Crime: To Catch a Thief

On a sweltering morning two days later, Wittman waits for Flores in a sixth-floor hotel room wired with hidden cameras and microphones. A duffel bag with $1 million in cash sits on the floor by the bed, watched over by a Spanish policeman — supposedly in the mobster’s crew — with a tiny five-shot revolver at his hip. Anything could happen. Flores might bring the Brueghel as promised, ready to do the deal. He might bring a fake. He might also come in shooting, make a grab for the duffel. Wittman sits calmly on the bed, unarmed.

Since their first lobby meeting, Wittman had seen Flores once more — to give him some sample bills, to prove the “mobster” has real money. The thief thanked him hungrily, then hinted at how desperate he was: If this deal hadn’t come up, Flores said, his gang had planned to kidnap a London art professor and get him to authenticate the paintings so they could move them. Still, despite the thief’s obvious greed and sordid record, ­Wittman has actually started to find some good in him, just a bit. Flores seems to love beautiful things; he doesn’t know much about art, but is eager to learn. He walked through the lavish hotel lobby with Wittman, admiring an exhibit of antique locks, offering to take the Profesor antiques-shopping in Seville. That was all Wittman needed — a glimmer of respect, a sense that Flores was capable of appreciating the finer things in life. He wasn’t all bad.

Wittman had been searching for some good quality in Flores, the way a priest searches for faith in a heretic. He always does, always looks for something he has in common with his suspects; otherwise, he’d never be able to do his job, to convince them he’s their friend, on their side. That’s easy for Wittman; on or off duty, he inherently likes people. Friends admire the way he can talk with anyone about anything — art and culture; travel (he’s been all over the world); sports (he’s an Eagles fan); politics (he’s a Democrat). But he prefers to ask questions, to learn more about a new acquaintance than he gives of himself. He spends his free time in art museums and at movies — favoring comedies over cop flicks — or throwing hoops with his sons at a local school. He’s not a brooder or a heavy-browed thinker, and he doesn’t lose sleep over his moral qualms — or anything else, for that matter. At work, Wittman’s so steely and calm, he inspires even seasoned colleagues to coolness. When he’s not undercover, he’s a dogged detective, interviewing witnesses, pumping sources, and scouring auctions for stolen artifacts. He regularly calls on local museum security officers to update them on the latest safeguards; nothing, if he can help it, is ever stolen from right under his nose. Off the job, though, he puts it out of mind, never taking work home, never complaining, so even his wife has never known him to have a bad day. He knows that the thieves and smugglers he befriends are bad guys; in some cases, like Flores, really bad. And they deserve what they get. Still, it’s not always easy to accept his part in their fall.