FanStory.com - The Stolen Paintingby HarryT

November 1970: The Smithsonian Institute of Natural History boasted excellent educational displays. However, on a freezing evening, the disappearance of the priceless George Catlin painting of Ha-na-tá-nu-maúk, Wolf Chief, Head Chief of the Tribe, it was a gigantic loss stolen from its place of honor in the east wing. The painting is a wonderful piece of Native American history and was the centerpiece of the museum’s Catlin collection. Its disappearance sent shockwaves through the Smithsonian staff. The D.C. police were called. They investigated but found no fingerprints or any other clues. Security footage showed an individual, but identification proved impossible. However, the chief promised to assign James Johnson one of their best detective's to follow up on the matter.

Mr. Williams, the head of the Institute, had heard about Mr. Johnson, a clever police detective with a knack for solving troublesome cases. The next morning, Mr. Johnson arrived at the museum. Mr. Willams met him at the entrance, his face carved with worry.

“Detective, I can’t believe this has happened,” he said, wringing his hands. “The painting is irreplaceable. It is the premiere piece of our Catlin collection.”

James nodded. “Let’s start from the beginning. When was the painting last seen?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Mr. Willams replied. “Yesterday evening, Jack, our security guard, and I closed up. Everything was in order. This morning, before opening, I found the empty frame; someone had cut out the painting. I checked the alarm system, and it is working. I don’t know how anyone could have gotten in and out without tripping the alarm.”

James examined the entrance to the east wing; the doors showed no signs of forced entry as the preliminary investigation had reported. “Tell me about the alarm system.”

Mr. Willams said, “It’s state-of-the-art and connected directly to the police station.” He repeated, “I just don’t understand how someone got in here.”

“How about your people?” James asked.

“None of them would do anything like this. They know the importance of this exhibit to the Native American community.”

James observed a trace of mud near the baseboard under the empty frame and scraped some into an envelope. Then he said, “I need to talk to the staff who work in this wing.”

The first person he interviewed was Janice Thomas, a young guide, whose duty was to give tours and explain each Catlin painting. When James approached, Janice was bitting her fingernail on the little finger of her left hand, and her right leg was thumping the floor. But despite her nervousness, she was cooperative during the interview.

She said, “I can’t believe someone would steal the painting. It’s been here for as long as I can remember.”

“Did you notice anything unusual last night before you left?” James asked.

Janice shook her head. “No, everything seemed normal. I left, as usual, right after closing. Everything seemed fine.”

“Thanks, Ms. Thomas. Here’s my card. If you think of anything, please call me.”

Next, Mr. Williams introduced James to Jack Bulger, the security guard. He said, "Jack here has been at the Institute for ten years, after retiring from the D.C. police force. Mr. Williams patted Jack on the shoulder and continued, "Jack is a valued employee, very experienced and always reliable."

Jack looked over at James and said, “Detective, I checked the building before locking everything up, as I do every night. Nothing seemed out of place. But now that I think about it, when I left the building, I did see a car parked in the far corner of the back lot. That’s where I park. It was unusual. At this time, I'm usually the only car in the lot. I didn’t think much of it. There was a couple in the car. I thought maybe they had something going.”

“Could you describe the car?” James asked.

“Well, it was already dark out and the car was a dark color. Maybe dark blue or black, four doors, not a D.C. plate, but I couldn’t make it out,” Jack said.

James wrote in his notebook. Then he looked up at Mr. Williams and said, “I’d like to look at the security footage.”

He watched for several hours, noting any suspicious detail. At midnight on the tape, he saw the dark car Jack mentioned. A figure emerged from the car, walked across the lot. James paused the footage, trying to zoom in on the person’s face. But the person’s face was obscured. The individual was wearing a hoody, concealing the face, but as he scanned the figure, something caught his eye. James recognized the phoenix tattoo on the intruder’s left hand as the symbol of the Irish Republican Army. (The phoenix is a mythical bird that symbolizes rebirth, renewal, and immortality). Then the man disappeared behind several thick bushes.

Later, James learned that hidden behind the bushes was a door to an old storeroom that was no longer used. The detective asked Mr. Willams about the room. Surprised, Mr. Williams said, “Oh, my word, we may have forgotten that door. Is that how the thief got in?”

“I think so,” James responded. Then he asked Mr. William if any strangers had visited the gallery.

“Why, yes, just last week. Dr. Lawerence Percy said that the chairperson of the Institute sent him to appraise three of the Catlin paintings.

Mr. Williams said, "Percy is a recognized expert in the field of 19th Century Western art."

However, upon further investigation, James discovered he also had a questionable past. Authorities questioned him several times about art thefts, but never charged him.

James decided to pay Dr. Percy a visit at his Georgetown townhouse. When Percy opened the door, James explained he was a detective working on a stolen painting case and wanted his expert opinion on the worth of the stolen painting. Dr. Percy invited him in and when he reached for James’s coat, James noticed his left hand had a tattoo, like the one he had seen on security footage. He also spotted boots with mud on them, which he scraped into an envelope when Dr. Percy went into the kitchen to make tea.

When Dr. Percy returned with a tray, James’ eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened as he said, “I have reason to believe you were involved in the theft of one of the Catlin painting you recently appraised. And I think your muddy boots will help prove my case.”

Percy’s face paled. He dropped the tray. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

James showed him prints from the security footage, which revealed the tattoo.

This mud, I believe, will match the ground by the hidden storeroom door, and your tattoo seals your fate.

Cornered, Percy confessed. “We needed the money.”

“Who are we?” James shot back.

“The IRA. We’re fighting for a free Ireland. Just like you, Yanks did when you beat the Brits.”

“That’s not an excuse. You stole an American treasure, and you will pay for it. Where is the painting?”

Percy had rolled up the painting and hid it in his closet. He was taken into custody by the D.C. Metropolitan Police. Mr. Williams and the Institute staff breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the famous painting was safe once more and none of them were involved. As for Detective James Johnson, he had solved the mystery. His reputation as an impressive police investigator continued to grow.

A jury found Dr. Percy guilty and sentenced him to one year in prison. And the old storeroom door was wired into the security system.