and the helmet was the wrong shape. I stopped just short of blasting him full in the chest. He must have been fifteen yards away, no more than that. 'Oh, f.u.c.k,' I thought. 'Jesus! Peewee!' I nearly blew him away, and all he'd been doing was having a c.r.a.p in the bushes.”

Hill's dislike of guns also reflects hostility toward technology in general. He can manage a cell phone or send an e-mail, but that is as far as he goes. The function of mechanical contrivances is to betray their user at the worst possible moment.

In the Czech case that featured a crew of ex-secret police turned art thieves, Hill had no choice but to trust his life to gadgetry. The good guys-the German counterparts of the FBI-had given him a briefcase rigged up so that when Hill pressed a b.u.t.ton it sent out an electronic ”come quick” signal. In a parking garage beneath a hotel in Wurzburg, Germany, Hill met with the Czech gangsters and perused the stolen paintings they proposed to sell him. The Germans were poised to race in when they got Hill's signal. Hill pressed the b.u.t.ton. Nothing happened. Maybe the problem had to do with being underground, or perhaps there was a mechanical failure. He tried again. Still nothing.

For half an hour, Hill studied and restudied the paintings, playing for time and rambling on about Lucas Cranach and Veronese and Reni as best he could, to an audience made up of cops gone bad, at least one of them a killer. When he could manage to do it inconspicuously, he tried again to send the help signal. Nothing. Finally the Germans acted on their own, bursting in brandis.h.i.+ng Dirty Harry handguns and arresting everyone. Hill and the Czech gang leader ended up sprawled next to one another face-down on the concrete floor. A cop bent low to handcuff Hill's arms behind his back and whispered into his ear, ”Goot verk!”

Charley Hill, on the grounds of Blenheim Palace. The pose was a subtle homage to one of Hill's favorite paintings, Gilbert Stuart's The Skater The Skater. A man of action with a connoisseur's eye, Hill liked to think of himself as spiritual kin to Stuart's skating scholar.

Gilbert Stuart, The Skater The Skater. 1782 oil on canvas, 147.4 245.5 cm National Gallery of Art. Was.h.i.+ngton DC, USA /Bridgeman Art Library Hill's pa.s.sport photo, taken in 1969 in Saigon.

A memorial service for the eleven men of Bravo Company's Lima Platoon, killed in an ambush on Easter Monday, 1969.

Zita Hill, Charley's mother. An elegant, high-spirited woman, Zita trained as a ballerina but joined Bluebell Kelly's troupe of high-kicking dancers for a European tour just before the outbreak of World War II.

Landon Hill, Charley's father, in Air Force uniform.

Hill is proud of his dual ancestry, ”log cabin on one side and knight of the realm on the other.” His mother grew up in a glamorous English household where the likes of George Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells were frequent visitors. His father's family hailed from the American west. Here several of Hill's relatives (the boy who would become his grandfather is sixth from the left) pose in front of the family homestead in Oklahoma in the 1890s.

In Charley Hill's first case as an undercover detective, two crooks tried to sell him a painting by the 16th-century Italian Parmigianino. The painter's most famous work, often called the Madonna of the Long Neck Madonna of the Long Neck because of its exaggerated proportions, is at left. Hill examined the crooks' painting and told them he thought their prize was a fake. because of its exaggerated proportions, is at left. Hill examined the crooks' painting and told them he thought their prize was a fake.

Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery was stolen from London's Courtauld Inst.i.tute of Art Gallery by a thief who tucked it under his arm and ran out the door. The painting, by Bruegel, was valued at 2 million. The painting eventually made its way to a gang of small-time thieves, who showed it to an expert to find out if it had any value. The expert took a look and fainted. was stolen from London's Courtauld Inst.i.tute of Art Gallery by a thief who tucked it under his arm and ran out the door. The painting, by Bruegel, was valued at 2 million. The painting eventually made its way to a gang of small-time thieves, who showed it to an expert to find out if it had any value. The expert took a look and fainted.

Francesco Mazzola Parmigianino, Madonna of the Long Neck, 1534-40 oil on panel, 135 219 cm Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence. Italy /Bridgeman Art Library Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery, 1565 oil on panel, 34.4 24.1 cm The Samuel Courtauld Trust. Courtauld Inst.i.tute of Art Gallery, London Photograph of Edvard Munch c.1892 Munch Museum, Oslo Munch painted his self-portrait in 1895, two years after The Scream The Scream. A more tormented man would be hard to imagine. ”Disease, insanity, and death were the angels which attended my cradle,” he once wrote, and they chased poor Munch throughout his long life.

Edvard Munch, Self-Portrait with Self-Portrait with Cigarette, 1895 oil on canvas, 85.5 110.5 cm PHOTO: J. Lathion: National Gallery. Norway/ARS J. Lathion: National Gallery. Norway/ARS Edvard Munch, Spring Evening on Karl Johan Street Spring Evening on Karl Johan Street, 1892 oil on canvas, 121 84.5 cm Courtesy of the Bergen Art Museum /ARS Munch painted this melancholy street scene, Spring Evening on Karl Johan Street Spring Evening on Karl Johan Street, in 1892, a year before The Scream The Scream. The skull-like heads and staring eyes would reappear in The Scream The Scream.

The Scream has served as the basis for countless spoofs and cartoons. Munch, a tormented and melancholy man, had hoped that audiences would ”understand the holiness” of his images. has served as the basis for countless spoofs and cartoons. Munch, a tormented and melancholy man, had hoped that audiences would ”understand the holiness” of his images.

Munch may have seen this Incan mummy at the Palais du Trocadero (now the Musee de l'Homme) in Paris. Some art historians believe it helped inspire The Scream's The Scream's central figure. central figure.

Pl Enger was an ex-soccer star turned crook and a publicity hound. Enger, who had been convicted in 1988 for stealing Munch's Vampire Vampire, was a natural suspect when The Scream The Scream vanished. He had an alibi, though, and enjoyed teasing the police. Here he poses next to the spot where vanished. He had an alibi, though, and enjoyed teasing the police. Here he poses next to the spot where The Scream The Scream had hung; in the place of the $72-million masterpiece is a poster from the museum's gift shop, hanging above a label reading ”Stolen.” had hung; in the place of the $72-million masterpiece is a poster from the museum's gift shop, hanging above a label reading ”Stolen.”

The National Gallery, in Oslo. The Scream The Scream had been moved from its customary location in the museum to the second floor, so that it would be more convenient for tourists. Not only was the painting moved closer to ground level, but it was hung in a room with easy access from the street and within a few feet of a window. This photo was snapped moments after had been moved from its customary location in the museum to the second floor, so that it would be more convenient for tourists. Not only was the painting moved closer to ground level, but it was hung in a room with easy access from the street and within a few feet of a window. This photo was snapped moments after The Scream The Scream vanished. Note the billowing curtains, as the wind blows through the broken window, and the police tape. vanished. Note the billowing curtains, as the wind blows through the broken window, and the police tape.

The Scream was stolen on the opening day of the Winter Olympics in 1994. With the world's attention focused on Norway, the was stolen on the opening day of the Winter Olympics in 1994. With the world's attention focused on Norway, the Scream Scream thieves stole the international spotlight as well as a $72-million painting. thieves stole the international spotlight as well as a $72-million painting.

An art dealer named Einar-Tore Ulving found himself mixed up in The Scream The Scream case when an ex-convict client told him he had underworld contacts who could arrange for the return of Munch's masterpiece. case when an ex-convict client told him he had underworld contacts who could arrange for the return of Munch's masterpiece.

The first break in the case -following a tip from an anonymous caller, authorities found a piece of The Scream's The Scream's ornate frame. The National Gallery's ID numbers proved that the frame was the real thing. ornate frame. The National Gallery's ID numbers proved that the frame was the real thing.

Leif Lier, the Norwegian detective in charge of The Scream The Scream case. case.

John Butler headed up the three-man team that Scotland Yard sent to Norway to find The Scream The Scream.

Charley Hill's business card, for his role as wheeler-dealer Chris Roberts, ”The Man from the Getty.”

Adam Worth, the renowned Victorian thief, provided the model for Sherlock Holmes's nemesis, Professor Moriarty. Worth stole one of the most famous paintings of his day, Gainsborough's Portrait of Georgiana Portrait of Georgiana, and kept it with him, secretly, for twenty-five years. Worth is the only undisputed example of a thief who stole a masterpiece and clung to it not for profit but for his own delectation.

Thomas Gainsborough, Georgiana, d.u.c.h.ess of Devons.h.i.+re Georgiana, d.u.c.h.ess of Devons.h.i.+re, 1787 oil on canvas, 74 102 cm The Devons.h.i.+re Collection, Chatsworth. Reproduced by permission of the Chatsworth Settlement Trustees.

Perugia was arrested in Florence. Though convicted, he was sentenced to only twelve months, reduced on appeal to seven. Perugia, an Italian, argued successfully that he had been motivated by patriotism, not greed, and wanted only to see the Mona Lisa Mona Lisa in its homeland. Here officials at the Uffizi examine the painting before returning it to France. in its homeland. Here officials at the Uffizi examine the painting before returning it to France.

On a Monday morning in August, 1911, a day when the Louvre was closed to the public, a carpenter named Vincenzo Perugia sneaked out of a closet where he had hidden overnight. He hurried to the Mona Lisa Mona Lisa, took the painting off the wall, tucked it inside his coat, and walked out the door. Two years later, when he tried to sell the world-famous work, he was arrested. (Police misspelled his name in this mug shot.) David and Mary Duddin. A major-league fence, or seller of stolen goods, Duddin was dubbed ”Mr. Big” by an English judge. Duddin once tried to sell a stolen Rembrandt. He wasn't much impressed by the painting. ”I wouldn't hang it on me wall,” he scoffed.

Kempton Bunton, who was Mary Dud-din's uncle, was in the art line himself. In 1961 he stole Goya's Portrait of the Duke of Wellington Portrait of the Duke of Wellington from London's National Gallery. (See photo insert p. 5.) from London's National Gallery. (See photo insert p. 5.) Rose Dugdale, an ex-debutante turned political radical, stole a Vermeer, a Goya, a Velasquez, and sixteen other paintings from Russborough House, a stately home outside Dublin. The theft was inept and all the paintings were quickly recovered. At her trial in 1974, Dugdale proclaimed herself ”proudly and incorruptibly guilty.” She was sentenced to nine years in prison.

In 1986, a Dublin gangster named Martin Cahill robbed Russborough House yet again, pulling off what was then the biggest art theft ever. ”The General,” as Cahill was known, was a vicious thug-he once took hammer and nails to the hands of a gang member he suspected of betrayal-who had a strange sense of showmans.h.i.+p. Here Cahill is led to jail; the gangster, who made a fetish of hiding his face, nonetheless flaunts a pair of boxer shorts and a Mickey Mouse T-s.h.i.+rt. Art thieves have attacked Russborough House four times so far.

Niall Mulvihill, a Cahill a.s.sociate. Charley Hill, who recovered the two most valuable paintings stolen by Martin Cahill, negotiated their return with Mulvihill. (See photo insert p. 3.) In 2003 Mulvihill was shot to death by a gunman in Dublin.

One of the very few thieves who stole art for his own collection, Stephane Breitwieser was a French waiter arrested in the winter of 2003 for stealing perhaps $1.4 billion worth of paintings and other objects. When the police closed in, his mother sliced many of the paintings in tiny pieces and threw them away in the trash and tossed others into a ca.n.a.l near her home. Here police search the partly drained ca.n.a.l.

Arkan, a Serbian gangster and accused war criminal, was reportedly involved in the theft of two Turners, worth a total of $80 million, stolen in 1994 while on exhibit in Frankfurt, Germany. Above, on a tank captured by his ”Tigers” unit, he poses with a tiger cub. Art thieves were once das.h.i.+ng figures like Adam Worth. Today the swashbucklers have been shoved aside by brutes like Martin Cahill and Arkan.

Whenever a world-famous painting disappears, police speculate that some master criminal, a real-life Thomas Crown, has ordered the painting for his private collection. Outside of Hollywood, Charley Hill insists, there are only wannabe Thomas Crowns like Stephane Breitwieser, never outsize figures on a Hollywood scale. One villain who supposedly a.s.sembled a collection of paintings stolen to order was the Ugandan dictator Idi Amin.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston was the site of the largest art theft ever-eleven paintings and drawings worth $300 million. The photo above shows the museum courtyard. The robbery, still unsolved, is the holy grail of art crime. The FBI reward in the case is $5 million. Ten years after the theft, the FBI admitted that ”we haven't got a clue,” and, after another four years, the agency remains stymied.

27.

Front-Row Seat Undercover work is not a spectator sport. Almost always, the only eyewitnesses are the partic.i.p.ants themselves, and both cops and robbers have biases that distort their view. Dennis Farr, who was director of the Courtauld when thieves stole its 2 million Bruegel-this was the ”Peter Brewgal” affair-is one of the rare laymen who have seen an undercover operation.

Farr is a tall, thin man with elegant manners. He looks like a fluttery type, a bird-watcher perhaps, the sort of scholar who would go pale at the sight of a typo. As the Bruegel case played out, though, it fell to Farr to string crooks along on the phone (while Art Squad detectives at his elbow listened in and scribbled him instructions). He found he had a flair for the task. ”One discovers one has a bit of a thespian bent,” he acknowledges shyly.

Charley Hill and Dennis Farr hit it off at once. Hill put on his best manners at their first meeting, deferring to ”Dr. Farr” and chatting away about the Courtauld collection and art in general. Bruegel was one of Hill's favorites. He grew animated when he discussed how Bruegel had painted the shaft of light that descends from the left and illuminates Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery, the stolen painting. Farr took up the theme, and both men went on to a happy discussion of similar uses of light in Rembrandt and Vermeer.

Farr is no sn.o.b, and he had been taken with the other Art Squad detectives, too, but Hill intrigued him. ”As soon as I met him,” Farr recalls, ”I saw there was a maverick quality in Charles Hill. I said to myself, 'He's either going to end up commissioner of the metropolitan police, or he'll quit the force altogether.' ”

The second time they met, Farr found Hill considerably changed. The plan was to rendezvous with the crooks, and Hill was in character. ”I was a loudmouthed 'Hey there, you old son of a b.i.t.c.h' kind of guy,” Hill recalls. For this role, the point was not not to come across as an art connoisseur but as someone so smug and ignorant that he was ripe for the plucking. ”I wasn't arty, but I was a trophy art type, some J. Ralston Ridgeway type from Dallas, Texas. Those guys are legion. They're the ones who buy fakes and spend big bucks on overpriced paintings. They're extremely wealthy chumps who see art as a way to establish their bona fides in society. So that was me, some a.s.shole who's got more money than sense.” to come across as an art connoisseur but as someone so smug and ignorant that he was ripe for the plucking. ”I wasn't arty, but I was a trophy art type, some J. Ralston Ridgeway type from Dallas, Texas. Those guys are legion. They're the ones who buy fakes and spend big bucks on overpriced paintings. They're extremely wealthy chumps who see art as a way to establish their bona fides in society. So that was me, some a.s.shole who's got more money than sense.”

The meeting with the crooks was set for the Savoy, a grand old hotel on the Strand, overlooking the Thames. Ideally, the thieves would produce the painting, Hill would hand over a ransom, and a gang of cops would burst from hiding to make the arrests.