Read Online Tokyo Heist by Diana Renn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diana Renn
Tags: People & Places, Asia, Juvenile Fiction, Young Adult Fiction, Art, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Art & Architecture
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lock, and pulls out a drawer. She carries a portfolio to the table, opens it, and reveals the most amazing print.
The bottom third of the long paper shows a narrow bridge. Long canoes, poled by people in pointed hats, drift down a wide river of brilliant blue. Tiny figures wearing kimonos cross the bridge on foot or lean against the railing. In the background, the whole middle section of the print, are lush trees bursting with cherry blossoms. Green rolling hills and blue mountains rise up in the distance. The top third of the print shows a milky-white sky with a band of bright blue. The details blow me away. I learned about printmaking in Studio Art. This all had to be drawn, then cut into wood, then the blocks inked, then the image transferred to paper one color at a time.
While I’m gaping at it, Mitsue opens a cardboard tube and gently shakes out three large, rolled-up papers. “And these are high-quality photocopies of van Gogh’s drawings. We had all three copied for insurance purposes. Sadly, they are all we have now.”
At first, van Gogh’s drawings look less vibrant, compared to the Hiroshige print. They are rough sketches in brown ink on yellowing paper. But as I stare at them, they come to life. The composition is similar to Hiroshige’s: the bridge, the boats, the hills, and the mountains. Yet the pictures are also distinctly van Gogh’s. The lines are heavier, resembling the brushstrokes in his famous paintings. He exaggerated certain details from the Hiroshige print. And all three images show elements of Hiroshige’s print from different angles, as if van Gogh had been working out the best perspective. As if he had been playing the Frame Game.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “They’re copies—but they’re not.”
“That is right,” Mitsue says. “It’s not plagiarism. It’s inspiration. Van Gogh made Hiroshige’s image his own. And he drew these studies to prepare for a painting.”
“My dad draws a lot before he paints, too. Hey, isn’t it weird that the thief didn’t take the Hiroshige print, too?”
“The print is rare but not one of a kind. Multiple copies were made at a time. So I suppose he could find another Hiroshige without too much work.”
I scan the room, taking in all the boxes, portfolios, and flat-file cabinets. “And you’re sure the thief only took the van Gogh drawings?”
“Quite sure. We’ve inventoried everything. He could have helped himself to any number of valuable works—we have drawings by Cézanne and Renoir here, too. But it’s as if he had a need for only the van Gogh drawings. He was very focused.”
So the thief had to be strong enough to hurl a big rock. Small enough to fit through the window. Fearless enough to drop to the floor. Knowledgeable enough about the Yamadas’ collection to go straight for the van Goghs. Strong enough to pull him or herself up the windowsill and outside again. Fast enough to run away while alarms wailed. Smart enough to make a clean getaway.
The face that comes to mind is Skye’s. She’s been associated with a client’s missing art. She knows the Yamadas’ collection. She talked about a cash windfall and some kind of financial deal. She’s strong and agile enough to have pulled off this heist. The picture is coming together. She has to be the thief. And those Japanese guys must have figured out, somehow, that she did it. They’re following her around trying to steal the drawings for themselves. But why?
The only thing clear to me now is that I have to get back to the Seattle Art Museum. I have to find out who Skye talked to there and if she left the portfolio. I’m sure she didn’t hand it in for reward money, or the art would have been returned to the Yamadas by now. She must have an inside connection, her own personal Sockeye, to ferry the stolen art away.
1
1
B ut Monday morning brings a setback. After our breakfast of champions—cold, stale cereal and microwaved instant coffee—I tell my dad I’m
The bottom third of the long paper shows a narrow bridge. Long canoes, poled by people in pointed hats, drift down a wide river of brilliant blue. Tiny figures wearing kimonos cross the bridge on foot or lean against the railing. In the background, the whole middle section of the print, are lush trees bursting with cherry blossoms. Green rolling hills and blue mountains rise up in the distance. The top third of the print shows a milky-white sky with a band of bright blue. The details blow me away. I learned about printmaking in Studio Art. This all had to be drawn, then cut into wood, then the blocks inked, then the image transferred to paper one color at a time.
While I’m gaping at it, Mitsue opens a cardboard tube and gently shakes out three large, rolled-up papers. “And these are high-quality photocopies of van Gogh’s drawings. We had all three copied for insurance purposes. Sadly, they are all we have now.”
At first, van Gogh’s drawings look less vibrant, compared to the Hiroshige print. They are rough sketches in brown ink on yellowing paper. But as I stare at them, they come to life. The composition is similar to Hiroshige’s: the bridge, the boats, the hills, and the mountains. Yet the pictures are also distinctly van Gogh’s. The lines are heavier, resembling the brushstrokes in his famous paintings. He exaggerated certain details from the Hiroshige print. And all three images show elements of Hiroshige’s print from different angles, as if van Gogh had been working out the best perspective. As if he had been playing the Frame Game.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “They’re copies—but they’re not.”
“That is right,” Mitsue says. “It’s not plagiarism. It’s inspiration. Van Gogh made Hiroshige’s image his own. And he drew these studies to prepare for a painting.”
“My dad draws a lot before he paints, too. Hey, isn’t it weird that the thief didn’t take the Hiroshige print, too?”
“The print is rare but not one of a kind. Multiple copies were made at a time. So I suppose he could find another Hiroshige without too much work.”
I scan the room, taking in all the boxes, portfolios, and flat-file cabinets. “And you’re sure the thief only took the van Gogh drawings?”
“Quite sure. We’ve inventoried everything. He could have helped himself to any number of valuable works—we have drawings by Cézanne and Renoir here, too. But it’s as if he had a need for only the van Gogh drawings. He was very focused.”
So the thief had to be strong enough to hurl a big rock. Small enough to fit through the window. Fearless enough to drop to the floor. Knowledgeable enough about the Yamadas’ collection to go straight for the van Goghs. Strong enough to pull him or herself up the windowsill and outside again. Fast enough to run away while alarms wailed. Smart enough to make a clean getaway.
The face that comes to mind is Skye’s. She’s been associated with a client’s missing art. She knows the Yamadas’ collection. She talked about a cash windfall and some kind of financial deal. She’s strong and agile enough to have pulled off this heist. The picture is coming together. She has to be the thief. And those Japanese guys must have figured out, somehow, that she did it. They’re following her around trying to steal the drawings for themselves. But why?
The only thing clear to me now is that I have to get back to the Seattle Art Museum. I have to find out who Skye talked to there and if she left the portfolio. I’m sure she didn’t hand it in for reward money, or the art would have been returned to the Yamadas by now. She must have an inside connection, her own personal Sockeye, to ferry the stolen art away.
1
1
B ut Monday morning brings a setback. After our breakfast of champions—cold, stale cereal and microwaved instant coffee—I tell my dad I’m
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