Palma appeared to be an honest broker. He said he represented the man who purchased five of the Rockwells from a Brazilian immigration official, among them the two that belonged to the gallery. He admitted that he expected to collect some money if a deal could be arranged, but it would come from the seller. There was no specific price mentioned, but Palma indicated that it would not be as outlandish as previous offers.
Subsequent conversations revealed how the paintings got to Brazil. They had entered in possession of a man who arrived at the Sao Paulo airport on an international flight. Customs officials discovered the paintings when they screened a large package he was carrying. The paintings were confiscated and ended up in possession of the federal police, but the man was not detained.
Why would customs seize the paintings as if they were contraband, then send the person who possessed them on his way? According to the FBI files, “The paintings paid for his entry into Brazil.”
Brazil’s constitution forbids extradition of its citizens to other countries, and fugitives often seek citizenship for that reason. Becoming a citizen of Brazil can be difficult and time-consuming, but payments to certain agencies can expedite the process, among them the federal police and the Department of Immigration and Visa Services.
According to Palma, the customs agent at the airport turned the paintings over to an immigration official whose husband was a federal policeman. He initially tried to sell the paintings through his underworld connections but eventually contacted a wealthy man, a legitimate art collector, who purchased five of them. The other two appear to have been used by someone as collateral for a loan.
The art collector had enlisted the aid of his friend Luis Palma in finding out if the paintings were stolen. When Palma discovered they were, the collector asked him to act as middleman in an attempt to get them back to their rightful owners.
The first thing Bonnie asked Palma was what proof he could offer that the collector was real and that the paintings were in his possession.
What proof do you want? he asked.
“I suggested that he send us one of the paintings,” says Gary Lindberg, “but he told us that wasn’t likely to happen, so we asked for photos.”
Soon several crisp, detailed photos arrived, taken against the backdrop of what appeared to be some kind of redoubt in the rain forest. The telltale stretcher marks were present, and the paintings appeared to be in good condition. The collector himself, a portly man who appeared to be about fifty, was holding a painting in one of the photos.
“We didn’t know his name at that point,” Bonnie says. “I was thinking he’s either awfully stupid for sending us a picture of himself, or he feels well protected down there. But we were satisfied that Palma had been truthful. I contacted the insurer again, and they told me again that there was no reward money, which was no surprise, but I wanted to make sure they were in the loop. I had a feeling that this time it might come to something, and I didn’t want any trouble with them.”
There were more phone calls. Eventually Palma revealed the name of the man he represented, Jose Carneiro, an art historian and teacher as well as a collector, who owned a private school in a town outside of Rio. Palma removed himself from the situation, and the Lindbergs began talking to Carneiro directly.
“I could tell we were dealing with a different kind of person than I’d gotten used to,” says Bonnie. “Was he a good guy? Well, if he was a really good guy he would have just sent the paintings back. Let’s just say he wasn’t a bad guy.”
It was a slow process, and Bonnie soon asked her brother to take over what would prove to be a prolonged negotiation.
“It was kind of nerve-racking,” says Gary, “but I found it fascinating. It was the culmination of twenty years chasing a ghost.”
Information came one tidbit at a time. Sometimes months would go by without contact, but gradually Gary was able to put together a picture of the man he was dealing with. Carneiro, he came to believe, was conflicted about a situation that he hadn’t fully understood until after he got into it. He was painfully aware that regardless of the legalities, he was not occupying the moral high ground. He had no intention of giving the paintings away, but he didn’t seem to be in it for the last possible dollar either.
“It looked to me like his reputation was more important to him than any money he would get,” Gary says. “He as much as admitted that, and he knew he had limited options as to what he could do with the paintings.”
Carneiro let it be known that he was in New York occasionally for art auctions and eventually agreed to meet there to discuss things in person. In May 1998, the three of them rendezvoused in a hotel coffee shop in Manhattan.
The Lindbergs had sent photos of themselves to Carneiro so he would recognize them, but there was no mistaking him. They spotted him from the door, a husky, Latin fellow wearing an expensive-looking suit and tapping his ring-bejeweled fingers on the table nervously as he waited. He rose when they approached and introduced himself. His English was accented, but quite understandable. He was about five feet six inches, and he bore a passing resemblance to the Mexican artist Diego Rivera.
“He was elegant, in a way,” Bonnie recalls, “well dressed, polite. I suppose he was trying to make a good impression, and I’d have to say that he did.”
“He came across as a business executive, very much so,” says Gary. “He took great pains to present himself that way—the whole power executive thing. And he emphasized how very important it was to him that we believe he had no knowledge that the paintings were stolen when he bought them.”
Carneiro professed great admiration for all things American, especially Norman Rockwell. He said he appreciated Rockwell in a way few people foreign to the United States did. He had paid a great deal for the paintings because he cherished the artist and everything embodied in his work.
“It was almost comical,” says Gary, “and to this day I can’t make up my mind if he was sincere or not.”
Carneiro told them he traded a Rolls-Royce automobile and other items of value, along with some cash, for the paintings. He declined to estimate the total value of the exchange. He indicated that he knew the situation was favorable for him because Brazil was not party to the UNESCO agreement and he had acquired the paintings legally according to the applicable laws.
“Nevertheless,” he said, “I was duped, and it embarrasses me to say so. I’m an art dealer, I should have known better, but my great admiration for the artist blinded me to the nature of this affair.”
He explained that not long after he acquired the paintings, he began to have suspicions. He sent a letter to the Art Loss Register and received written assurance that the paintings weren’t listed. Nevertheless, he contacted his friend Luis Palma in Florida and asked him to make inquiries of the Rockwell Museum. The curator told Palma that the paintings had indeed been stolen and provided contact information for Elayne Galleries.
“What he told us was plausible,” according to Bonnie. “The register was started shortly after the theft. I just assumed that the FBI or the insurer would get them listed, and I suppose they thought we would, so it fell through the cracks. If you took him at his word, you could say he had gone the extra mile to find out the truth.”
“I still have some suspicions myself,” says Gary. “This guy was very smart, there is no question about that. He might have been told that the art was stolen by the person he bought it from, and even if he wasn’t told he had suspicions.”
The discussion in New York went on for hours. Carneiro continued to stress the importance of his image. In the course of the conversation, he disclosed that his wealth and status were less dependent on his art collection and his art dealing than they were on the private school he owned and operated. He said the wealthy Brazilians who sent their children to be educated by him would be put off if he became involved in any scandal.
“So what can we do?” Gary asked. “Something has to be done, because the paintings are ours.”
“No,” Carneiro replied. “The paintings are mine. I have a bill of sale, and the law in Brazil is entirely on my side. I will, however, sell them back to you.”
They began to discuss a deal. Gary made it clear that they wouldn’t go ahead with any arrangement without proof positive that the paintings were real. “I told him the photos looked authentic, but when all was said and done they were just photos and we wanted to see a painting. Otherwise we’d be buying a pig in a poke.”
Carneiro was displeased. He wondered if such a thing could be accomplished or if it was too much of an impediment. Gary suggested that it would work if Carneiro relied on their word, which he should do, since all of them were honorable people. He could ship a painting to the gallery for authentication. The Lindbergs would agree to send it back.
“He kind of smiled and said, ‘No,’” says Gary, “but we began to talk about some variations on that idea.”
They agreed that shipping a painting to the United States only to send it back again didn’t make sense, but Carneiro said he was open to sending one painting to stay as part of a deal for both.
They soon struck a bargain. One of the Date Paintings would be shipped to the gallery for inspection. If it proved authentic, $40,000 would be wired to a bank account in Miami and forwarded to Carneiro.
They agreed on the same price for the second painting, but Carneiro balked at going through the same process in order to get his money. He said that sending the first painting before he saw any cash would be a gesture of good faith, and the Lindbergs should make a gesture of their own in regard to the second painting.
“I suggested that maybe we should come down to his place, at our own expense, and look at it there,” says Gary. “That way we could authenticate all the paintings he had, which might help him sell the rest too. I could see the wheels turning for a few moments, and he said, ‘Yes, that will work.’”
They agreed that Carneiro would set the time for the trip and figure out where they would meet and how they would get to where the paintings were kept without breaching any security. Carneiro wanted the whereabouts of the paintings kept secret because of their value and because he feared that despite the law, diplomatic pressure could lead the Brazilian authorities to try to seize them.
“I had visions of being led into the jungle blindfolded,” Gary says, “but he wasn’t quite that secretive. He explained that he had a home in Teresopolis, about sixty miles outside Rio, and that’s where we’d be going. He told us we’d hear from him soon, and we parted on good terms.”
“My heart was pounding like crazy,” says Bonnie. “Twenty years had passed, and we were on the brink of succeeding. My mom hadn’t lived to see it, but it looked like my dad would. It was a really good feeling.”
Elayne Lindberg would have been proud of the idea her daughter had shortly after she returned to Minneapolis. She contacted a local TV station, KARE 11, and asked if they were interested in filming the return of the first painting and maybe even tagging along on the trip to Brazil. They agreed, and planned a two-part series that would air during sweeps week in February 1999.
Bonnie told the FBI in Minneapolis what was in the works. They didn’t offer any help, but they didn’t interfere either.
It wasn’t long before an invitation to come to Rio arrived. They set a date. Carneiro initially balked at television coverage, but Gary convinced him it was a smart move, considering his concerns.
“I told him that it would be an opportunity to make sure his reputation didn’t suffer. Instead of being portrayed simply as someone who’d sold stolen art back to its rightful owners, he’d be able to explain himself right there, on his own home ground, where nothing could go wrong. It took some back and forth but eventually he said, ‘Why not? Bring yourselves, bring the TV crew and their cameras. Let’s do it.’”