Over the next few weeks, we rode past the warehouse every day and talked about professional art thieves, rewards, new bikes and how we were going to turn the uncovering of a gang of thieves into enough house points to win the house cup. Sometimes the security guard was on the site. He wouldn’t let us inside, but he told us the warehouse wasn’t going to be an indoor sports centre. He mentioned that the building was going to be used for storage. Rows and rows of shelves had been put in. Could shelves be evidence the warehouse was going to be used for stolen stuff?
Twice we saw delivery trucks parked alongside the warehouse. The trucks were plain white – very sus.
The warehouse was owned by a gang of professional thieves – I could feel it in my gut. It was just like when Pop knew it was going to rain – his gut told him. And what other reason could there be for all the secrecy? Between Cal’s mum and the internet, we found out all we could about the recent art thefts across the country. We knew:
1.The thieves had excellent and expensive taste according to a couple of art experts. Sometimes they’d leave less valuable works by famous artists and only take those artists’ paintings that were regarded by art connoisseurs as superior.
2.One theory was that there was a single person directing the thefts who had a list of paintings that were wanted.
3.Every robbery was committed during the day without violence. Twice, in small galleries, distraction was used. In those cases a heart attack was feigned, and the gallery staff were called on to help while accomplices cut the canvases out of their frames and put them in a bag before walking out the front door.
4.All the thefts took place in private homes or in small galleries where the security wasn’t great. One home (a mansion really) had a state-of-the-art security system but it hadn’t been turned on. In another mansion a painting was in a safe, but the owner had left the combination to the safe in the top drawer of his desk.
Newspapers and current affairs shows were discussing whether the thefts were linked. Of course the police were saying predictable things like “We’re examining all possibilities.” A reward had been offered for the return of some of the more valuable paintings. No dollar amount was mentioned. It didn’t matter; Cal, Masaru and I had agreed to split the reward equally. Mas was quite happy to get a reward even though he kept saying (logically as always) that we didn’t really have any evidence that the warehouse would be used to store stolen stuff, let alone famous stolen paintings.
He was right, of course. But right was boring. And annoying. That was why we kept watching the warehouse whenever we could, just in case we could get hold of some solid evidence.
Cal had already chosen the new bike he was going to buy with his share of the reward. I said I didn’t know what I’d do with my share. I hadn’t told them that three days ago Dad had lost his job. It felt weird having him home so much. I didn’t care if my share of the reward went to paying bills and buying food. I liked my old bike. Masaru said he wasn’t going to count his chickens before they’d hatched; naturally.
Late one afternoon we saw three men drive into the site in a white van – exactly the same kind of white van used by thieves when they rob a bank, at least in the movies. The men definitely looked liked bad guys; they were dressed in blue jeans and dark jackets. One guy wore sunglasses – real sus.
I turned to Cal and Masaru, “I’m taking a photo.” I got out my mobile phone, but the men had gone into the warehouse before I could take the photo. “I’ll wait until they come out.”
“You mightn’t be able to capture their faces,” said Masaru. “Why don’t you take a photo of the van’s number plate?”
“Good idea,” Cal and I said at the same time. Masaru’s logic sometimes came in handy.
I could just make out the registration. “That reminds me, once there was a robbery of a famous Leonardo da Vinci painting from a castle in Scotland,” I said, “the thieves pretended to be tourists doing a tour of the castle. They grabbed the painting and ran to their getaway car. They said to a couple of tourists, ‘Don’t worry, we’re the police. This is just a practice.’ But the tourists took a photo of the thieves and the rego of the car.”
Cal asked, “So, did the police catch the thieves?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think ––.”
Masaru tugged my arm and pointed.
The men were coming out already. My heart thumped. I could see the newspaper headlines: ‘Schoolboys uncover gang of professional art thieves’. I lined up the picture with my mobile and took the photo but then heard a voice behind me, “What are you doing?”
I turned round to see a big man with humungous shoulders. And he was dressed like the men from the van. I thought, he must be the bodyguard of the person directing the thefts.
“What are you taking photos of?” he demanded to know.
Don’t act guilty, I told myself. “The warehouse…we want an indoor sports centre…we like soccer…we were going to show the photo to my dad…he might know… he might know if it looks like an indoor sports centre.” I took a deep breath. “Do you know?”
He stared at me like he knew I was lying. He didn’t say anything. Was he thinking about whether he should kill us or just how he’d dispose of our bodies after he’d killed us?
