The evidence suggests that the stolen paintings, minus the “Renoir,” which has never surfaced again, made their way to Lisbon. After failing to unload them there, the organized crime figures who controlled them must have concluded that if they were to realize anything at all on their sale, the paintings had to re-enter the New World.
Whether or not they were actually in Argentina in 1991, when the car collector who wanted to do the right thing contacted Sotheby’s, is an open question. They had certainly entered Brazil by 1993. Three faxes were sent to Elayne Galleries in the spring of that year, all by a man who represented himself as interested in making sure the paintings were returned to their rightful owners. The faxes were on the letterhead of Galerie Schreiner, Inc., a company with galleries in Lisbon, Basel, and New York. The sender was in Lisbon. He wanted to arrange the return of the paintings to Portugal, where he would set up a sting operation that would result in their recovery.
“Dear Mrs Elayne,” says the first fax, dated April 28, 1993, “The case is too complicated to deal with alone. We’ll have to join forces. I fear we have to deal with a gang!”
“The day after we got that fax, I got a phone call from the gallery owner himself,” says Bonnie. “He wanted to make certain we were the people who owned the Rockwells. I told him we were, and he said, ‘I believe your paintings are being held by the federal police in Brazil.’ So first it’s a gang, then it’s the federal police. Of course, later on we came to understand that in Brazil it’s a thin line.”
The caller claimed that he was personally acquainted with the president of Portugal and had contacts in Brazil who would be able to obtain the paintings from the police. He was worried that his involvement in the situation might damage his reputation, but he was willing to risk it if the paintings could be recovered.
“That same day I got a call from a fellow named Fulvio Minetti,” says Bonnie. “He was a State Farm Insurance agent in Las Vegas, but he owned a travel agency and a money exchange in Rio de Janeiro as well. He told me pretty much the same story as the gallery owner, that the Rockwell paintings were in the hands of the Brazilian federal police. So I had information from two independent sources who said the same thing: The paintings are in Rio, and the police have them.”
Minetti claimed to have some shady Brazilian contacts who could get their hands on the paintings and said he would call again soon. At that point no deal had been discussed, but Minetti clearly had one in mind.
Bonnie notified the FBI’s Minneapolis office. “They were simply not interested,” she says. “It made me mad. I’d heard that they’d organized an FBI art crime team in Washington, and somehow I found out how to reach them and managed to get someone on the phone. I explained what was going on, and within hours a local agent came to the gallery. He told me to get as much information as I could from the people I was in touch with, but he said he was skeptical that any of it was real.”
She made further inquiries of the Home Insurance Company, based on her hunch that this time something might come of the contacts. She said she needed the files because her mother had passed away, and they were now her only reference if questions about ownership of any of the paintings were to arise. They sent a copy of the $90,000 claim paid to Brown & Bigelow and said that was the extent of it, according to their records.
Bonnie contacted Minetti and told him exactly what was going on. Minetti was upset that the FBI was involved. In order not to be seen as a double-crosser, he would have to tell his Brazilian contacts about their involvement, he said, and they might back out. Nevertheless, he was open to offering some proof that the paintings were in Rio, and in reasonable condition.
Photo sent from Brazil in 1993, with a newspaper in the background to demonstrate that the painting was there at that time and place
“I guess it was my idea to have photos taken of them along with a newspaper with that day’s date showing,” says Bonnie. “I figured, why not? They were ‘hostages,’ after all.”
To her surprise, and the FBI’s, the photos soon arrived in the mail. The dated newspaper was clearly visible in each photo, and there was enough detail to identify the paintings as the ones that were stolen in 1978.
“You could see some worn areas around the stretcher marks that I remembered,” Bonnie explains. “They were unquestionably the real thing. It was pretty exciting.”
The FBI agent told her to find out what Minetti and his contacts wanted, but he also explained a fundamental problem relating to the paintings’ whereabouts.
According to a UNESCO agreement that law enforcement agencies rely upon in international cases, UNESCO member states require the recipients of stolen art to give it up, even if it was acquired in good faith. But Brazil was not a member state of UNESCO, which meant that there were no legal means by which the U.S. government could help get the paintings back.
On May 17 a fax arrived from Galerie Schreiner, in which the writer claimed that his “correspondent in Brazil” had concluded that it would be dangerous to reveal the names of the people who were involved on his end. The FBI suggested ignoring him. On June 5 he said he needed to hear from Mrs. Elayne “regarding different aspects of the problem Rockwell.” He couldn’t keep matters on hold much longer without raising suspicions, and if he didn’t receive instructions pretty soon he would have “no other choice but to retreat from the whole matter.”
That was the last they heard from Galerie Schreiner.
Minetti and Bonnie stayed in touch. After three months of frequent phone calls, he finally explained what he had in mind. He proposed that Bonnie come to Rio with half a million dollars in cash, out of which he would take a ten-percent finder’s fee. The paintings would be returned as soon as the money was paid.
“Well, that wasn’t going to happen,” Bonnie says, “but the FBI wanted me to string him along, so I didn’t act too shocked.”
There were a few more calls, in which some haggling took place. By July 5, 1993, the price was down to $250,000, but Minetti warned that matters had to be brought to a swift conclusion. One of the paintings had been pledged against a loan that came due on July 15, and the lender was eager to get his hands on it.
There was discussion of the FBI sending a female agent posing as Bonnie to Brazil, but it was nixed before it got off the ground. The agency said they would make some efforts through Interpol. Nothing came of that either.
“Obviously I couldn’t come up with the kind of money he was talking about, the insurer wouldn’t help, and the FBI couldn’t make anything happen, so things just sort of wound down,” Bonnie says. “Eventually, maybe three or four months later, an FBI man came to the gallery. He handed me a folder of documents concerning the whole sequence of events starting from the first fax, and said there was nothing more they could do. ‘You mean I’m on my own?’ I asked him, and he said, ‘Yes, you’re on your own.’”
Bonnie describes her state of mind at that point as “worn out.” She had her hopes up many times, and nothing had come of it. Furthermore, she had no idea who she had been dealing with, but they knew who she was and how to find her, and they didn’t seem like nice people. It echoed something she felt fifteen years before, immediately after the theft.
“The TV stations were all there, and you know, you’re upset and not thinking clearly, and I told one of them we had the license number of the thieves’ car. Well, they led with that information along with a picture of me, and kept leading with it for days. We couldn’t get them to take it off the air. So I’m thinking, whoever did this knows that I know, they know where to find me, and this is a big crime. These are real criminals. I was scared. Then fifteen years pass and all of a sudden it’s South American gangsters who have my address. I said to myself, ‘This is it. I’m done.’”
In 1995, Maureen Hennessey, curator of the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts, called the gallery. He said he had received a letter from a man in Brazil who claimed to have the paintings and was willing to sell them. Bonnie thanked him for the information but didn’t follow up. A few months later a fax came from a lawyer in Florida who claimed to represent someone who had information about the stolen Rockwells.
“I can’t even remember his name,” she says. “I was determined to ignore him. He made other attempts, but I didn’t keep track because I honestly wanted it to be over.”
Then one day she picked up the phone at the gallery, and the person on the other end said, “I have a friend who’s been trying to contact you and you won’t respond.” Before she could hang up he explained that he was a South American residing in Washington, DC, a reputable, hard-working person.
“He said he installed draperies at embassies all over the world, if you can imagine that,” says Bonnie. “But there was something about the guy, his voice or whatever, that made me think he was sincere. So, it was here we go again.”
The drapery hanger said he had a college friend, Brazilian by birth but presently living in Florida, who wanted badly to speak to her. His name was Luis Palma. That was how the end game began.