Vermeer's The Concert

Vermeer's The Concert

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Stolen Art Watch, Gardner Museum Art (Boston) Recovered 2015, With Art Hostage Solution 25 Years Since Heist

Art Hostage has been a thorn in the side of all concerned relating to the infamous Gardner art heist for decades.
Art Hostage has been toxic in his views about the criminals, law enforcement and the Yellow Journalists who have written about the Gardner art heist for the main(slime)stream media and followed the bullshit line spewed out repeatedly over the last 25 years.

Now, for the first time, Art Hostage can offer the solution that finally recovers the Gardner art.

First of all the Gardner Museum must make a new reward offer by way of a public statement of intent, highlighting the actual conditions needed to claim the reward.
Something along the lines of:

"The Gardner Museum of Boston declares after 25 years of searching without success a new detailed reward offer. 
This reward offer is based upon a 1% percentage of the Market/retail value (or the total reward being up to $5 million for all the Gardner artworks, whichever is the largest amount given the possible damage to the Gardner artworks over the years since) stolen of each stolen Gardner artwork recovered upon its recovery and any damage to the condition since it was stolen in 1990. 
This reward will be paid in full for each Gardner artwork returned and not require the total Gardner artworks stolen back in 1990 to be recovered. 
For example, if the Vermeer is recovered, it will be inspected and valued, then a reward of 1% percent of it current value, in its current condition will be paid out forthwith with no other conditions to apply. 
This will apply to all stolen Gardner artworks as and when they are recovered. 
A simple test can be applied by offering information about a lesser value Gardner artwork, for example a drawing by Degas, to test the validity of this renewed 2015 publicly offered reward"

The actual legal language can be arranged to suit the legal process but the main focus is to offer a collectible reward, taking into account the possible damage or less than Good condition the Gardner art may be in after 25 years. By doing this it will send a clear message to those who can give the vital information as to the whereabouts of the elusive Gardner art and reassure them the reward is real, sincere and legally binding, as well as the reward will be paid out on each individual stolen Gardner artwork, as and when recovered.
This solution is practicable, honest, sincere and will go along way to reassure the scepticism of those within the close knit circle that know the whereabouts of the Gardner art.

Secondly, the so-called immunity from prosecution offer being touted all these years is a false offer as explained by The then Assistant Boston D.A. Brian Kelly, back in 2010 at the IFAR meeting in New York. The then Assistant Boston D.A. Brian Kelly explained that anyone stepping forward to claim immunity would have to provide details of what they know and give up their right to take the fifth amendment as well as agree to testify against those responsible for holding the Gardner art. That is why the offer of immunity has not been challenged by the media and the endless line of Yellow Journalists who have all followed the spin of falsehoods for the last 25 years.
Law Enforcement and the D.A. office in Boston must, alongside the new reward offer made by the Gardner Museum, issue a press release giving details of the immunity offer which will rest assure those who can help, they will not have to provide any information other than their location of the Gardner art and will not face any prosecution for any Gardner art heist related possible crimes.
The wording would be something along the lines of this:

"We, the office of the District Attorney in Boston declare that anyone offering the location of the Gardner art will not face any indictments, charges or be required to give any details of how they came into the knowledge of the Gardner art whereabouts whatsoever. 
The Soul Intention of the Office of the District Attorney in Boston is to see the Gardner art recovered and not to prosecute anyone who provides the location of the Gardner art
Furthermore, we declare the reward offer made by the Gardner Museum 2015 to be lawful and do not object to the Gardner Museum paying the reward out to anyone who offers the location of the Gardner art on the 1% percentage basis of the Market/retail value (or a total of $5 million for all the Gardner artworks whichever is the greatest amount given the possible damage to the Gardner artworks since their theft) of the condition which the said Gardner art works are in upon recovery, as well as the reward being paid out for each Gardner artwork as and when they are recovered"

 Again, the wording can arranged to fit the legal requirements but the jist and message is clear that the immunity offer is a full immunity for the Gardner Art Heist exclusively.

Whilst this may not sit well with all it would demonstrate the sincerity of all concerned as they have been declaring for many years the recovery of the Gardner art is paramount, not prosecuting anyone.

It is amazing, or perhaps not, that for all the many many column inches devoted to the Gardner art heist, not one journalist has asked any questions about the reward offer or immunity offer. They just spew out the same old tired bullshit year after year hoping to catch a break and hoodwink the public.

Furthermore, those with knowledge of the Gardner art whereabouts are not law abiding people and therefore they know there needs to be a concrete reward offer and immunity offer before they step up.
We have never been dealing with law abiding citizens. so why assume they would have any moral fibre and guilt to hand back the Gardner art?

With these new 2015 reward and immunity offers in place then the likes of Jeanine Guarente, Elene Guarente and Earle Berghman (Bobby Guarente's best friend) as well as Robert Gentile would be more willing to offer up what they know about the current whereabouts of the Gardner art.

For the sake of clarity, yet again, I Art Hostage, want to declare publicly that I seek not one dime of any reward, do not seek any payment at all.

Furthermore, if I can assist in any way, shape or form to help anyone with knowledge give the location of the Gardner art, again I seek not one dime of any reward, and in fact would not seek any credit for my assistance and would allow others whom want the spotlight to step forward to claim they helped.

 My sole purpose has always been the return of the Gardner art to its rightful place for the enjoyment of the public and if I can assist in that process all well and good and I would be prepared to step back and allow others, who's egos consume themselves, to claim the undeserved credit.

 I would say however, if I assist in any way, shape or form to recover the Gardner art I would sincerely hope that recovery would be dedicated to the memory of the late, great Harold Smith
 DXer/Ross gives two links which are well worth consideration:

This is facinating:

Isabella Gardner art heist 

Below, former Maine residence and barn of Robert Guarente searched by FBI in 2009

Isabella Gardner art heist

The Many Dead Ends of the Gardner Heist Investigation

Two thieves, 13 stolen masterpieces, and a 25-year search for justice.

03/08/05 Boston, Mass. Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum On March 18 1990 13 pieces of art were stolen from the Museum. The thieves took two Rembrandt paintings, 1 Vermeer painting, 1 Manet painting, 1 Flinck painting, 1 Rembrandt etching, 6 Degas drawings, a bronze beaker and a finial in the form of an eagle. A $5 million reward remains for information leading to their return in good condition. 15 years later, the question of who stole the art work remains unsolved. In this photo, taken in the Dutch Room, two empty frames indicated that the work has never been returned. On the left was A Lady and Gentleman in Black and on the right The Storm on the Sea of Galilee both by Rembrandt. Library Tag 03132005 National/Foreign gardner2012
Frames are all that remains of the paintings stolen from the Isbella Stewart Gardner Museum on March 18, 1990.
The Boston Globe
Twenty-five years ago, in the early morning hours of March 18, bartenders kicked tipsy St. Paddy’s day revelers out onto the streets and locked the doors of their pubs. Around the same time, two men dressed as police officers walked up to the the side door of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Eighty-one minutes later, they left with $500 million worth of stolen art. It remains the biggest art heist in history, and no one has ever been charged with the crime.
The bizarre robbery and murky details surrounding it touched off a 25-year chase filled with false starts, close calls, and dead ends. But, as the empty frames await the return of their missing art, FBI officials say they’re determined to solve the case that has baffled them for decades.
“This artwork belongs not only to the Gardner museum, but to the city of Boston and the art world as a whole,” FBI special agent Geoff Kelly, the bureau’s lead investigator on the case, told “To be able to recover these pieces and return them to the museum would finally close the last chapter of one of the most enduring and perplexing mysteries the FBI has ever worked.”
Here’s a look back at the twisted tale of the Gardner heist:
March 18, 1990 1:24 a.m.:

A 1990 sketch of the Isabella Stewart Gardner heist suspects.
A 1990 sketch of the suspects.

Richard Abath, the security guard on duty, sat in a tight office, occasionally looking up at four monitors. The doorbell rang. Abath said two men in police uniforms told him they needed to come inside to investigate a disturbance. Abath buzzed them in. According to the Gardner museum’s website, he “broke protocol” by doing this. Abath would later tell The Boston Globe that he didn’t know the museum’s policy against letting in uninvited guests applied to police officers.
Abath told NPR recently that the thieves had him call his partner back. The thieves then took both men to the basement, where they covered the guards’ eyes and mouths with duct tape and handcuffed them to a pipe and a workbench.

Rick Abath as he was found by Boston police.
Boston Police Department

At this point, the thieves had the run of the museum. According to The Globe, there was only one button in the entire museum to activate the alarm, and it was at the guard’s desk. There was also a system of motion sensors throughout the building that could track their movements, which the thieves (unsuccessfully) tried to disarm, allowing investigators to trace (most of) their steps after the fact.
The thieves moved slowly and deliberately. As The Globe said at the time, “the thieves appeared to have set their sights on specific works, having left behind many of equal or greater value.”
Motion sensors indicated the thieves first entered the second-floor Dutch Room, where they took six paintings. They dropped the frame of Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn’s painting on the floor, and smashed the glass covering the canvases of Johannes Vermeer’s “The Concert” and Govaert Flinck’s “Landscape with an Obelisk.” The Rembrandt hung on a secret door that looked like a wall panel. Investigators found the door open, which they said indicated the thieves had inside knowledge.

The works stolen from the Dutch room. From top left to bottom right: Vermeer’s “The Concert” (1658–1660), Rembrandt’s “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” (1633), Rembrandt’s “A Lady and Gentleman in Black” (1633), Rembrandt’s “A Self Portrait” (1634), Govaert Flinck’s “Landscape with an Obelisk” (1638), and a Chinese vase or Ku.
The works stolen from the Dutch room. From top left to bottom right: Vermeer’s “The Concert” (1658–1660), Rembrandt’s “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” (1633), Rembrandt’s “A Lady and Gentleman in Black” (1633), Rembrandt’s “A Self Portrait” (1634), Govaert Flinck’s “Landscape with an Obelisk” (1638), and a Chinese vase or Ku.

The sensors showed that one of the thieves went into the Short Gallery, which is also on the second floor. He took the Degas sketches, as well as a flag finial.

The works stolen from the Short Gallery, which included five Degas sketches and a finial from the top of a Napoleonic silk flag pole, pictured bottom center.
The works stolen from the Short Gallery, which included five Edgar Degas sketches and a finial from the top of a Napoleonic silk flag pole, pictured bottom center.

The Blue Room, on the ground floor near the museum’s public entrance, may have been the thieves’ last stop, though it’s impossible to know for sure; the Blue Room’s sensors never detected anyone in that room after a guard’s rounds at 12:53 a.m. But, at some point, the thieves took a Édouard Manet oil, “Chez Tortoni,” removing the security bolts that fastened it to the wall.

Édouard Manet’s “Chez Tortoni” (1878-1880).
Édouard Manet’s “Chez Tortoni” (1878-1880).

2:41 a.m.:
The first thief left the building through the side entrance. Four minutes later, the second thief exited. With them were 13 out of the 2,500 pieces housed in the museum. The art varied in scope and size, and was initially valued at $200 million. That figure was updated to $500 million by 2005.
None of the artwork was insured.
7:30 a.m.:
Abath and the other guard remained bound and gagged in the basement for several hours. Abath later told NPR that he stayed calm during this time by singing Bob Dylan’s “I Shall Be Released” to himself. When a maintenance worker and a daytime guard arrived for their shifts and no one was there to buzz them in, they knew something was wrong.
“As they stood there, puzzled, a security supervisor arrived with keys. He opened the door; no guards were in sight.
‘My guards are missing!’ he told [Lyle] Grindle, the museum’s security director, in a phone conversation made shortly after walking in the door. ‘We’ve been robbed . . . and it’s very serious.’
‘Have you called the police?’ asked Grindle.
‘Secure the building; I’m on my way,’ Grindle replied. He was so frantic to get to the museum that he cannot remember which car he drove.
The call to 911, on a quiet Sunday morning, crackled over the police radio. Boston police Detective Sgt. Paul Crossen had just exited from the Southeast Expressway when he heard it. Crossen immediately spun his steering wheel and headed toward the Fenway. The phone call bearing news of the theft jangled in Anne Hawley’s kitchen, catching her in midconversation. Edward M. Quinn, the supervisory special agent of the FBI’s Reactive Squad, was sitting in church when his beeper summoned him to the scene of the heist.” (The Boston Globe, May 13, 1990).
They’ve been working on the case ever since.

The front page of The Boston Globe on March 19, 1990.
The Boston Globe Archives

Just after the robbery, the museum offered a $1 million reward for the returned artwork. The investigation initially focused on the guards and three unknown individuals whom, The Globe reported, tried to create an early-morning “disturbance” outside the museum two weeks prior to the robbery.
Security officials were quick to comment on the lack of training the museum guards had.
“There is not enough pay, not enough training, not enough maturity,” Steve Keller, a national consultant on museum security, told The Globe, adding that Gardner administrators “didn’t cut corners on equipment. They didn’t buy the cheap brand. The equipment didn’t fail. Someone made a human error and let someone in.”
“You know, most of the guards were either older or they were college students,” Abath told NPR. “Nobody there was capable of dealing with actual criminals.”
“They tell you exactly what to do if someone is damaging a painting,” a guard told The Globe a few days after the heist. “You put your hands up in the air and blow your whistle.”

Boston, MA - 3/19/1990: Anne Hawley, curator of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, answers questions at a news conference in the museum's garden area about the robbery of 13 pieces of art on March 19, 1990. (Tom Landers/Globe Staff) --- BGPA Reference: 150311_MJ_008
Anne Hawley, curator of the Gardner Museum, answers questions at a press conference the day after the theft was discovered in 1990.
Tom Landers/The Boston Globe

But it was soon revealed that the museum itself wasn’t equipped to deal with criminals, either. The only burglar alarm in the entire museum, inside and out, was a “panic button” by the front desk, which was effectively useless as soon as the guards left the area. And none of the artwork was insured.
About two weeks after the robbery, the museum formed a security panel. The Globe published an article further illuminating the many problems the museum had before the heist:
“The truth was, though, that the museum had been in trouble long before the robbery. The Gardner had simply failed to keep up with standard late-20th-century museum practices. There wasn’t even an adequate place for visitors to hang their coats, let alone a climate-control system to protect the museum’s masterpieces from the extremes of Boston’s winters and summers. The problem was a matter of money and management. The trustees, traditionally a self-perpetuating Brahmin board of seven Harvard-educated men, acted as if fund-raising were tantamount to begging. In the 1980s, when there was big money available for arts institutions, the museum didn’t even apply for big grant money—at a time when the Gardner needed millions of dollars’ worth of climate control and conservation.” (The Boston Globe, April 22, 1990).
Two months after the robbery, the police had received around 1,000 tips. They made no arrests, but pinpointed about a dozen suspects around the globe. According to The Globe, investigators had two theories: Either the paintings were stolen to collect on a ransom from the museum, or they were taken on the behalf of a collector.
One name that surfaced early in the investigation was Myles Connor, a notorious New England art thief who was first charged with art theft in 1966 and spent the next several decades in and out of jail for similar crimes. He told the Patriot Ledger in 2013 that he had planned a heist of the Gardner museum in 1988, but never followed through. Connor was in jail at the time of the 1990 heist.

Myles Connor in 1990 after being convicted of various drug charges, attempted escape, and selling stolen artwork to an undercover agent.

On the first anniversary of the theft, The Globe reported that the museum raised $700,000 to install a climate-control system. The security system was also upgraded, though officials would not say how.
Museum membership, meanwhile, was up 50 percent.
On the second anniversary of the heist, Terry Lenzner, a private attorney hired by the museum to work on the case, ran ads in The Globe and other national newspapers encouraging people with any information to call a toll-free hotline.
At this point, the ransom theory was mostly discounted because so much time had elapsed. Lenzer told The Globe in March that he believed they were stolen for a black market collector.
“We’re not going around to pawn shops,” Lenzner said. “Other than that, we’re not excluding any possibilities.”
“There just isn’t any hard information surfacing,” Lenzer added. Though The Globe reported that the museum and the FBI spoke to each other about the case weekly, Lenzer said “it’s safe to say that we’re not about to announce that we’ve found the objects.”
“We’re not going around to pawn shops.”
In June, The New York Times wrote that as many as 40 FBI agents were working on the case at a time, and that they had “at least one intriguing subject”: Brian McDevitt, a 31-year-old screenwriter from Swampscott who had already served time for an attempt to rob the Hyde Collection in Glen Falls, New York, in 1980. Authorities said his plan in that heist was similar to what was ultimately occurred at the Gardner, though he was caught before he could carry it out.
McDevitt denied any involvement, and his lawyer said it was impossible for him to have been involved because he had an alibi and a beard, while both suspects in the Gardner heist had only moustaches.
60 Minutes interviewed McDevitt about the Gardner heist in a November 1992 episode. He continued to deny any having any information about the robbery.
Even so, McDevitt was called to testify before a federal grand jury in August about his whereabouts at 1 a.m. on March 18.
“McDevitt’s lawyer, Thomas E. Beatrice, told WCVB-TV (Ch. 5) yesterday that he’s been assured by prosecutors that his client is not a target of the probe and was subpoenaed ‘presumably to provide some testimony or evidence in their investigation.’ But, Beatrice said his client knows ‘absolutely nothing’ about the Gardner heist. ‘We don’t think he can provide anything that could aid them in this investigation,’ he said.” (The Boston Globe, August 7, 1993)
McDevitt died in 2004. He was 43.
The investigation was given new life in April, when the Gardner museum received an anonymous letter offering to help return the art for a $2.6 million ransom and full immunity from prosecution for those involved. The author asked for the museum to respond by printing a code in May 1 edition of The Globe: the number 1 in the US-foreign dollars exchange listing for the Italian Lira. The Globe obliged in what it called a “community-service decision”:

The anonymous letter writer asked for the museum to respond by printing a code in May 1 edition of The Globe: the number 1 in the US-foreign dollars exchange listing for the Italian Lira.
The anonymous letter writer asked for the museum to respond by printing a code in May 1 edition of The Globe: the number 1 in the US-foreign dollars exchange listing for the Italian Lira.
The Boston Globe

The Globe said that after the secret code was printed, the museum received a second letter from the source, who seemed encouraged by the Gardner’s willingness to negotiate, but alarmed by what he called an aggressive reaction from law enforcement. He wrote: “Right now I need time to both think and start the process to insure confidentiality of the exchange.” He never wrote again.
On the seventh anniversary of the heist, the museum’s board of trustees increased the reward offer from $1 million to $5 million.
The Globe reported that a few months later, in August, William P. Youngworth III, facing a variety of charges including receiving a stolen van, illegal possession of ammunition, illegal possession of three antique firearms, illegal possession of marijuana, and being a habitual criminal, told the FBI he could provide information about the heist in exchange for having his felony charges dropped.
Youngworth provided what he said were details about the heist to the Boston Herald:
“The thieves who posed as police officers and forced their way into the Gardner museum in the Fenway had on an earlier visit left an unalarmed museum window unlocked so they could use it as an alternative entrance; that they damaged several bolts that were used to secure the paintings to the wall, and that one of the thieves pulled out a pocket knife and cut two of the Rembrandts from the frames because of the difficulty of removing the bolts. Sources familiar with the investigation said it was public knowledge that the paintings were slashed. Beyond that, they said that so far Youngworth has not offered any convincing details about the heist.”
Connor, the man who was first charged with art theft in 1966 and was in jail at the time of the Gardner heist, re-entered the picture when Youngworth demanded his release from jail (and the $5 million reward) as additional conditions for his assistance. According to the Los Angeles Times , Youngworth did so because Connor was his “oldest and dearest friend.”
A few weeks later, authorities brought Connor to Boston to testify about his involvement. Youngworth also appeared on an episode of Nightline where he claimed to be able to deliver the art.

William P. Youngworth, III, at a court appearance in 1997.
Tom Landers/The Boston Globe

In late August, Herald writer Tom Mashberg told a strange story. An associate of Youngworth drove him to a warehouse (which was either an hour outside Boston or in Brooklyn, depending on which of Mashberg’s accounts you read) to view what Youngworth claimed was the stolen Rembrandt painting “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” Mashberg said the canvas was unrolled from a tube and illuminated by a flashlight in the dark warehouse. Mashberg was later given paint chips that were supposed to have come from the stolen work, as well as photographs of other pieces. The Herald hired an expert to analyze the chips, who concluded that they came from a Rembrandt.
Though Mashberg’s glance was fleeting, The Globe reported that “a key investigator said that the FBI and US attorney’s office, lacking a significant break in the spectacular case, had no choice but to assume the painting is authentic.”
Mashberg said the canvas was unrolled from a tube and illuminated by a flashlight in the dark warehouse.
On September 23, The Globe reported that Connor said David Houghton, a former mechanic and associate who died in 1992, was the mastermind behind the heist. But, The Globe said, those who knew Connor suspected he was trying to pin the crime on someone who was already dead in order to secure his own release from jail.
Youngworth was convicted of possessing a stolen van in early October and returned to prison.
Meanwhile, the Herald turned the paint chips over to the Gardner museum for analysis. In the December, the results were in. Contrary to what the Herald’s expert found, the museum said the chips were not from a Rembrandt.
And so ended the negotiations with Connor and Youngworth.
Former FBI agent Larry Potts, now working for the Gardner, wrote to Youngworth pleading for his cooperation and help returning the stolen art. Youngworth refused to meet with Potts, but he wasn’t completely opposed to negotiating:
“ ‘Yes, I would be delighted to help you and the Gardner Museum recover their former property,’ Youngworth wrote on June 21. ‘Kindly remit $50 million dollars U.S. and a signed immunity agreement issued by the Attorney General of the United States.’” (The Boston Globe July 1, 1999).
Three new names emerged in the investigation. The Globe reported Carmello Merlino and David Turner, who were charged with plotting to rob an armored car company that year, had been questioned about the Gardner heist in February 1999. The FBI also questioned their associate, former Boston police officer Peter Boylan, The Globe said.
Youngworth’s name came up yet again when, in an interview with ABC’s Primetime Thursday about the case, he said reputed Charlestown gangster Joseph P. Murray, who was shot to death by his wife in 1992, told authorities in the early 1990s that he could provide information about “a major art theft” in exchange for the release of an unnamed IRA prisoner jailed in England.
“I’m not saying who he reached out to, but Joe Murray had the ability to end this thing where everyone winds up happy, but they wouldn’t pick up on him,” Youngworth said. (The Boston Globe May 11, 2004).
An unnamed “former employee” of the museum told The Globe that a federal grand jury would hear evidence that three people, not two, carried out the crime. The employee said that authorities told him they “were hoping that the grand jury would ‘shake things up’ in the long-stalled investigation.” It didn’t.

Ulrich Boser’s book about the theft.

Around the 20th anniversary, many journalists wrote books about the heist. One of them was Ulrich Boser, who released “The Gardner Heist.” He named Turner as the most likely suspect.
Not to be left out, The Globe also reported on potential evidence against Turner:
“While in Miami, three days before the Gardner robbery, Turner purchased $645 worth of unspecified merchandise from the Spy Shops International in Miami, a store that specialized in the sale of undercover and electronic surveillance equipment. Also viewed by the Globe was a receipt that showed Turner’s American Express card was used in Fort Lauderdale on the return of a leased car on March 20, 1990, two days after the robbery. While the receipt appears to be signed by Turner, another person’s Social Security card number is written on the receipt, which investigators say suggests someone other than Turner might have been using his credit card that day. Goldstein, Turner’s lawyer, declined comment on the documents.
In addition, Turner was observed by police surveillance in September 1991 carrying an ‘Oriental vase’ from his car into the Boston office of Alfred Sollitto, a lawyer with whom he had become acquainted. Among the 13 items stolen from the Gardner Museum was a vase-like, Chinese bronze beaker. Sollitto acknowledged in an interview that he was a friend of Turner’s but could not recall Turner ever bringing a vase to his office.” (The Boston Globe, March 15, 2009).
Hoping advances in forensic technology over the last 20 years would reveal something new, the FBI resubmitted evidence from the crime scene for further DNA testing.
“ ‘If they left any sweat on that duct tape, a sample could be drawn, and with that sample there’s the possibility of a result,’ said Dr. Bruce Budowle, former senior scientist of the FBI’s Quantico lab.
The FBI conducted DNA tests on items taken from the crime scene at the time of the theft, but none of the tests produced a usable sample.
Huge strides in DNA analysis in the two decades since the crime could mean a different outcome this time.”

Robert K. Wittman’s book about theft.
Robert K. Wittman’s book about theft.

Another book about the case was released, this one written by retired FBI agent Robert K. Wittman. In Priceless: How I Went Undercover to Rescue the World’s Stolen Treasures, Wittman said that in 2006 and 2007, he posed as a wealthy art collector interested in purchasing several of the paintings through two Frenchmen who had ties to Corsican mobsters. The Frenchmen claimed they could get him the Vermeer and at least one Rembrandt, but investigation fell apart because, Wittman said, of bureaucratic infighting between federal agents and supervisors.
An article in Boston Common magazine about the 20th anniversary of the heist also implicated Turner:
“The evidence against Turner is significant, and FBI files describe how Turner’s crime boss, Carmello Merlino, tried to offer information about the paintings in exchange for a reduced prison sentence shortly after being picked up for a drug charge in 1992. The last witness to see the thieves before they entered the museum described one of the thieves as having ‘Asian eyes,’ and Turner fits that description.”
Mashberg wrote a book about art theft with Gardner’s chief of security, Anthony M. Amore, but Amore didn’t mention the Gardner heist because, Mashberg would later say, the “hunt had reached a delicate phase.”
The Globe reported that the widow of Robert Guarente, a friend of Merlino’s, told authorities that she saw her husband give Robert Gentile a painting in 2003. The FBI believed Gentile had ties to the Boston faction of Philadelphia’s Mafia.
In May, authorities searched Gentile’s Connecticut home using everything from a radar to a ferret. Nothing was found.

A law enforcement agent searches a shed behind the home of reputed Connecticut mobster Robert Gentile in Manchester, Conn., Thursday, May 10, 2012. Gentile's lawyer A. Ryan McGuigan says the FBI warrant allows the use of ground-penetrating radar and believes they are looking for paintings stolen from Boston's Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum worth half a billion dollars. (AP Photo/Jessica Hill)
A law enforcement agent searches a shed behind the Connecticut home of Robert Gentile in 2012.
Jessica Hill/AP

Gentile denied any role in the heist. But his lawyer, Ryan McGuigan, told The Globe in November that he “knew some of the individuals that the government believes may have had something to do with the heist.”
On March 18, 2013 — the 23rd anniversary of the Gardner Museum theft — the FBI announced that it knew the names of the thieves but would not disclose them. They also said that some of the works had been put on the black market in Philadelphia in the previous decade.

FBI Special Agent in Charge Richard DesLauriers at a 2013 news conference about the Gardner theft at FBI headquarters in Boston.
Steven Senne / AP

In May, Gentile was sentenced to 30 months in prison for unrelated charges. Although he denied any involvement in the Gardner theft.
“Prosecutors said for the first time in open court Thursday that their continued interest in Gentile in relation to the Gardner was based in part on a list they found in his home of the 13 works of art that were stolen in the heist, their estimated value, and a Boston Herald article published days after the theft. They also said a polygraph test he took about his knowledge of the heist concluded with a 99 percent assurance rate that he was lying.” (The Boston Globe, May 10, 2013).

Former Gardner Museum night watchman Rick Abath in 2013.
Matthew Cavanaugh/The Boston Globe

Investigators also returned to Abath, the security guard. In his first public interview about the heist, he told The Globe in 2013 that he met with FBI agents to discuss the case in 2009 and was questioned by federal prosecutors in 2012, where “investigators all but accused him of stealing the missing Manet.”
Abath denied any role in the theft.
“I totally get it. I understand how suspicious it all is,” Abath told The Globe. “But I don’t understand why [investigators] think . . . I should know an alternative theory as to what happened or why it did happen.”
FBI Special Agent Geoff Kelly, the bureau’s lead investigator on the Gardner Case, said the FBI had confirmed sightings of the works. He also named Carmello Merlino, Robert Guarente, and Robert Gentile as the main persons of interest.
Kelly told that, 25 years later, the agency remains hopeful the crime will be solved.
“These paintings are hundreds of years old and 25 years is a relatively short period of time,” Kelly said. “Stolen artwork typically is returned either soon after the theft, or generations later.”
The investigation remains active and ongoing. The frames are still empty.

5 Theories About the Greatest Unsolved Art Heist Ever

5 Theories About the Greatest Unsolved Art Heist Ever
On March 18, 1990, two police officers—or so they seemed—walked into a Boston museum and left with $500 million worth of paintings. They have never been found.
The two thieves seem to have gained access to the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum in the wee hours of the 18th by claiming they were investigating a report of a disturbance (remember, they were dressed as cops). They then detained the guards and proceeded to cut priceless paintings out of their actual frames, making off with thirteen works including paintings by Degas, Vermeer, Rembrandt, and Manet. These paintings have never been recovered—despite the $5 million reward.
The heist has fascinated and obsessed people for exactly 25 years. It's become a career-defining investigation for more than one journalist, several of whom have written entire books and even become entangled with law enforcement themselves in their quest to uncover the paintings. Yesterday, one of these journalists—Tom Mashberg, author of Stealing Rembrandtsrecounted his years on the hunt for the works in The New York Times, where he frequently covers art theft and repatriation. He also mentioned a litany of other theories, which themselves are completely fascinating. Let's take a look.

Boston Mobsters Did It

The prevailing theory—the one that the FBI thinks is correct—is that the heist was the work of local mobsters. This is the most likely explanation, and it odds are good that even if other theories turn out to be true, this version of events played a role. The Boston Globe explains:
[The FBI] points to a local band of petty thieves — many now dead — with ties to dysfunctional Mafia families in New England and Philadelphia. It also suggests they had help from an employee or someone connected to the museum.
The FBI said as much in 2013, saying that the Bureau had a "high degree of confidence" that the stolen paintings eventually made their way south towards Philly and even Connecticut, where they were sold. "With that same confidence, we have identified the thieves who are members of a criminal organization with a base in the mid-Atlantic states and New England," the FBI said during a press conference.
But even if these figures were involved, which seems pretty likely at this point, there are a number of places the paintings could have wound up—and a number of ways they could have gotten there.
5 Theories About the Greatest Unsolved Art Heist Ever
Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) Special Agent in Charge Richard DesLauriers in 2013. AP Photo/Steven Senne.

The Irish Republican Army Did It

The "Irish connection" is an auxiliary theory—it suggests that the thefts were carried out in Boston by local criminals in order to help the IRA. Perhaps local criminals sent the paintings to the IRA to help finance operations across the Atlantic? Here's how author and Boston Globe journalist Kevin Cullen put it in 2013 in an interview with WBGH:
"I never ruled out the idea the IRA was involved," he said. "Because, if you go back to that period particularly, the IRA was actively stealing art in Europe. They were stealing art from some of the big mansion houses in Ireland and then fencing it somewhere in Europe. So I never completely ruled that out, but it sounds like the authorities have ruled that out."
This is one of several theories that involve European criminals and dealers—after all, these paintings were all painted by middle European artists, with the exception of a Chinese vase that was also stolen.
5 Theories About the Greatest Unsolved Art Heist Ever
A security guard stands outside the Dutch Room of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990. AP.

A Famed Art Thief Orchestrated It

In the beginning, specific figures were fingered as possible suspects. For example, there was Myles Conner, a well-known art thief, who became an early suspect in the crime—even though he was in jail. Ulrich Boser, author of The Gardner Heist, described Connor in 2010 on PBS:
He was a Mayflower descendant, he was a member of Mensa, he headed a band called Myles Conner and the Wild Ones that played with Roy Orbison and the Beach Boys, and he was a prolific art thief. He had stolen Japanese statutes; had stolen Colonial-era grandfather clocks; stolen old master paintings; he robbed the Smithsonian, Washington, D.C.; he robbed the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.
But Connor would have had to design the heist via prison, if he was really involved. A few years ago, Mashberg himself commented on WBUR that it's entirely possible Connor played a role in the heist, since he was peripherally involved with specific mob figures the FBI says played a part in the crime.
5 Theories About the Greatest Unsolved Art Heist Ever

The French-Corsican Mob Did It

So, about those Europeans. The founder of the FBI's Art Crime Team, Robert K. Wittman, believed he was near recovering at least some of the works when he conducted an undercover operation targeting French-Corsican criminals who claimed to be selling works by Rembrandt and Vermeer. In his 2011 book, Priceless – How I Went Undercover to Rescue the World's Stolen Treasures, Wittman describes how in the end, the French police blew his cover and the operation was ruined. Read more about it here.
5 Theories About the Greatest Unsolved Art Heist Ever
Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) Special Agent Geoff Kelly in 2013. AP Photo/Steven Senne.

The Paintings Were Destroyed After the Thieves Panicked

But what if the crime wasn't as dramatic as all that? What if it was the equivalent of a joyride—a dumb and badly planned robbery by criminals who didn't fully understand what they were doing? And when they realized just what they had done, they trashed the loot? The author of The Art Forger, Molly Parr, described a personal theory along these lines in Jewish Boston:
My theory is that someone then did it as a lark, just to see if they could do it. And once they did it, they kind of asked, now what? They couldn't sell them, so they decided to dump the paintings at the dock. But the truth is, no one knows! Anything is possible. It's a 25-year-old ongoing crime.
But the NYT yesterday, Mashberg talked to the FBI agent on the case, Geoff Kelly, who has serious doubts about that idea:
Mr. Kelly said he rejected the notion that the art was destroyed by the thieves as soon as they realized they had "unwittingly committed the crime of the century." "That rarely happens in art thefts," Mr. Kelly continued. "Most criminals are savvy enough to know such valuable paintings are their ace in the hole."
In the end, this is a fascinating story for reasons beyond the crime itself. The work of brilliant journalists like Mashberg have played a pivotal role in the FBI's investigation. In a way, the Gardner heist set a precedent for the many independent journalists who are investigating cold cases today. Of course, it's also a cautionary tale about public participation—the hundreds of leads that the FBI has followed have all gone cold.
Will the paintings ever be rediscovered? The grimmest fear seems to be that the paintings were hidden by the criminals—and the criminals are now dead. As the decades pass, the odds of finding the paintings could be slipping away, too. Let's hope that's not the case, and that the quarter century of work by journalists and investigators won't come to nothing.
So, what do you think? Do you have your own theory?
Lead image: The empty frame from which thieves cut Rembrandt's "Storm on the Sea of Galilee," seen here in 2010. AP Photo/Josh Reynolds.

A stolen vase, too? Better get these guys on the case.

Jane Langton set a mystery, Murder at the Gardner, there. It was published in 1988, before the robbery, and claimed that Isabella Stewart Gardner's will said the museum would be closed if anything was added to or removed from the collection. I gather that Langton was wrong about that. The book is, however, a terrific read.

I still think it was this guy.

If anyone is interested in seeing the stolen works the museum website has a virtual tour with some other information regarding the heist.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Stolen Art Watch, Gardner Art Heist 2015, 25 Years & Dam About To Burst ?

Degas, Program for an Artistic Soirée, Study 2, 1884
 Has the Above Degas been recovered recently, was it recovered a long time ago but kept top secret, is it in play as a taster to test the water????????????
Art Hostage loves the smell of Gardner art in the morning !!

All sorts of rumours, whispers, allegations and accusations abound.

Set ups, stings, broken promises, false dawns, 2015 is already proving to be a watershed year as the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Gardner Art Heist approaches on March 18th 2015.

Art Hostage may be many things, but reckless is not one of them.
Details to follow......................................

In the meantime here is the latest from the mainstream media.

Does a Connecticut shed hold the secrets of the Gardner heist?
On the theft’s 25th anniversary come never-before-revealed details of an aging con man and the FBI’s search of his property.
The FBI searched the shed in Robert Gentile’s Connecticut backyard, believing artwork stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum was kept there.
By Stephen Kurkjian  March 11, 2015
On March 18, 1990, thieves took 13 works of art from the Gardner Museum, leaving behind broken frames.
ROBERT V. GENTILE was losing control of the situation, and he knew it. For months the aging hood from the Connecticut suburbs around Hartford had been promising to aid the FBI in its investigation into the whereabouts of the nearly half billion dollars’ worth of paintings stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum on March 18, 1990. But those promises had led nowhere.
Instead, during the time he had been helping them, the same federal agents were arranging to bust him for selling more than 300 tablets of Oxycontin, Dilaudid, and Percocet — all pain relievers he had been prescribed by doctors for his back pain — to an undercover informant. That way, if he backed out of cooperating with them on the Gardner score, they could arrest him and pressure him to talk anyway.
The room in the US attorney’s office in downtown Hartford was chaotic, crammed with prosecutors, FBI agents, and investigators that day in April 2012. They knew they had Gentile in a tight spot. Gentile had just been indicted on drug charges and, even though there may have been extenuating circumstances, he was well into his 70s and still faced the real prospect of a long prison sentence, one that in his health he might never return from. To Gentile and his lawyer, A. Ryan McGuigan, it seemed the only way around those charges was to submit to a lie detector test. If Gentile could pass the test, he thought, it might just convince the federal agents and prosecutors bearing down on him that what he had been telling them — that he didn’t know anything about the whereabouts of the Gardner artwork — was true and they would drop the drug charges against him, or at least let him off easy.
The whole thing had started two years before, in 2010, when the widow of Gentile’s old friend Robert Guarente told investigators that before her husband died in 2004 he had given two, maybe three paintings to Gentile for safekeeping. They may have been from the theft at the Gardner Museum.
“Sure, I knew Bobby Guarente,” Gentile had told the investigators when they originally approached him. “And yeah, maybe we did talk about the Gardner case. But it was only to talk about how great it would be to get that $5 million reward. Guarente never had any of those paintings, and he certainly never gave me any of them.”

As Gentile walked into the interrogation room at the Hartford federal building and surveyed the determined faces, he thought to himself, The only way of getting them to drop these charges against me is to convince them I’m telling the truth. “Go ahead,” he told them. “Hook me up.” And they did. Ronald Barndollar, the retired FBI agent who was called in to conduct the polygraph exam, began things on a serious note, advising Gentile of his need to tell the truth. Then he asked the first question: “Did you know beforehand that the Gardner Museum was going to be robbed?” asked Barndollar. “No,” Gentile answered.
In an adjacent room the polygraph machine registered that Gentile’s answer was a lie.
Gentile was shown pictures of the 13 stolen works of art. With each one he was asked: “Did you ever have possession of any of the stolen artwork?” “No,” Gentile answered again, and again the polygraph machine registered each time that Gentile was lying. “Do you know the location of any of those paintings?” “No,” Gentile answered. And again, the polygraph machine registered the likelihood that Gentile was lying.
When the exam was over, Barndollar excused himself and came back in a few minutes with the results: Gentile had been lying in response to every question. The investigators let out a howl in unison. “This guy is gonna rot in jail if he doesn’t give us something,” Gentile recalls one saying.

McGuigan asked if he could have a little time with his client. When they were alone, he shot Gentile a stern look that said, What the hell are you doing? McGuigan’s hope that the polygraph test might do Gentile some good had disappeared fast. Gentile reached over and grabbed McGuigan’s arm. “I’m telling the truth; it’s that goddamned machine,” Gentile told him. “They’ve rigged it to make me look like a liar. Tell them I want to take it again. I’ve got an idea. You’ll see.” Gentile’s idea: In taking the test again, he would concoct a story that he had seen one of the stolen paintings.
Within minutes, the whole procedure was repeated. The images of the stolen pieces were again shown on a screen. As each one scanned past, Gentile was asked if he had ever seen the piece after it had been stolen. Vermeer’s The Concert? No. Rembrandt’s Storm on the Sea of Galilee? No. Rembrandt’s Lady and Gentleman in Black? No. The miniature self-portrait by Rembrandt? There was a long pause. The room suddenly went still. “Yes,” said Gentile. And on this question, the polygraph registered he was telling the truth.
“What are you talking about?” one of the investigators asked Gentile, with an almost manic sound in his voice. “When did you see this? Where did you see it?”
Like criminals of all stripes, Gentile prided himself on never snitching, especially not in front of a room full of feds. But Elene Guarente had dragged him into this by implicating him in hiding three paintings, so he figured the least he could do was return the favor.
“Elene Guarente showed it to me,” Gentile said, referring to the widow of Robert Guarente, the mob soldier whose reach extended from Boston to Maine. “It was a long time ago. It was tiny. Like a postage stamp. She pulled it out of her bra, where she was hiding it, to show me. She told me it was going to provide for her retirement. Maybe get her a house in Florida with it.”
The FBI agents and federal prosecutors looked at each other in disbelief. Barndollar excused himself and retrieved the results from the other room: It showed that Gentile had answered honestly when he told them he had seen the miniature Rembrandt self-portrait. As far as the machine was concerned, Gentile was telling the truth.
Vermeer’s “The Concert” was stolen, too.
THE NAME ELENE GUARENTE wasn’t new to federal agents. In fact, just two years before, she’d told them that her husband had handed Gentile several paintings in the parking lot of a Portland, Maine, restaurant. The feds had dug into Gentile’s background and discovered he had deep ties to organized crime figures in Connecticut and may have been operating a loan-shark business there. After that they’d tracked Gentile’s activities closely, waiting for the right moment when they could put pressure on him to find out more about his mob dealings. But now, in the face of Gentile’s stunning admission, federal agents who had labored on the Gardner investigation for more than two decades had in their midst a suspect who was at the very least involved in hiding the artwork.
Following the test, McGuigan, who had been a prosecutor before joining his father’s law firm in Hartford, remained convinced that Gentile’s disastrous showing had more to do with the raucous setting in which the exam was given than with Gentile’s veracity. He asked for one final meeting in the US attorney’s office to try to convince federal investigators that Gentile was being honest. Gentile would be brought in from the state prison where he had been held since his February 2012 arrest, along with his wife, Patricia, son Bobby, and daughter Donna. To try to make the atmosphere more amenable for his client, McGuigan ordered special sandwiches from Gentile’s favorite Italian restaurant. The feds brought their own sandwiches — from a local Subway.
From the outset, McGuigan did most of the talking, stressing to Gentile that this was his last chance to assist the investigators in their search for the missing Gardner paintings.
“They are convinced you’re not telling them everything, and I’m telling you that this may be your only way out,” Gentile remembers McGuigan saying. “These people are serious. With these charges you’re facing and the condition of your health, if they get a conviction, they can put you away for the rest of your life.” If he knew what happened to the paintings, this was the time to come clean. “This is more important than just paintings, Bob. This is about history. This is about humanity. There have been millions of Bobby Gentiles and Ryan McGuigans on this Earth and there will be millions after us . . . but there’s only one Rembrandt,” McGuigan continued.
Gentile looked sadly over at his wife and grown children, and McGuigan picked up on it. “You’ll never get to hug your wife again, or your kids or grandkids,” he said. “Give these people what they want. Tell them what you know about the paintings.”
Gentile put his hands, big and rough from a lifetime of working in the paving industry, over his face. The room fell silent for a few seconds as he sobbed. “In your right mind, do you think I would hold out if I knew something?” Gentile asked. “I know there’s a $5 million reward here. Do you think I would deny my family $5 million and get these charges off my back if I could? I’ll tell you again, I don’t know anything, and whoever is telling you different is lying.”
Gentile went back to prison and waited to head back to court to face the drug charges.
A FEW DAYS LATER, a squad of FBI agents descended on Gentile’s house in Manchester, a few miles east of downtown Hartford. More than two dozen agents surveyed his front and back yards, looking for signs of recently dug holes or anything else that might point to hidden treasures. They did likewise inside the house, going through every room, every drawer, and every nook and cranny — the basement included — looking for any clues that would prove Gentile had any association with the stolen paintings.
The search gave the investigators proof that they were on the right track. Down in the cluttered basement, among a pile of old newspapers, investigators found a Boston Herald that reported on the extraordinary theft. A sheet of typewriter paper was tucked into the newspaper. On the sheet was written the names of the 13 pieces that had been stolen. Alongside the names was scratched the amount that each might draw on the black market.
The find surprised even McGuigan. Even though he was never convinced Gentile had anything to do with the stolen masterpieces, McGuigan thought to himself, maybe it had been a good idea that he had signed a separate contract with Gentile. It stated that he would represent Gentile as he cooperated with the authorities, and if it led to a recovery, McGuigan’s office would receive 40 percent of the $5 million reward offered by the Gardner.
McGuigan was returning from court on another case when he got word about the FBI raid on Gentile’s house. When McGuigan arrived, he quickly sought out Brian Kelly, then the assistant US attorney from Boston who was overseeing the Gardner investigation. Inside, McGuigan saw Gentile’s wife, sitting quietly on the living room sofa as agents walked briskly throughout the house. One agent handed McGuigan the warrant that had been signed that morning by a federal judicial officer to authorize the search of the house and backyard. Realizing that a backyard shed had not been included specifically in the search, the agents had gotten a second warrant that authorized that search.

On May 10, 2012, federal agents raided Robert Gentile’s home in Manchester, Connecticut.
Gentile’s son shared McGuigan’s confidence that his father knew nothing about the paintings’ whereabouts. He assured the agents that while his father was a pack rat, he did not have the connections or the wherewithal to hide such priceless art. The only place he could imagine his father hiding anything valuable was in his shed. Whereabouts in the shed, one agent asked him casually. And Robert Jr., who shared his father’s softer side, gave him a straight answer — his father had placed a false floor in the front of the shed, and beneath it, he had dug a deep pit, and inside the pit there would be a large plastic, Tupperware-type container. Whatever’s important will be in a plastic container inside that pit, the younger Gentile told the agents.
His instructions set the agents off into a mad scramble, in which they tore up the false floor inside the shed, and found the deep pit under it and the big plastic container inside — a big empty plastic container. Shown the container, young Gentile had one more piece of compelling information: A few years before, there had been a severe rainstorm in the area; water had flooded their backyard and gotten into the shed and even into the ditch beneath the shed’s false floor. Whatever had been in the ditch had been destroyed, Gentile’s son told the agents, adding that he had never seen his father as upset in his life as he was about the loss. When I asked Gentile about it, he said he didn’t recall the incident but thought it could have involved a couple of small motors getting wet.
A few days later, federal agents and Anthony Amore, the Gardner Museum’s security director, brought Gentile back to the Hartford federal building where he had taken the lie detector test a month before. One of the FBI agents got right up in Gentile’s face. “We know what happened,” he said. “Your son told us about the shed and how the pit got flooded.”
“Tell us where those canvases are,” Amore pleaded, assuming the role of “good cop” in the situation. “Even if the paintings are damaged or destroyed, I’ll see to it that you get a share of the reward money. Just show us the canvases.”
Gentile had been thrust into the middle of what federal investigators believed was their biggest break in their long, arduous pursuit of the stolen masterpieces. Perhaps too ashamed to acknowledge that the paintings had been ruined while in his possession, or more likely worried about the consequences that might stem from such an admission, Gentile held firm. “I don’t know anything,” he said.

On the scene were Anthony Amore (blue shirt), security director of the Gardner museum, and Brian Kelly, then assistant US attorney.
“THAT DAY RUINED MY LIFE FOREVER,” Gentile told me, sitting in the living room of his modest ranch-style home that he’s lived in for years with his wife and two children. He had been home from federal prison for a week, and our conversation was the first time he has ever spoken publicly. I’d written to Gentile while he was serving a 30-month sentence in federal prison in Otisville, New York, and had asked him if I could visit him in prison to talk about his case and the authorities’ interest in his ties to the Gardner heist. He wrote back: “Wait until I get home in January, and call my house.”
In fact it could have been a lot worse for Gentile. Assistant US Attorney John Durham had asked that Gentile be sentenced to 46 to 57 months in prison, a term recommended by the sentencing guidelines. But US District Court Judge Robert N. Chatigny appeared to heed McGuigan’s insistence in court that investigators had focused on Gentile to squeeze him on the Gardner investigation. As a result Chatigny said that Gentile’s poor health and that of his wife deserved to be considered. He set Gentile’s prison term at 30 months. Emerging from the courtroom, McGuigan said, “Mr. Gentile is pleased with the sentence. He thinks it is fair.” Durham refused comment.
In late January 2014, I drove to Gentile’s Connecticut home and introduced myself. Although he still walked with the help of a cane, he looked more rested and cleareyed than when I’d seen him in court. Gentile said he needed the cane because he was still in pain from a long-ago back injury. He wore a bracelet on his ankle to ensure he complied with the terms of his probation, that he remain inside his house for three months after his release.
We talked for a long time. Gentile answered all of my questions, casting doubt on the FBI’s belief that he was the last person to know the whereabouts of the Gardner masterpieces. “They set me up, and they ruined my life,” he said. “My daughter died while I was in jail. Prison officials wouldn’t even let me visit her before she died. And when I got out I found out the $950 a month I’d been receiving in Social Security benefits had been cut off because I’d been convicted of a federal crime.”
Gentile gave me the key to his shed. Yes, he admitted, he kept valuables in containers in the ditch beneath the false floor. But only pieces of equipment or small motors that he had bought. Nothing illegal or stolen, and certainly not the Gardner paintings. I bundled up and crunched through the snow in his backyard and opened the shed’s doors. A new wooden floor had replaced the one the feds dug up, but the large plastic bins his son Bobby had described to the investigators were still inside. Some were filled with hoses, others with yard equipment. None seemed large enough to have held the tubes that could have contained large paintings.
ALTHOUGH ROBERT GENTILE was never identified by name, it was clear he was at the center of the bombshell announcement that Richard S. DesLauriers, then head of the FBI’s Boston office, made in March 2013, on the 23d anniversary of the Gardner Museum theft. “With a high degree of confidence we believe those responsible for the theft were members of a criminal organization with a base in the mid-Atlantic states and New England,” he told the assembled press.
DesLauriers stressed that while his agents had had no good leads about the artwork in more than a decade, their investigation had made them certain the works had been brought to Connecticut and then Philadelphia. DesLauriers’s remarks made front-page news around the world. For the first time since the 1990 theft the FBI had given details, scant though they were, about what their years of investigation had uncovered. After more than 20 years of chasing false leads, whether provided by outright liars or others chasing the reward of the century, the FBI finally had information they felt strong enough to announce to the world. That they had determined who the robbers were and had tracked the stolen artwork to Connecticut and Philadelphia was remarkable. That they weren’t releasing more details of the identities of those involved, they said firmly, had more to do with the sensitivity of the investigation than its certainty.
While no one had been named as a suspect at DesLauriers’s press conference, newspapers including The Boston Globe and Hartford Courant were soon quoting sources familiar with the investigation, putting names to those said to be involved: David A. Turner, orchestrating the theft; Robert Guarente, in charge of hiding the stolen masterpieces; and then Gentile as the fence.
Ample information allowed enterprising reporters to connect the dots DesLauriers laid out. Turner, a Braintree High School graduate with ties to the Rossetti criminal gang of East Boston and to Boston thief Louis Royce, who used to sneak into the Gardner to sleep, knew of the museum’s vulnerability to theft. Turner had appreciated that Guarente had treated him like a son and had great respect for the aging mobster’s deep ties to organized crime. Guarente and Gentile were close, and Gentile readily acknowledged that he’d cooked for weekend high-roller card games that Guarente organized at a house in Waltham, but did not know that Guarente had used the place as a base for his cocaine-trafficking operation in the late 1990s.
As for the FBI, DesLauriers hoped the announcement would have two immediate reactions that might lead to a breakthrough. First, that the public would take his advice and look in their attics and garages to see if anything had been hidden there. And second, that someone in the underworld, who might have had secret information on the paintings, would make a call that would be picked up on one of the FBI’s many standing wiretaps.

On March 18, 2013, Richard DesLauriers, then head of the FBI’s Boston office, announced that agents knew who had pulled off the theft. He asked for the public’s help in recovering the art.
The announcement created tremendous media attention and brought numerous calls to Boston’s FBI office. But within a month all had been followed up to no avail, and the sense of an inevitable recovery soon faded. By that time the public’s attention, not to mention that of DesLauriers and every other FBI agent assigned to the Boston office, had rightfully shifted to another case: the Boston Marathon bombing. The FBI’s press person began referring to the Gardner announcement as a “publicity event,” and both DesLauriers and the head of the FBI’s criminal division declined to answer questions on how credible the information in their “significant investigative process” had actually been.
In fact, the lines connecting the dots set out by DesLauriers were blurry and full of gaps. And the most important unexplained link was Philadelphia. Only a circumstantial case could be built that would tie Gentile to Philadelphia, though, I found, it did involve his ties to Guarente.
The cocaine that Guarente was indicted for trafficking in 1999 had allegedly come from the Merlino crime family in Philadelphia, and both Guarente and Robert Luisi Jr., his partner in the cocaine ring, were alleged to be made members of the Merlino crime family. Luisi himself was entrenched in Boston’s mob scene. In a grisly public scene that ranks among the nastiest in Boston’s history, Luisi’s father, half brother, and cousin were gunned down by another reputed mob member in 1995 while having lunch at the Ninety Nine Restaurant in Charlestown. Several years later, Luisi and Guarente were indicted for being part of a ring that was selling cocaine throughout Boston. “I drove Luisi to Philadelphia,” Gentile admitted to me that day at his house. But it had nothing to do with any cocaine dealings, he said.
Gentile said he had driven Luisi to Philadelphia on several occasions as Luisi was looking to expand his loan-sharking operations — but not cocaine — to Philadelphia, and he needed permission of Carmello Merlino, whose Dorchester auto body garage was investigated for possible ties to the museum heist, and his top guys. Could the topic of the Gardner paintings have come up while he was in the car with Luisi or meeting with the Merlino gang in Philadelphia? I asked Gentile. “I didn’t speak to Luisi — or anyone else in Philadelphia — about the Gardner paintings during our drives,” Gentile said. “Why would I talk to them about that?”
But there is little doubt that Luisi was talking to the federal authorities about his conversations with Gentile. When called before a federal grand jury, Luisi testified that Gentile had spoken to him about the possibility of putting a crew together to knock over armored car deliveries to and from the Foxwoods casino. Did he also talk about the Gardner case and Gentile? Luisi isn’t saying. After initially agreeing to continue to cooperate with federal investigators in their probe of the Boston underworld, Luisi pulled back, testifying that he had “found Jesus” and wanted to serve out his time in prison counseling others. Luisi was later released when his conviction was overturned on appeal, but whether he had spoken about the Gardner paintings with Gentile and mob leaders in Philadelphia could not be determined, as he did not return phone calls.
Gentile has stayed mum and since being released from federal prison in early 2014 hasn’t assisted the authorities or the museum in its quest to regain its stolen paintings. He’s bitter over his treatment by federal investigators after he declined to cooperate with them.
Although hopes for a recovery ran high in 2013 — after the FBI announcement that agents knew who had pulled off the theft — the call for the public’s help has led to no breakthrough. Instead, the likelihood of returning the paintings to their still-empty places within the museum seems as remote today as it did in 2010, when the lead FBI agent on the case told me that “in the last 20 years, and the last eight that I’ve had the case, there hasn’t been a concrete sighting, or real proof of life.”
Stephen Kurkjian, a former Globe investigative reporter and editor, has been covering the Gardner heist for nearly 20 years. Send comments to
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Excerpted from “Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Art Heist” by Stephen Kurkijan. Available from PublicAffairs, a member of The Perseus Books Group. Copyright © 2015.
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Isabella Stewart Gardner Heist: 25 Years of Theories

The frame marking its empty spot on the wall of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston where Rembrandt’s stolen “Storm” had been displayed.

BOSTON — The hallway in the Brooklyn warehouse was dark, the space cramped. But soon there was a flashlight beam, and I was staring at one of the most sought-after stolen masterpieces in the world: Rembrandt’s “Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee.”
Or was I?
My tour guide that night in August 1997 was a rogue antiques dealer who had been under surveillance by the F.B.I. for asserting he could secure return of the painting — for a $5 million reward. I was a reporter at The Boston Herald, consumed like many people before me and since with finding the “Storm,” a seascape with Jesus and the Apostles, and 12 other works, including a Vermeer and a Manet, stolen in March 1990 from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a cherished institution here.
The theft was big news then and remains so today as it nears its 25th anniversary. The stolen works are valued at $500 million, making the robbery the largest art theft in American history.
Which explains why I found myself in Brooklyn, 200 miles from the scene of the crime, tracking yet another lead. My guide had phoned me suggesting he knew something of the robbery, and he had some street credibility because he was allied with a known two-time Rembrandt thief. He took me into a storage locker and flashed his light on the painting, specifically at the master’s signature, on the bottom right of the work, where it should have been, and abruptly ushered me out.

Rembrandt’s stolen “Storm.” Credit Rembrandt/Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

The entire visit had taken all of two minutes.
Call me Inspector Clouseau — I’ve been called worse in this matter, including a “criminal accomplice” by a noted Harvard law professor — but I felt certain I was feet from the real thing, that the Rembrandt, and perhaps all the stolen art, would soon be home. I wrote a front-page article about the furtive unveiling for The Herald — with a headline that bellowed “We’ve Seen It!” — and stood by for the happy ending.
It never came. Negotiations between investigators and the supposed art-nappers crumbled amid dislike and suspicion. Gardner officials did not dismiss my “viewing” out of hand, but the federal agents in charge back then portrayed me as a dupe. Eighteen years later, I still wonder whether what I saw that night was a masterpiece or a masterly effort to con an eager reporter.
Federal agents today continue to discount my warehouse viewing. (They say they have figured out the identity of my guide, but I promised him anonymity.) Still, the authorities are intrigued by some paint chips I also received in 1997 from people claiming to control the art. I wrote at the time that they were possibly from the Rembrandt, but the F.B.I. quickly announced that tests showed that they bore no relationship to the “Storm.”

A bound museum guard after the robbery. Credit Boston Police Department

In a recent interview, though, F.B.I. officials told me that the chips had been re-examined in 2003 by Hubert von Sonnenburg, a Vermeer expert who was chairman of painting conservation at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Mr. von Sonnenburg died the next year.)
His tests determined the chips were an exact match for a pigment known as “red lake” that was commonly used by the 17th-century Dutch master and had been used in the stolen Vermeer (“The Concert”). The crackling pattern on the chips was similar to that found on other Vermeers, Mr. von Sonnenburg concluded, according to the authorities.
Perplexed? Me, too.
Such have been the vicissitudes in my coverage of the case for nearly two decades, during which I have gathered hundreds of investigative documents and photos, interviewed scores of criminals and crackpots, and met with dozens of federal and municipal law enforcement officials and museum executives.

Geoff Kelly, the agent overseeing the investigation of the Gardner break-in for the F.B.I., in the museum courtyard. Credit Gretchen Ertl for The New York Times

In 2011, I wrote a book about art theft with the Gardner’s chief of security, Anthony M. Amore. We omitted the Gardner case because Mr. Amore said the hunt had reached a delicate phase.
Four years later, his quarry remains elusive. But it turns out that the assumptions that he and the F.B.I. special agent now overseeing the case, Geoff Kelly, were forming then became their active theory of the heist. The short version: It was the handiwork of a bumbling confederation of Boston gangsters and out-of-state Mafia middlemen, many now long dead.
Admittedly, that is far less startling than other theories floated over the years, which attributed the theft to Vatican operatives, Irish Republican Army militants, Middle Eastern emirs and greedy billionaires. And new deductions pop up all the time, like those in a book due out this month that combines elements of the F.B.I. theory with a few twists.
Before I get into the theories, though, some background: The Gardner museum was created by Isabella Stewart Gardner, a wealthy Boston arts patron who amassed a world-class collection of paintings, sculptures, Asian and European antiquities, and curiosities like letters from Napoleon and Beethoven’s death mask. In 1903 she arranged her 2,500 or so treasures inside a just-finished Venetian-style palazzo that became her home and as well as a museum open to the public. Her memorable fiat was that upon her death (in 1924), not one item could be moved from the spot she had chosen to display it.


Denuded frames on March 18, 1990. Credit Boston Police Department

But after midnight on March 18, 1990, as St. Patrick’s Day festivities from the day before were winding down, her edict was broken. Two thieves dressed as Boston police officers persuaded a guard to let them in to investigate a “disturbance.” They handcuffed him and another watchman in the basement, duct-taped their wrists and faces and, for 81 minutes, brazenly and clumsily cut two Rembrandts from their frames, smashed glass cases holding other works, and made off with a valuable yet oddball haul.
It included the Rembrandts, Vermeer’s “Concert,” Manet’s “Chez Tortoni,” Degas sketches, a bronze-plated eagle, and a Shang dynasty vase secured to a table by a bulky metal device that by itself probably took 10 minutes to pull apart. Left behind were prizes like a Titian, some Sargents, Raphaels and Whistlers, and, inches from the Degas works, a Pietà sketch by Michelangelo.
Anyone who expected the art to appear rapidly on the black market or to be used for some kind of ransom was disappointed. Instead, there was dead silence. Seven years later, the museum raised its reward to $5 million from $1 million. After a quarter-century, empty frames still mark where the missing “Storm” and other works once were on display.
Early on, investigators focused on Myles J. Connor Jr., a career Massachusetts art thief who, in 1975, had stolen a Rembrandt from the Museum of Fine Arts here and used it to bargain himself out of prison time. Mr. Connor himself came forward in 1997 with an associate, William P. Youngworth III, to say he had planned the Gardner heist. Though he had been in jail when it took place, Mr. Connor insisted it mirrored a scheme he devised in the 1980s. He said he had cased the museum with a fellow thief, telling him he wanted to own the Chinese vase that was so laboriously stolen.


George A. Reissfelder, seen here in 1982, whose relatives say had one of the stolen paintings on his wall. Credit Mike Grecco/Associated Press

Information from Mr. Connor and Mr. Youngworth ultimately led to my dark trip through that Brooklyn warehouse, and later to the puzzling paint chips. But when Mr. Connor left federal prison in 2005, he failed to produce the paintings and investigators have long ruled him out.
Even easier to dismiss was the notion that the Boston crime boss James (Whitey) Bulger was involved. Mr. Bulger was a predictable target for suspicion because of his decades of involvement in murders, drug running and funneling arms to the I.R.A. But there was nothing to connect him, the authorities say.
In a book due out this month, “Master Thieves,” Stephen Kurkjian, a Boston Globe reporter who has tracked the case as long as I have, says that another lifelong Boston crook, Louis Royce, dreamed up the robbery. Mr. Kurkjian interviewed Mr. Royce and quotes him as saying his criminal associates stole his idea. The investigators say Mr. Royce’s tale is unsupported by the evidence. In his book, Mr. Kurkjian says he provided other information to the investigators including a possible motive for the theft — to exchange the masterpieces for the release from prison of a Boston mob leader.
Anticipating a wave of interest, and possible criticism, on the eve of the robbery’s 25th anniversary, the investigators, Mr. Amore and Mr. Kelly, recently showed me a PowerPoint presentation that detailed their best sense of what happened.

The museum's exterior. Credit Gretchen Ertl for The New York Times

Though the efficacy of their efforts remains unclear, Mr. Amore, who was hired by the Gardner in 2005, and Mr. Kelly, who has his own museum identification badge, have spent a decade sharing tips and chasing leads. In one peculiar instance, they said, they approached the producers of the television show “Monk” in the mid-2000s because a tipster spotted a painting that looked like “The Concert” in the background of a scene. The painting turned out to be only a copy used as a prop.
Mr. Amore and Mr. Kelly’s current theory dates to 1997, when informants told the F.B.I. that they had heard a midlevel mob associate and garage supervisor from Quincy, Mass., Carmello Merlino, talk about trading the stolen art for the $5 million reward.
In 1998, the F.B.I., as part of a sting, arrested Mr. Merlino and some associates on their way to an armored car depot and carrying heavy weapons, including grenades. Investigators said that they promised him leniency if he helped them find the art but that he denied knowing of its whereabouts.

Several years later, Mr. Kelly and Mr. Amore said, informants drew their attention to two associates of Mr. Merlino, George A. Reissfelder and Leonard V. DiMuzio.

Paint chips sent to a reporter. Credit Tom Mashberg

Mr. DiMuzio, who was shot to death in 1991, was a skillful burglar who had long been involved with the Merlino gang. The investigators say that Mr. Reissfelder, who died of an apparent drug overdose the same year, owned a 1986 red Dodge Daytona, the same model of car that several witnesses have said they spotted idling outside the Gardner on the night of the break-in. The two passengers in the Daytona, the witnesses said, were dressed as Boston police officers.
In addition, the investigators said, two members of Mr. Reissfelder’s family have said they saw the Gardner’s stolen Manet on Mr. Reissfelder’s apartment wall three months after the robbery — a brazen act, to be sure. The investigators called it a “confirmed sighting.”
The investigators said they believed there had been a second sighting of one of the stolen items, though I’m sad to say it was not my encounter in the warehouse. A tipster, they said, told them in 2009 that he had seen a work resembling “Storm” in Philadelphia.
Two years ago, at a news conference in Boston aimed a drumming up leads in the case, Mr. Kelly and Mr. Amore outlined this theory but did not identify Mr. Reissfelder or Mr. DiMuzio as suspects. But on his PowerPoint, Mr. Kelly showed me that Mr. Reissfelder and Mr. DiMuzio closely resembled police sketches of the two men who had entered the museum.


Left, a Gardner curator, Karen Haas, and the director, Anne Hawley, at a news conference the day after the heist. Credit Lisa Bul/Associated Press

Still, those men are now dead. So is Mr. Merlino, who died in prison in 2005, as is Robert Guarente, a reputed Maine mobster suspected of having once harbored some of the art.
Investigators say they are hopeful of locating the trove, even if many of their suspects are now in their graves. They were buoyed, for example, in 2009, when Mr. Guarente’s widow, Elene, told them her husband had turned over some of the stolen art to a reputed Mafia associate, Robert Gentile of Connecticut, in a parking lot in Portland, Me., in 2002.
Investigators searched Mr. Gentile’s home in 2012 and found pistols, ammunition and silencers — but no paintings. Mr. Gentile, who officials say had ties to organized crime figures in Philadelphia, has said he knows nothing about the art.
Mr. Kelly and Mr. Amore say they are convinced that, based on the 2009 sighting and other information, some of the art made its way from Maine to Philadelphia, where it was shopped around.
“The art was seen as too hot, and there were no takers,” Mr. Kelly said.
What happens now? The investigators keep looking.
“Mrs. Gardner would have expected us to battle every day to get back her art,” Mr. Amore said.
Mr. Kelly said he rejected the notion that the art was destroyed by the thieves as soon as they realized they had “unwittingly committed the crime of the century.”
“That rarely happens in art thefts,” Mr. Kelly continued. “Most criminals are savvy enough to know such valuable paintings are their ace in the hole.”

The biggest art heist of all time is still a complete mystery

Security guard Paul Daley stands guard at the door of the Dutch Room following a robbery at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, in this file photo taken March 21,1990.  REUTERS/Jim Bourg/Files
Security guard Paul Daley stands guard at the door of the Dutch Room of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston
BOSTON (Reuters) - A 122-year old Venetian-style palazzo tucked into Boston's marshy Fens section stands as one of the city's more popular tourist attractions and the site of one of its longest-unsolved crimes.
It has been almost 25 years since 13 artworks worth some $500 million were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in the largest art heist in U.S. history.
The statute of limitations for prosecuting the thieves has long expired but officials at the private museum and the Federal Bureau of Investigation have not given up hope of recovering the missing works, which include including Rembrandt's "Storm on the Sea of Galilee," Vermeer's "The Concert" and Manet's "Chez Tortoni."
The Gardner's remaining collection is sizable, boasting some 2,500 pieces that range from a Roman mosaic of Medusa to ancient Chinese bronzes, reflecting the eclectic tastes of the turn-of-the-century collector from whom it takes its name.
More unusual are the four empty frames that hang in the galleries. They are a quirk of Gardner's will that turned the building she called home in her final years over to the public as a museum after her 1924 death, on the condition that the collection not be changed.
Anthony Amore, the museum's chief of security, described the empty frames as "placeholders, signs of hope" that the missing art would one day be recovered.
"The investigation is very active and very methodical," said Amore, a former Department of Homeland Security official who has spent much of the past decade trying to track down the missing art. "We need those works."
The mystery dates to the rainy night of March 18, 1990, when two men dressed as police officers arrived at the museum's front door and security guards let them in. The pair allegedly overpowered the guards, who were found duct-taped to chairs in the museum's basement the next morning.
There have been glimmers of hope of solving the crime. In March 2013, FBI officials said they had identified the thieves and asked anyone who seen the missing work, which includes etchings and other historic objects, to come forward.
This self-portrait by Rembrandt was one of the 13 stolen works
But a month later Boston law enforcement's attention was refocused on the fatal bombing attack at the Boston Marathon and no artwork has been recovered.
The investigation has taken FBI agents as far afield as Ireland and Japan, but in recent years has been focused on the northeastern and central United States, said Geoff Kelly, the special agent in charge of the case.
"It's like looking for a needle in a haystack," Kelly said. "We've been able to narrow the haystack."


Gardner's life was as distinctive as her art collection. A native of New York who moved north after marrying businessman Jack Gardner in 1860, she did not comport to the dour standards of the wealthy in 19th century Boston.
Gardner, who had been educated in Paris, served donuts at flamboyant parties and competed with male art collectors for prize pieces. After her first and only child died at the age of 2, the Gardners toured Europe extensively, adding to their collection of art and antiques.
The couple commissioned the building that now houses the museum after their art holdings outgrew their home. The museum opened in 1903, five years after Jack's death.
Her orders that the museum remain unchanged means that, a quarter-century on, the theft is a raw experience for first-time visitors.
"Any other museum would simply paper over the loss and take down the frames and put something else up," said Andrew McClellan, a Tufts University professor specializing in museum history. "At the Gardner, it's a haunting presence that will only ever be healed by the return of the paintings."
Kelly would say little about who the FBI suspects stole the art, other than allude to the Mafia. But he contends the thieves likely were not art connoisseurs, given that they left behind some its most prized pieces, including Titian's "The Rape of Europa."
"These thieves were not sophisticated criminals, as evidenced by the fact that two of the paintings were cut out of their frames," Kelly said. "The significant value of the stolen artwork seems to have elevated the status of the thieves to master criminals but that's a specious assumption."

Possible leads in $500 million Boston museum robbery 25 years later: book

The greatest art heist ever, when $500 million worth of masterpieces disappeared from Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990, is still unsolved. But Stephen Kurkjian thinks he may have found the small-time gangster who masterminded the heist, he writes in 'Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Art Heist.'

In a 2010 photo, the empty frame from which thieves cut Rembrandt's 'Storm on the Sea of Galilee' remains on display at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston.  
Josh Reynolds/Ap In a 2010 photo, the empty frame from which thieves cut Rembrandt's 'Storm on the Sea of Galilee' remains on display at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston.
The greatest art heist of all time remains unsolved, but a new book reveals that a small-time gangster may have masterminded the audacious 1990 robbery that relieved Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum of a $500 million haul of masterworks.
The author of “Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Art Heist,” Stephen Kurkjian, also points the way to possibly recovering the missing masterpieces 25 years later. Paintings by Rembrandt and Vermeer were among the 13 pieces of work stolen.
But Kurkjian, a 40-year veteran of the Boston Globe with three Pulitzer Prizes to his name, reports the FBI doesn’t seem all that interested in what he’s uncovered.
Empty frames still hang in the galleries where Rembrandt’s “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee” and Vermeer’s “The Concert” were on display until the early morning hours of March 18, 1990, when two Boston cops buzzed the security desk at 1:20 a.m. demanding entry.

The 13 pieces were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum on March 18, 1990.  
CHITOSE SUZUKI/Ap The 13 pieces were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum on March 18, 1990.

'Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World's Greatest Art Heist' by Stephen Kurkjian is out March 10.  
'Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World's Greatest Art Heist' by Stephen Kurkjian is out March 10.

The guard, Rick Abath, disobeyed strict protocol and let the uniforms in without calling a superior. As the “cops” handcuffed Abath before stowing him and another guard in the basement, the two were informed, “This is a robbery, gentlemen.”
The thieves may have been polite to the guards, but they were brutal to the masterpieces. In 88 minutes they tore through the museum, throwing the paintings to the marbled floor as they sliced the canvasses from the frames. They knew what they liked, but they didn’t know art, snatching a relatively worthless Chinese vase while leaving behind a priceless Michelangelo drawing and the most valuable painting in the museum, Titian’s “Rape of Europa.”
The FBI seized control of the investigation on the grounds that the artwork would be crossing state lines. Shutting local enforcement out was a mistake many felt. In the raging gang wars of the time, both city and state cops had developed reliable informants deep in its criminal underworld.
In fact, one gangster, a player in the East Boston Rossetti gang, Louis Royce, complained to the author that he was still owed 15% for devising the plan. As a poor Southie kid, he loved the museum so much he would hide away there overnight. As a grownup gangster in the early ’80s, knowing how lax security was, he cased the Gardner with the intention of breaking in.

'A Lady and Gentleman in Black' by Rembrandt was also taken.
A visitor to the museum looks at the empty frame that held Rembrandt's 'A Lady and Gentleman in Black.'
'A Lady and Gentleman in Black' by Rembrandt was also taken. Right, a visitor looks at its empty frame.

In gangland, it had become common to use stolen art works of value to bargain for the prison release of a “family” member or a plea deal. While Royce never got to rob the Gardner — he went to prison for another crime — he was instrumental in formulating a scenario where two “cops” show up late at night and order the door open.
The playbook had been written.
Over the years, tantalizing leads would surface. In 1994, museum director Anne Hawley opened a letter that promised the return of the 13 pieces for $2.6 million. If the museum was interested, the Boston Globe had to feature a prominent numeral one in a business story. The paper did so, but the letter writer disappeared after he learned a massive alert had gone out to law enforcement.

Vincent Ferrara (right) was rumored to be connected to the heist.  
CHITOSE SUZUKI/Ap Vincent Ferrara (right) was rumored to be connected to the heist.

In 1997, William Youngworth, a career criminal and associate of the master art thief, Myles Connor Jr., took Boston Herald reporter Tom Mashberg on a long ride to a warehouse in Red Hook, where he produced a painting that looked a lot like Rembrandt’s “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” Whether or not the painting was authentic remains in question. What’s conclusive is that the FBI finally quit talking to Youngsworth when they got nowhere.
Hawley was so desperate she reached out to the Vatican to ask Pope John Paul II to issue a papal appeal. She also approached William Bulger, president of the state Senate, asking that he chat up his brother Whitey to see what he knew.
The notorious gangster was fruitlessly chasing leads himself. The heist had happened in his territory and he figured he was owed tribute.

Reputed New England Mafia leader Francis P. (Cadillac Frank) Salemme is seen after his arrest Aug. 11, 1995.
A June 23, 2011 booking photo shows James (Whitey) Bulger, captured after 16 years on the run.
Reputed New England Mafia leader Francis P. (Cadillac Frank) Salemme (left) and James (Whitey) Bulger could also be connected.

William P. Youngworth III is arraigned in Worcester, Mass., Sept. 5, 1997. Youngworth claims he can lead the FBI to the stolen artwork.  
PAULA B. FERAZZI/Ap William P. Youngworth III is arraigned in Worcester, Mass., Sept. 5, 1997. Youngworth claims he can lead the FBI to the stolen artwork.

Two decades passed, and even with a $5 million reward, never mind the tremendous criminal bargaining power attached to the return of the paintings, no one anted up.
In March 2013, the FBI held what was considered a bombshell press conference. Richard S. DesLauriers, the head of Boston’s FBI, announced they knew with certainty that the art had traveled to Connecticut and the Philadelphia area. There was, the author notes, a troubling lack of detail.
The FBI didn’t name names. Catching the thieves wasn’t the point any longer. The statute of limitations had expired, and getting the art back was now the game.
The FBI had seen the value of crowdsourcing after a tip led to the arrest of Whitey Bulger. This was essentially an appeal to the public to check their attics, or their neighbors’ walls, for a Rembrandt.
Those in the know quickly pieced together the FBI scenario for the heist. Its investigation fingered key members of Frank (Cadillac Frank) Salemme’s gang that the Rossettis owed allegiance to. While Kurkjian doesn’t dismiss the feds’ version out of hand, he makes quick work of its many holes.

Rembrandt’s 'Storm on the Sea of Galilee' is one of the masterworks stolen. Rembrandt’s 'Storm on the Sea of Galilee' is one of the masterworks stolen. 

Meanwhile, Kurkjian, whose reporting helped solve two previous art thefts, took a “deep dive into the inner works of Boston’s notorious underworld and gained the trust of some of its most flamboyant and pivotal figures.” It was a netherworld the FBI hadn’t been able to penetrate.
Vincent Ferrara was in the top echelon of a mob faction warring with Salemme for control of the New England underworld. But in 1992, Ferraro went to prison for 20 years on a murder rap that would later be overturned.
When his wheelman, Bobby Donati, visited shortly after he’d been locked up, the future looked long and grim.

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum curator Karen Haas (left) and museum director Anne Hawley are seen at a news conference on March 19, 1990, the day after the heist. 
 LISA BUL/Ap Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum curator Karen Haas (left) and museum director Anne Hawley are seen at a news conference on March 19, 1990, the day after the heist.

A secret informant told Kurkjian the details of that visit.
“I can’t let you stay here,” Donati told Ferrara. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
Donati toured the museum several times in the company of the master art thief Connor. Shortly before the robbery, he also showed up at a social club, The Shack, carrying a large paper bag that ripped open, and police uniforms fell out.
“Was that you?” Ferrara demanded to know when Donati visited him again after the robbery.
“I told you I was going to do it. Now I got to find a way to begin negotiating to get you out.” He reassured Ferrara he had “buried the stuff.”
Donati was murdered in 1991, a possible victim in the ongoing gang wars.
Kurkjian turned his info over to the FBI, and with the informant’s permission, passed his phone number to the Gardner’s head of security. No contact was made, and the feds made a show of dismissing the new lead.

'Chez Tortoni' by Manet was stolen.

Kurkjian’s sleuthing then brought him around to another low-level hood, Robert Gentile, the man the FBI believed had possession of at least some of the paintings. After nailing Gentile on a drug charge, they raided his home in Manchester, Conn., finding a false-bottom floor in the shed that hid a large container. It was frustratingly empty.
At one moment, Kurkjian felt Gentile was close to making an admission to him before abruptly dismissing the possibility of saying more. “The feds set me up and ruined my life,” he said flatly.
Kurkjian contacted his informant to ask if Ferrara would meet with Gentile to assure him that if he produced the artwork neither he nor his family would suffer retribution. The informant was willing, but pointed out that only a judge acting on an FBI request could allow a recently released federal prisoner like Ferrara to meet with anyone convicted of a federal offense.
“Despite what felt like the biggest break in the Gardner case yet, arranging a meeting between Ferrara and Gentile was not something I could accomplish,” Kurkjian writes.
It was up to the FBI.
So far, nothing.

Director of Gardner Museum to Step Down

Anne Hawley, who has led the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston for 25 years and oversaw an expansion that opened in 2012, more than doubling the museum’s footprint and increasing attendance, announced Wednesday that she planned to step down at the end of the year.
Ms. Hawley was appointed in 1989, only a few months before one of the most famous art heists in history occurred at the museum. In March 1990, two thieves disguised as police officers made off with 13 works, among them a Vermeer and a Rembrandt, a robbery that – despite some leads – remains unsolved as its 25th anniversary approaches.
During Ms. Hawley’s tenure, the museum – which was beloved but seen as something of a dusty relic – has become known for its historical and contemporary exhibitions and its educational outreach, as well as its music and horticultural programs. The $114 million expansion, designed by Renzo Piano, was opposed by some Bostonians, who believed it contravened the wishes of the institution’s founder to keep the Gardner preserved largely as it was at her death in 1924. But a 2009 state court ruling allowed the museum to deviate from Gardner’s will to create the addition. The demolition of a carriage house on the property, to make way for the expansion, was carried out over the protests of preservationists.
In an interview Wednesday, Ms. Hawley, 71, said that the museum had been founded “as a total work of art in itself” and that her goal as director was to “to bring back the dynamic life that its founder had made when she built this place.” After recently completing a $180 million fund-raising campaign for the expansion and the museum’s endowment, Ms. Hawley said she felt it was an appropriate time for new leadership. The museum has formed a committee to find a successor.
“It’s really surprising to me that I’ve stayed so long,” she said. “It’s just the right time for me to step aside when I feel that everything is fantastic and I’m at the top of my game.” She added that she had no desire to run another museum, but wanted to “be able to focus on projects and to study and just to have time.”

Walter Liedtke, Curator at Metropolitan Museum of Art, Dies at 69

Walter Liedtke, left, discussing Vermeer’s “The Milkmaid” with Princess Máxima and Prince Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2009. Credit Craig Ruttle/Associated Press

Walter Liedtke, who served for 35 years as a curator of European paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and was a renowned scholar on Vermeer and the Delft School, died on Tuesday, one of six victims of the crash of a Metro-North commuter train in Valhalla, N.Y. He was 69.
His death was confirmed by the Met’s director, Thomas P. Campbell, who said in an interview that “he was one of our most esteemed curators and one of the most distinguished scholars of Dutch and Flemish painting in the world.”
Mr. Liedtke, who lived in Bedford Hills, N.Y., and was raised in New Jersey, intended to be a teacher, and after earning his master’s degree at Brown and a doctorate at the Courtauld Institute of Art in London, he spent four years on the faculty at Ohio State. But in 1979 he received a Mellon Fellowship to study at the Metropolitan Museum, and he never left it.

The next year he became a curator and began producing a procession of well-regarded exhibitions and books over the decades, including “Rembrandt/Not Rembrandt in The Metropolitan Museum of Art” in 1995 and 1996; “Vermeer and the Delft School” in 2001, and “The Age of Rembrandt” in 2007.
His catalog of Flemish paintings in the Met’s collection was published in 1984, and a comprehensive catalog of the museum’s Dutch paintings, presented over more than a thousand pages, was published in 2007.
Arthur K. Wheelock Jr., curator of Northern Baroque paintings at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, who knew and sometimes jousted curatorially with Mr. Liedtke for three decades, said that while Mr. Liedtke was a natural writer, “he really liked to lecture.”
“He had a wonderful way with words and engaged people through those unexpected approaches in language,” Mr. Wheelock said. “He had strong opinions about things, and he was not shy about expressing those opinions.”
Mr. Liedtke and his wife, Nancy, a math teacher, who is his only immediate survivor, raised horses, a passion that Mr. Liedtke brought to his scholarly life as well. His book “The Royal Horse and Rider: Painting, Sculpture and Horsemanship 1500-1800” was published in 1990.
“I think there is something Dutch about the way I live,” he said in a personal reflection that he recorded for the Met’s website. “To go home every day from the Upper East Side of Manhattan to the countryside is a really nice contrast.”
He added: “At the essential level, I think what’s the most Dutch about it is this constant return to immediate experience. I get up, I go to the barn, I clean the horse stalls at 6:30 in the morning.”
Mr. Campbell said that Mr. Liedtke frequently caught the train that he took on Tuesday and that he liked to ride in the first car because it was sometimes the designated quiet car, where he could read and work.
While Mr. Liedtke loved the life of the country, Mr. Campbell added, “he was one of our great characters, always immaculately turned out in his suits, and he was very much an Old World connoisseur who trained in very profound study of the object.”
In a short online discussion recorded in 2013 about Rembrandt’s “Aristotle With a Bust of Homer” (1653), Mr. Liedtke marveled at how an artist could so movingly capture the kind of existential moment the painting shows, as Aristotle, dressed like a pasha, looks at a representation of Homer and wonders whether history will remember him as well.
“The central problem of Western civilization,” Mr. Liedtke said, “is reduced to one guy who’s got to puzzle it out for himself.”
Of the meaning of the painting, which was one of his favorites, he added: “I sort of got it in my gut or my heart.”