Date: June 20, 2005

  Location: Seattle, Washington

  On June 20, 2005, Seattle was warm, the temperature climbing to 22°C under a clear sky, with sunlight glinting off the glass facades of Downtown skyscrapers. In Belltown, where trendy galleries and bars mingled with bohemian studios, a creative buzz filled the air. In 2005, Belltown was a hub of Seattle’s art scene, with spots like the Roq La Rue gallery drawing 5,000 visitors monthly, showcasing works by contemporary artists like Mark Ryden, whose paintings sold for $10,000 and up. But shadows lurked behind the glamour: the Seattle Police Department reported 80 fraud cases in the area that year, often tied to art forgeries.

  James Crowe, a 38-year-old private detective, sat at Macrina Bakery in Belltown, sipping a $3 coffee and skimming the Seattle Times. The front page headline read: “Microsoft Releases Xbox 360: A New Era of Gaming,” as the console, launched in May 2005, had already sold 1.5 million units. But Crowe’s attention was on a story on page four: “Art World Scandal: Fake Picasso Paintings Sold at Seattle Auction for $2 Million.” His thoughts were interrupted by a call from Emilia Carter, a 45-year-old owner of Carter Fine Arts gallery in Belltown, who hired him to investigate.

  Crowe headed to the gallery, his 2003 Ford Taurus humming along as he passed a group of tourists in “I ? Seattle” T-shirts snapping photos with the Space Needle in the background. At the 1st Avenue intersection, he stopped at a light, spotting a hot dog vendor—a 60-year-old man named Fred with a gray beard and an apron—shouting:

  “Best hot dogs in Seattle! Only $4!”

  Crowe rolled down his window, grinning.

  “Fred, if your hot dogs are so good, how am I still alive after eating one last week?” he teased, injecting a bit of humor.

  Fred laughed, waving him off.

  “Because you’re tougher than you look, Crowe!” he replied, and Crowe drove on, a faint smile lifting his mood.

  Carter Fine Arts was a modern building with white walls and large windows displaying paintings in gilded frames. Emilia Carter waited at the entrance, a 45-year-old woman in a $400 Diane von Furstenberg dress, her chestnut hair tied in a low ponytail. Her face was pale, her hands nervously clutching a folder of documents.

  “Mr. Crowe, I’m in trouble,” she said, her voice trembling. “At last week’s auction, I sold three paintings I thought were original Picassos. But an appraisal revealed they’re fakes. My reputation is ruined, and I’m getting threats from the buyer I deceived.”

  Crowe stepped inside the gallery, the scent of paint and wood filling the air, but his focus was on a painting on the wall—a replica of Picasso’s Woman with Guitar, its vibrant cubist shapes catching the light. He ran a finger along the frame, noting its pristine condition.

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  “Well, if I don’t crack this case, my career might end as fast as these fakes,” he muttered with self-deprecating humor, eyeing the painting. “Maybe I could sell it as an ‘original Crowe’—a masterpiece of detective art.”

  Emilia handed him the sale documents: the paintings had been bought at auction for $2 million by an anonymous buyer, whom Crowe quickly identified as Edward Lawrence, a 50-year-old Seattle businessman worth $100 million. Lawrence was threatening a lawsuit if Emilia didn’t refund the money within a week. Crowe started by tracing the paintings’ origins—they’d been acquired through a middleman, a 35-year-old art dealer named Nicholas Blake, who worked at a Downtown gallery.

  Crowe drove to Blake’s office in a skyscraper on 3rd Avenue, a 10-minute trip. He parked near the building, passing a group of office workers rushing to lunch. One, a 30-year-old woman in a $200 business suit, accidentally bumped into Crowe with her bag, apologizing:

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you!”

  “No worries, I’m used to being invisible,” Crowe replied with a faint smile. “It’s one of my detective superpowers.”

  Blake’s office was on the 15th floor, with a panoramic view of Elliott Bay. Nicholas Blake, a 35-year-old man with slicked-back black hair and a $1,500 Armani suit, sat at his desk, flipping through an auction catalog. His office was cluttered with art books, a reproduction of Van Gogh’s Starry Night hanging on the wall.

  “Mr. Blake, I’m James Crowe, private detective,” Crowe introduced himself, flashing his PI license. “I need to talk about the Picasso paintings you sold to Carter Fine Arts.”

  Blake looked up, his gaze cold but composed.

  “I’m just a middleman,” he said, his voice steady. “I bought the paintings from a private collector in Portland. I didn’t know they were fake.”

  Crowe noticed Blake tapping his fingers on the desk—a sign of anxiety. Over the next two days, Crowe discovered the “Portland collector” was a fabrication. He traced Blake’s bank transfers, uncovering a $50,000 payment from an unknown source a week before the auction. Crowe set up surveillance, staking out a cafe across from Blake’s office, where he ordered an $8 sandwich and watched through the window. On the third day, he saw Blake meet a 40-year-old man named Paul Decker in an alley near the gallery. Decker, a Belltown artist, was known in the underground as a master forger.

  Crowe stormed into the alley, knocking a bag from Decker’s hands, revealing Winsor & Newton paint tubes and brushes.

  “Well, gentlemen, looks like I just found the 21st-century Picasso,” Crowe said with sarcasm, pinning Decker against the wall. “Only your paintings are worth a bit less than $2 million, aren’t they?”

  Decker confessed: Blake had hired him to forge the paintings, promising $100,000 for the three pieces. Blake planned to sell them at auction and split the profits with Decker, but he hadn’t expected the appraisal to expose the fraud. Crowe turned Blake and Decker over to the police, and Emilia refunded Lawrence, avoiding a lawsuit. In 2005, Seattle remained a hub of art and tech: Roq La Rue celebrated its 10th anniversary, and Amazon launched Amazon Prime for $79 a year. But for Crowe, this case proved that even in the art world, the truth always surfaces—though the unsolved Alaskan Way heist still gnawed at him.