Stolen: The Gardner Heist
The Story
In 1990, two fake cops walked into a Boston museum and vanished with half a billion dollars in art — including a Vermeer, three Rembrandts, and a piece of Napoleon's flag. 36 years later, nobody's ever been charged. Nothing's ever been found.Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/dark-american-crime--7005371/support.
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Speaker 1: It's just after one in the morning on March eighteenth,
Speaker 1: nineteen ninety in Boston's Fenway neighborhood. The parade ended hours ago,
Speaker 1: the green beer has gone flat. Most of the city
Speaker 1: is either asleep or still stumbling home. But on Palace Road,
Speaker 1: outside of a Netian style palazzo built by a strong
Speaker 1: willed widow almost a century earlier, a car is idling.
Speaker 1: Two men sit inside it. They're dressed like Boston police officers,
Speaker 1: the blue uniforms, the caps, even fake mustaches on at
Speaker 1: least one of them. A few party goers leaving a
Speaker 1: nearby apartment notice the car. They don't think much of it.
Speaker 1: Cops sitting outside a museum on a rowdy night out
Speaker 1: that tracks at one twenty four am. The two men
Speaker 1: get out, walk to a side entrance on Palace Road
Speaker 1: and press the buzzer. Inside, a twenty three year old
Speaker 1: security guard named Rica Bath is sitting at a desk
Speaker 1: watching a bank of black and white monitors. He's got
Speaker 1: a night ahead of him, one more slow sh shift,
Speaker 1: guarding some of the most valuable paintings on the planet
Speaker 1: in a museum so eccentric and specific that its founder
Speaker 1: legally forbade anyone from ever rearranging so much as a chair.
Speaker 1: The intercom crackles. The men outside say they're responding to
Speaker 1: a disturbance call. A bath looks at the screen. He
Speaker 1: sees two uniformed officers. He's not supposed to let anyone
Speaker 1: in after hours without confirming it through the Boston Police
Speaker 1: dispatch line. He does not make that call. He buzzes
Speaker 1: them in. By the time the sun comes up, thirteen
Speaker 1: works of art, among them, one of only three dozen
Speaker 1: Vermier paintings known to exist anywhere in the world, will
Speaker 1: be gone. So will a piece of Rembrandt's only seescape,
Speaker 1: so will a museum's sense of itself as a sanctuary.
Speaker 1: And thirty six years later, not one of those paintings
Speaker 1: has ever been recovered. Not one arrest has ever been made.
Speaker 1: The reward for their return now stands at ten million dollars,
Speaker 1: the largest bounty any private institution has ever offered, and
Speaker 1: it has never been claimed. This is the story of
Speaker 1: the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum heist, still, by every measure
Speaker 1: that matters, the largest unsolved art theft in American history.
Speaker 1: I'm your host, and this is the empty frames. The
Speaker 1: woman who built a palace. Before we can understand what
Speaker 1: was stolen, we have to understand who built the place
Speaker 1: it was stolen from. Because this museum was never meant
Speaker 1: to be a museum in the ordinary sense. It was
Speaker 1: meant to be a love letter carved in marble and
Speaker 1: canvas from one obsessive, brilliant, unconventional woman to the city
Speaker 1: that never quite knew what to make of her. Isabella
Speaker 1: Stuart was born in New York City in eighteen forty
Speaker 1: into money. Her father had made a fortune in iron
Speaker 1: and mining, but she wasn't destined to stay in New York.
Speaker 1: In eighteen sixty, she married John Lowell Gardner Junior, a
Speaker 1: Boston Brahmin from one of the city's oldest and stuffiest families,
Speaker 1: and moved into a world that prized restraint, old money,
Speaker 1: and quiet, good taste above almost everything else. Isabella Stewart
Speaker 1: Gardner was, by every account allergic to restraint. She smoked
Speaker 1: in public when women of her class did not. She
Speaker 1: walked a pet lion on a leash down Beacon Street.
Speaker 1: According to Boston lore that's been repeated so often its
Speaker 1: practically civic scripture. At this point, whether it happened exactly
Speaker 1: that way or not, it tells you everything about how
Speaker 1: Boston saw her. She wore a headband that reportedly read
Speaker 1: red socks to the symphony. She hosted salons with musicians, writers,
Speaker 1: and painters that scandalized as many people as they delighted.
Speaker 1: Boston society didn't quite know whether to embrace her or
Speaker 1: recoil from her, so, in the maddening way of old
Speaker 1: money cities, it did a bit of both inviting her
Speaker 1: everywhere and gossiping about her everywhere in equal measure. What
Speaker 1: mattered more than any of that, though, was what she
Speaker 1: did with her money and her eye. Gardner became one
Speaker 1: of the most serious, most personally engaged art collectors of
Speaker 1: her era, at a time when almost none of her peers,
Speaker 1: male or female, took the pursuit as seriously as she did.
Speaker 1: She didn't hire agents to build a trophy collection for her.
Speaker 1: She traveled, She studied. She formed real relationships with dealers, scholars,
Speaker 1: and artists, including a young art historian named Bernard Berenson,
Speaker 1: who would go on to become one of the most
Speaker 1: influential and controversial connoisseurs of Renaissance art in history. Berenson
Speaker 1: helped guide many of her acquisitions, and over the following decades,
Speaker 1: Gardner assembled a collection that would eventually include work by Titian, Boticelli,
Speaker 1: Raphael Rembrandt, and Vermier, painters whose work now anchors the
Speaker 1: walls of the world's great museums, and whose work, in
Speaker 1: Gardner's case, she intended to keep together forever in one place,
Speaker 1: exactly as she arranged it. That place was Fenway Court,
Speaker 1: what we now call the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum. Gardner
Speaker 1: personally designed and supervised its construction, modeling it after a
Speaker 1: fifteenth century Venetian palazzo, complete with a stunning interior courtyard
Speaker 1: filled with plants that changes with the seasons. She didn't
Speaker 1: just select the art. She placed every single piece herself.
Speaker 1: This painting here, that sculpture there, this tapestry framing that doorway,
Speaker 1: treating the entire building as a single, unified work of art,
Speaker 1: rather than a warehouse for individually significant objects. When the
Speaker 1: museum opened to the public in nineteen oh three, it
Speaker 1: wasn't organized by period or school or country, the way
Speaker 1: most museums are. It was organized by Isabella Gardner's eye,
Speaker 1: her instinct, her sense of how objects from wildly different
Speaker 1: centuries and cultures could speak to one another in the
Speaker 1: same room, and she made sure it would stay that way.
Speaker 1: Her will stipulated that nothing in the museum's collection could
Speaker 1: ever be added to, removed, or rearranged. If the trustees
Speaker 1: ever violated that condition, the will specified that the entire
Speaker 1: collection should be sold at auction in Paris, and the
Speaker 1: proceeds given to Harvard University, an almost unthinkable threat aimed
Speaker 1: squarely at the Boston establishment that had spent decades side
Speaker 1: eyeing her. It was Isabella Gardner's way of making sure that,
Speaker 1: even after she would gone, her vision would remain frozen
Speaker 1: in place, a mortal, untouchable. She died in nineteen twenty four.
Speaker 1: For the next sixty six years, her museum functioned almost
Speaker 1: exactly as she'd left it. A strange, magnificent, slightly undervisited
Speaker 1: jewel box in a residential pocket of Boston, beloved by locals,
Speaker 1: adored by art historians, and, crucially for our story, chronically underfunded.
Speaker 1: By the late nineteen eighties, the Gardner Museum was, in
Speaker 1: the blunt words later used by more than one journalist
Speaker 1: covering the case, something close to a sitting duck. Boston's
Speaker 1: criminal underworld a tight interconnected web of mob associates, career burglars,
Speaker 1: and small time hustlers who all seemed to know each
Speaker 1: other from the same handful of bars and social clubs. Had,
Speaker 1: according to later reporting, developed a fairly accurate sense that
Speaker 1: the museum's security was thin. There was no direct alarm
Speaker 1: link to the Boston Police Department. The security staff was small, young,
Speaker 1: and in at least one case, according to what would
Speaker 1: later come out, not the most rigorously vetted. The guards
Speaker 1: worked alone at night, covering a sprawling, dimly lit building
Speaker 1: full of masterpieces, with nothing more than a buzzer system
Speaker 1: standing between the front door and one of the greatest
Speaker 1: private art collections in the world. Isabella Stewart Gardner built
Speaker 1: her museum to last forever, exactly as she left it.
Speaker 1: On the night of March seventeenth into March eighteenth, nineteen
Speaker 1: ninety two, men were about to prove that even a
Speaker 1: legally binding, iron willed act of preservation couldn't survive a
Speaker 1: determined thief with a fake mustache and a police uniform
Speaker 1: from a costume shop. Let's go back to that side
Speaker 1: door on Palace Road. It's worth setting the scene a
Speaker 1: little more before we walk through a minute by minute,
Speaker 1: because the timeline of this crime, reconstructed afterward from guard testimony,
Speaker 1: from the museum's own motion detectors, and from what little
Speaker 1: surveillance footage survived, is one of the eeriest, most methodical
Speaker 1: true crime timelines you'll ever hear. This wasn't a smash
Speaker 1: and grab. It was slow, almost leisurely, and that unhurried
Speaker 1: pace is one of the enduring mysteries of the entire case.
Speaker 1: Stee Patrick's day had just wrapped up across the city.
Speaker 1: Boston's Irish American community had spent the day at the
Speaker 1: annual parade, and by nightfall, the bars in the neighborhoods
Speaker 1: around the museum were still loud and full. It meant
Speaker 1: that a police car or what looked like one, sitting
Speaker 1: outside a building in the small hours didn't raise any eyebrows.
Speaker 1: It also meant most of Boston's actual police resources were
Speaker 1: tied up elsewhere in the city managing a holiday crowd
Speaker 1: that could on any given year get rowdy. Inside the museum,
Speaker 1: two guards were on duty, rick a bath stationed at
Speaker 1: the security desk near the employee entrance, and a second
Speaker 1: guard making rounds through the galleries. Both men were young,
Speaker 1: and by later accounts, the museum's overnight security detail wasn't
Speaker 1: exactly staffed with hardened professionals. Art security in Boston in
Speaker 1: nineteen ninety paid modestly and asked for a fairly minimal
Speaker 1: set of qualifications. At one twenty four am, the buzzer
Speaker 1: rinks over the intercom. One of the men outside identifies
Speaker 1: himself and his partner as Boston Police officers responding to
Speaker 1: reports of a disturbance on the museum grounds. A Bath
Speaker 1: looks at the monitor he sees two men in uniform.
Speaker 1: Museum policy required him to verify any police presence directly
Speaker 1: with the Boston Police Department before opening the employee entrance
Speaker 1: after hours. He doesn't make that call. He buzzes them in.
Speaker 1: It's a decision that has been picked over, second guest
Speaker 1: and investigated for more than three decades, including at various
Speaker 1: points turning suspicion directly onto a Bath himself. Something will
Speaker 1: come back to later in this episode, but in the
Speaker 1: moment it must have felt almost unremarkable. Two cops a
Speaker 1: disturbance call standard stuff, especially on a night when the
Speaker 1: neighborhood had been lued for hours. Once inside, the men's
Speaker 1: demeanor changes almost immediately. One of them tells a Bath
Speaker 1: he looks familiar, that there's an outstanding warrant out for
Speaker 1: his arrest. It's a strange, almost theatrical thing to say,
Speaker 1: and it works exactly the way it's meant to. It
Speaker 1: rattles a Bath, pulls his attention away from his post,
Speaker 1: and gives the officer an excuse to move him away
Speaker 1: from the security desk, out from behind the panel of
Speaker 1: alarm button's position there for exactly this kind of emergency.
Speaker 1: Then comes the moment that gives this whole story its title.
Speaker 1: In half the tellings you'll find online, one of the
Speaker 1: men turns to a Bath and says flatly that this
Speaker 1: is a robbery and that if the two guards cooperate,
Speaker 1: they won't be hurt. The guards are led to the basement. There,
Speaker 1: the thieves handcuff them and ductate them separately to a
Speaker 1: work bench and a pipe, out of sight and out
Speaker 1: of reach of any alarm. According to accounts drawn from
Speaker 1: the guard's own later statements, one of them even made
Speaker 1: a dark joke in the moment, something to the effect
Speaker 1: that the museum didn't pay him enough to risk his
Speaker 1: life over it. If it happened the way it's been reported,
Speaker 1: it's a strange, little flash of dark Boston humor in
Speaker 1: the middle of what was, for two young security guards
Speaker 1: presumably a genuinely terrifying situation. And then for the next
Speaker 1: eighty one minutes, the two men had the entire museum
Speaker 1: to themselves. They started upstairs in the Dutch Room, a
Speaker 1: second floor gallery holding some of the most significant paintings
Speaker 1: in the entire collection. This is where things get frankly
Speaker 1: strange in ways that still puzzle art crime investigators today.
Speaker 1: They went first for Rembrandts christ in the Storm on
Speaker 1: the Sea of Galilee, the Dutch master's only known seascape
Speaker 1: and one of the crown jewels of the gardener's collection.
Speaker 1: Rather than lifting the framed canvas off the wall, intact,
Speaker 1: they cut it directly out of its frame with a
Speaker 1: knife or box cutter. It's a technique that speaks to
Speaker 1: either a shocking lack of expertise in handling priceless art
Speaker 1: or an equally shocking indifference to preserving it. Professional art thieves,
Speaker 1: the kind who work for wealthy private buyers, typically go
Speaker 1: to enormous lengths to protect the condition of a piece
Speaker 1: because a damaged masterpiece is a much harder thing to
Speaker 1: sell or ransom. These men just sliced. They also took
Speaker 1: Rembrandts A Lady and Gentleman in Black a Lie, along
Speaker 1: with a tiny self portrait etching by the same artist,
Speaker 1: one of his smallest works. Notably, they left behind Rembrandt's
Speaker 1: self Portrait Age twenty three, a painting that had actually
Speaker 1: been part of the original reason Isabella Gardner opened her
Speaker 1: collection to the public in the first place. Why leave
Speaker 1: one Rembrandt and take three others? Nobody has ever offered
Speaker 1: a satisfying answer from the Dutch room. They also took
Speaker 1: Johannes Vermier's The Concert, a painting that, even in nineteen
Speaker 1: ninety was already considered one of the most valuable pieces
Speaker 1: of art in private hands anywhere on Earth. Vermire produced
Speaker 1: an astonishingly small body of work in his lifetime. There
Speaker 1: are only about three dozen confirmed Vermire paintings known to
Speaker 1: exist today, scattered across museums worldwide. Losing The Concert wasn't
Speaker 1: just a financial catastrophe. It effectively erased one of maybe
Speaker 1: three dozen windows the world has into the mind of
Speaker 1: one of history's most quietly revolutionary painters. They also grabbed
Speaker 1: a small Chinese bronze beaker called a gou dating back
Speaker 1: roughly three thousand years, along with a landscape painting by
Speaker 1: the Dutch artist govered Flink then, and this is one
Speaker 1: of the details that makes investigators believe these were not sophisticated,
Speaker 1: discerning art thieves acting on a wealthy collector's precise shopping list.
Speaker 1: They tried to pry open a display case holding Napoleon's
Speaker 1: personal silk campaign flag. They couldn't get the case open cleanly,
Speaker 1: so instead of leaving it, they smashed the glass and
Speaker 1: pulled off only the finial, a small eagle shaped ornament
Speaker 1: that had sat atop the flagpole. They left the flag itself,
Speaker 1: arguably the more historically significant object, hanging in the ruined case.
Speaker 1: From there, the men moved to the short gallery, where
Speaker 1: they took five works on paper by Edgar de Gas,
Speaker 1: sketches and studies, not the artist's grandest paintings, but valuable nonetheless.
Speaker 1: And in the blue room downstairs they took Edward Manet's
Speaker 1: Chay Tortoni, a small, moody portrait of a man at
Speaker 1: a cafe table. In any measure, it's an odd shopping list,
Speaker 1: master works worth tens of millions of dollars taken, alongside
Speaker 1: minor sketches, a priceless flag left behind in favor of
Speaker 1: a finial. Some of the most valuable paintings in the building,
Speaker 1: including notably a Tiian widely considered one of the most
Speaker 1: important works in the entire collection, left completely untouched, seemingly
Speaker 1: never even approached. Before they left, the thieves did one
Speaker 1: more thing that has fueled theories about the case for
Speaker 1: over three decades. They went to the security room and
Speaker 1: removed the videotape from the recorder that had been capturing
Speaker 1: images at the side door and elsewhere in the building.
Speaker 1: Whatever the cameras caught that night, whoever, or whatever, might
Speaker 1: have proven who these men really were, it walked out
Speaker 1: the door with them at two forty five a m.
Speaker 1: Eighty one, minutes after they buzzed themselves in. The two
Speaker 1: men left the museum, made two separate trips out to
Speaker 1: a car, and disappeared into the empty pre dawn streets
Speaker 1: of Boston. They were never seen knowingly again. Hours later,
Speaker 1: museum staff arriving for the work day found they couldn't
Speaker 1: get in. Boston police eventually forced the door open, and
Speaker 1: the scale of what had happened became clear almost immediately,
Speaker 1: empty frames, shattered, glass cut canvases curling on the floor,
Speaker 1: and two guards still duct taped in the basement who
Speaker 1: had spent most of the night listening to footsteps overhead,
Speaker 1: not knowing if they were about to be killed. Total
Speaker 1: value of what walked out that door, using the estimates
Speaker 1: available at the time, somewhere in the range of two
Speaker 1: to three hundred million dollars. Today, with the art market
Speaker 1: having inflated the value of master works enormously over the
Speaker 1: past three decades, estimates put the value of the stolen
Speaker 1: Gardner collection at somewhere north of five hundred million dollars,
Speaker 1: making it, by a wide margin, the largest private property
Speaker 1: theft in United States history, and the investigation that followed
Speaker 1: would spend the next thirty six years chasing a case that,
Speaker 1: almost from the very first morning, seemed to defy every
Speaker 1: rule of how art crime is supposed to work. A
Speaker 1: museum designed not to change forever changed. There's a detail
Speaker 1: about the aftermath of this heist that tells you almost
Speaker 1: everything you need to know about how the Gardner Museum
Speaker 1: chose to live with its loss and it's worth sitting
Speaker 1: with before we go further into the investigation itself. In
Speaker 1: nineteen ninety four, for years after the theft, the museum
Speaker 1: made a deliberate, almost defiant choice. Instead of quietly replacing
Speaker 1: the missing works with something else or leaving blank walls,
Speaker 1: they rehung the original, now empty frames in the exact
Speaker 1: spots where the stolen paintings once hung. The frame that
Speaker 1: once held Rembrandts Seascape still hangs empty in the Dutch
Speaker 1: Room today, so does the frame for A Lady and
Speaker 1: Gentleman in Black. Walk into that gallery in twenty twenty six,
Speaker 1: and you will see, alongside the paintings that remain a
Speaker 1: series of ornate golden rectangles surrounding nothing at all. It's
Speaker 1: not an accident, and it's not simply about waiting for
Speaker 1: the paintings to come home, though the museum has never
Speaker 1: stopped hoping for exactly that. It's also a message, a
Speaker 1: visible permit reminder to every visitor of what was taken,
Speaker 1: and an act of stubborn fidelity to Isabella Gardner's own wishes.
Speaker 1: Remember her will forbade any rearranging of the collection. In
Speaker 1: a strange way, hanging those empty frames back in their
Speaker 1: original places is the museum's way of honoring that instruction.
Speaker 1: Even in catastrophe. The paintings are gone, but their absence
Speaker 1: has been given a fixed, permanent place, exactly where Isabella
Speaker 1: herself decided it should be. Meanwhile, the actual criminal investigation
Speaker 1: was from nearly the first hours and uphill battle. Boston
Speaker 1: Police handled the initial response, but jurisdiction over major art
Speaker 1: theft cases like this one almost immediately falls to the FBI,
Speaker 1: given the value involved and the near certainty that stolen
Speaker 1: art of this magnitude would eventually cross state lines if
Speaker 1: it hadn't already. Agents descended on the museum, dusted for prints,
Speaker 1: interviewed the guards separately and repeatedly, and began building a
Speaker 1: profile of who could have pulled this off. And almost immediately,
Speaker 1: the guard who opened the door, Rick A Bath, became
Speaker 1: a subject of intense scrutiny. It wasn't just that he'd
Speaker 1: broken protocol by buzzing in two uniform strangers without confirming
Speaker 1: their identity through official channels, though that alone was enough
Speaker 1: to raise flags. Investigators later learned that when one of
Speaker 1: the thieves told a Bath, there was a warrant out
Speaker 1: for his arrest. It wasn't entirely fabricated. A Bath, it
Speaker 1: turned out, did in fact have some minor legal trouble
Speaker 1: on his record, which the thieves seemed to know about
Speaker 1: or guessed at with unnerving accuracy. That detail alone kept
Speaker 1: investigators wondering for years whether a Bath had inside knowledge
Speaker 1: of the plan, or was even an active participant rather
Speaker 1: than simply a young security guard who made an ordinary
Speaker 1: bad call at an extraordinary moment. The museum's own motion
Speaker 1: detector logs from that night added another wrinkle. The censors
Speaker 1: recorded movement in the blue room where the manet was taken,
Speaker 1: but the timing of some of that movement, according to
Speaker 1: later reporting on the case, didn't perfectly line up with
Speaker 1: a simple two men operation moving in a straight, efficient
Speaker 1: line through the b It raised, and still raises, for
Speaker 1: some investigators the possibility that there was more going on
Speaker 1: inside that museum that night than a clean narrative of
Speaker 1: two thieves walked in, took what they wanted, and left
Speaker 1: fully accounts for. A Bath was never charged with anything.
Speaker 1: He always maintained that he had simply made a terrible,
Speaker 1: career ending judgment call in the middle of the night,
Speaker 1: letting in men He genuinely believed were police officers, and
Speaker 1: that he had no advanced knowledge of what was about
Speaker 1: to happen to him or to the museum. He gave
Speaker 1: interviews over the following decades, including as recently as the
Speaker 1: twenty twenties, continuing to deny any involvement, even as filmmakers
Speaker 1: and journalists kept circling back to him as one of
Speaker 1: the cases most persistent unresolved question marks. But whatever role
Speaker 1: a Bath did or didn't play, investigators quickly zeroed in
Speaker 1: on a much broader, much more promising set of suspects,
Speaker 1: Boston's organized crime scene, which in nineteen ninety happened to
Speaker 1: be in the middle of one of the most violent,
Speaker 1: chaotic periods in its history, a city at war with itself.
Speaker 1: To understand why the FBI's investigation turned so quickly and
Speaker 1: so heavily toward organized crime, you need to understand what
Speaker 1: Boston's underworld actually looked like. In March of nineteen ninety,
Speaker 1: the city's Italian American mafia, the Patriarcha crime family, was
Speaker 1: in the middle of an internal civil war. Longtime boss
Speaker 1: Raymond Patriarcha had died years earlier, and the ensuing power
Speaker 1: struggle had splintered the organization into competing, increasingly paranoid factions. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: the city's Irish American organized crime scene, most infamously associated
Speaker 1: with the Winter Hill Gang and its notorious leader, was
Speaker 1: engaged in its own long running turf conflicts with the
Speaker 1: Italian mob, conflicts that had already produced a body count.
Speaker 1: It was, in short, an environment where a huge number
Speaker 1: of mid level criminals, men skilled in burglary, fencing stolen goods,
Speaker 1: and moving in and out of prison on a revolving basis,
Speaker 1: suddenly needed money, needed leverage, or needed a bargaining chip
Speaker 1: to get a friend or associate out of a prison sentence.
Speaker 1: Stealing half a billion dollars in art and holding it
Speaker 1: as a kind of insurance policy or a future favor
Speaker 1: to be cashed in would have made a strange kind
Speaker 1: of sense in that specific criminal ecosystem, even if actually
Speaker 1: selling paintings that famous on the open market was and
Speaker 1: remains essentially impossible. That's one of the great counterintuitive truths
Speaker 1: of major art theft that this case illustrates better than
Speaker 1: almost any other. Paintings this famous are basically worthless on
Speaker 1: any legitimate market. You cannot sell a stolen vermire at auction.
Speaker 1: Every major dealer, museum, and serious collector on Earth knows
Speaker 1: exactly what these thirteen objects look like and where they
Speaker 1: came from. The moment any one of them surfaced through
Speaker 1: a normal sales channel, it would be seized immediately, and
Speaker 1: whoever tried to sell it would be arrested on the spot.
Speaker 1: So why steal them? Investigators have circled a handful of
Speaker 1: theories for over three decades. One is that the paintings
Speaker 1: were meant to be used as collateral or leverage, a
Speaker 1: way to negotiate reduced prison sentences or bargaining chips and
Speaker 1: disputes between rival criminal factions, essentially functioning as a strange,
Speaker 1: illegal form of currency that never needed to actually be sold,
Speaker 1: only held and threatened with destruction or permanent disappearance. Another
Speaker 1: is that the theft was commissioned by a wealthy and
Speaker 1: scrupulous private collector, someone with the money and the moral
Speaker 1: flexibility to own paintings they could never publicly display, viewing
Speaker 1: them for their own private guilty pleasure, a scenario that
Speaker 1: sounds like something out of a heist film, but which
Speaker 1: art crime experts say does occasionally actually happen. In the
Speaker 1: shadowy corners of the black market. One of the earliest
Speaker 1: and most persistent names connected to the case is Bobby Donati,
Speaker 1: a Boston mob associate with a long criminal record and
Speaker 1: deep ties to the city's organized crime figures. One theory
Speaker 1: repeated across years of reporting holds that Donati organized the
Speaker 1: heist specifically to try to negotiate the release of his
Speaker 1: mob associate and mentor from prison, using the stolen masterpieces
Speaker 1: as leverage. It's a compelling theory, not least because Donatti
Speaker 1: himself was murdered just about a year after the heist,
Speaker 1: stabbed to death in what was widely seen as a
Speaker 1: mob hit, His body found in the trunk of a car,
Speaker 1: a detail eerily similar to what would happen to another
Speaker 1: suspect in this case. Donatti has never been formally charged,
Speaker 1: since the case remains open and unsolved, but multiple accounts
Speaker 1: from people connected to the Boston underworld have implicated him
Speaker 1: over the years, and a Boston jeweler later came forward
Speaker 1: saying Donati had shown him not long after the theft
Speaker 1: a small eagle shaped ornament matching the description of the
Speaker 1: Napoleonic finial stolen that night. The Jeweler said he stayed
Speaker 1: quiet for years out of fear for his own safety,
Speaker 1: before eventually telling investigators what he knew. Another central figure
Speaker 1: is Carmelo Merlino, a Boston area mob associate who ran
Speaker 1: an auto body shop that doubled as a hub for
Speaker 1: various criminal enterprises. Merlino was arrested on cocaine trafficking charges
Speaker 1: in the early nineteen nineties and, according to later accounts,
Speaker 1: told authorities he might be able to help recover the
Speaker 1: paintings in exchange for a reduced sentence. He reportedly enlisted
Speaker 1: an associate to try to try them down someone who
Speaker 1: claimed to have heard the paintings might be hidden inside
Speaker 1: a church in South Boston, a lead that, like nearly
Speaker 1: every lead in this case, ultimately went nowhere. Merlino died
Speaker 1: in prison in two thousand and five, having never been
Speaker 1: charged in connection with the theft itself. Two other names
Speaker 1: surfaced repeatedly in later reporting and eventually became as much
Speaker 1: as anyone has the FBI's working theory of who actually
Speaker 1: walked through that side door. George Reisfelder and in some accounts,
Speaker 1: an associate named Lewis Royce. Both men had extensive criminal
Speaker 1: records and connections to the Boston underworld figures already under suspicion.
Speaker 1: Reisfelder died of a drug overdose within roughly a year
Speaker 1: of the heist. His one time associate, Lenny de Musio,
Speaker 1: another name that circulated in connection with the case, was
Speaker 1: found murdered, his body left in the trunk of a
Speaker 1: car in East Boston just months after Reisfelder's death. It's
Speaker 1: a pattern that runs through this entire story with unsettling consistency.
Speaker 1: An enormous number of pe people connected even loosely to
Speaker 1: the Gardener theft over the years have turned up dead,
Speaker 1: in prison, or both, well before investigators could ever pin
Speaker 1: down hard prosecutable evidence against them. Whether that's simply a
Speaker 1: reflection of how violent and short lived criminal careers tended
Speaker 1: to be in Boston's underworld during this era, or something
Speaker 1: more deliberate, a pattern of people being silenced before they
Speaker 1: could talk, is a question. The case has never definitively
Speaker 1: answered the Philadelphia connection. For more than two decades after
Speaker 1: the heist, the investigation moved in fits and starts, a
Speaker 1: promising lead here, a dead end there, Periodic bursts of
Speaker 1: media attention whenever the museum increased its reward money, which
Speaker 1: it did more than once, first pushing it to five
Speaker 1: million dollars in nineteen ninety seven and eventually doubling it
Speaker 1: to ten million dollars in twenty seventeen, a figure that
Speaker 1: stands today and remains the largest reward ever offered by
Speaker 1: a private institution for the recovery of any kind of property.
Speaker 1: But the case's most significant break, or at least what
Speaker 1: the FBI itself has characterized as its most significant break,
Speaker 1: didn't come until March eighteenth, twenty thirteen, the exact twenty
Speaker 1: third anniversary of the theft. At a press conference in Boston,
Speaker 1: Richard de Laurier, then the head of the FBI's Boston
Speaker 1: Field office, made an announcement that made headlines around the world.
Speaker 1: With what he described as a high degree of confidence,
Speaker 1: the FBI now believed it knew who was responsible for
Speaker 1: the theft, a criminal organization based in the mid Atlantic
Speaker 1: and New England regions. He said, investigators believed the stolen
Speaker 1: art had been moved from Boston into Connecticut, and from
Speaker 1: there down into the Philadelphia area, where at some point
Speaker 1: in the early two thousands it had reportedly been offered
Speaker 1: for sale on the black market before the trail went cold.
Speaker 1: It was a stunning admission, more concrete detail than the
Speaker 1: FBI had offered in the previous twenty three years combined,
Speaker 1: and yet De Laurier refused to name a single suspect,
Speaker 1: citing the sensitivity of an ongoing investigation. The announcement was
Speaker 1: clearly calculated. Agents hoped that going by public, even with
Speaker 1: limited details, might rattle someone in the underworld into making
Speaker 1: a phone call the FBI's wiretaps could catch, or might
Speaker 1: inspire an ordinary person somewhere to check their attic, their
Speaker 1: storage unit, their late relative's basement for something that matched
Speaker 1: the description of thirteen missing masterpieces. It didn't produce an
Speaker 1: immediate breakthrough, but journalists and law enforcement sources began filling
Speaker 1: in the blanks almost immediately, and over the following years,
Speaker 1: a fuller picture of the Connecticut to Philadelphia theory took shape,
Speaker 1: built around three names, in particular, David Turner, Robert Gorrente,
Speaker 1: and Robert Gentile. The working theory, as it's been reported
Speaker 1: by outlets including The Boston Globe, go something like this.
Speaker 1: Robert Gorrente was a Boston area mob figure with deep
Speaker 1: ties to organized crime, believed by investigators to have taken
Speaker 1: possession of some of the stolen paintings in the years
Speaker 1: after the theft, and to have hidden them, potentially at
Speaker 1: a farmhouse in Maine where he lived later in life.
Speaker 1: David Turner, a younger associate connected to Merlino's crew, came
Speaker 1: under FBI's scrutiny in the early nineteen nineties after a
Speaker 1: source told investigators he might have access to the paintings.
Speaker 1: Turner has always denied any involvement. Gorenta died in two
Speaker 1: thousand and four, but in two thousand and nine, according
Speaker 1: to later FBI accounts, his widow, Elleen, told investigators something
Speaker 1: that reoriented the entire case. Before he died, her husband
Speaker 1: had given at least two of the stolen paintings to
Speaker 1: a Connecticut based mob associate named Robert Gentile, a man who,
Speaker 1: over the following decade, would become the last living person
Speaker 1: publicly identified as a serious suspect in the case. Gentile,
Speaker 1: known in some circles by the nickname the Cook, was
Speaker 1: a career criminal out of Manchester, Connecticut, with long standing
Speaker 1: ties to organized crime networks stretching from Boston down through
Speaker 1: Connecticut and into the Philadelphia mob. When the FBI searched
Speaker 1: his home in twenty twelve, they didn't find any of
Speaker 1: the paintings, but they found something almost as tantalizing, a
Speaker 1: handwritten list of the thirteen stolen works, complete with estimated
Speaker 1: black back market values for each one, hidden inside a
Speaker 1: March nineteen ninety newspaper reporting on the original theft. They
Speaker 1: also found weapons, cash, and buried under the floorboards of
Speaker 1: a backyard shed, an empty container that investigators believed may
Speaker 1: once have held something far more valuable than the drugs
Speaker 1: and guns Gentile was more typically associated with. Later, according
Speaker 1: to federal prosecutors, an undercover investigation caught Gentile on tape
Speaker 1: discussing the possibility of selling two of the stolen paintings
Speaker 1: to a supposed buyer actually an undercover FBI agent, for
Speaker 1: five hundred thousand dollars apiece. The deal, prosecutors said, ultimately
Speaker 1: fell through. Gentile failed a polygraph test when asked directly
Speaker 1: whether he knew where the paintings were, and yet, for
Speaker 1: the rest of his life, through multiple prison sentences on
Speaker 1: unrelated gun and drug charges, through repeated searches of his home,
Speaker 1: through what his own attorney described as aggressive pressure from
Speaker 1: federal investigators hoping to use any leverage they could find.
Speaker 1: Robert Gentile never once wavered from his denial. He said
Speaker 1: he had never seen the paintings, never possessed them, and
Speaker 1: had no idea where they were. In one later account
Speaker 1: that surfaced from a retired FBI agent's memoir, an associate
Speaker 1: connected to Gentile claimed to have transported boxes he believed
Speaker 1: contained some of the stolen paintings from Connecticut down to
Speaker 1: a warehouse outside Philadelphia in the early two thousands hidden
Speaker 1: inside a poultry delivery truck, a detail almost too strange
Speaker 1: and specific not to be true, though it was never
Speaker 1: independently confirmed, and the paintings, if they were ever really
Speaker 1: in those boxes, have never surfaced. Robert Gentile died in
Speaker 1: twenty twenty one at eighty five years old, having outlived
Speaker 1: nearly every other named suspect in the case. His attorney
Speaker 1: later said in comments to local press that whatever the
Speaker 1: government believed about him, he had only ever seen an
Speaker 1: elderly man being kicked while he was down. Whether Gentile
Speaker 1: took the true story of the Gardner heist to his grave,
Speaker 1: or whether he genuinely never knew more than investigators already
Speaker 1: suspected is a question that will now, in all likelihood
Speaker 1: never be definitively answered by the one man best position
Speaker 1: to answer it. The letters, the journalist, and other paths
Speaker 1: into the dark. The Connecticut to Philadelphia theory is the
Speaker 1: closest thing this case has to an official FBI endorsed narrative,
Speaker 1: but it is far from the only thread investigators, journalists,
Speaker 1: and amateur sleuths have pulled on over the past thirty
Speaker 1: six years, and some of the strangest, most tantalizing moments
Speaker 1: in the story happened well before the twenty thirteen announcement.
Speaker 1: In nineteen ninety four, for years after the theft, the
Speaker 1: museum received an anonymous letter from someone claiming they could
Speaker 1: arrange the return of the stolen paintings in exchange for
Speaker 1: money and immunity from prosecution. The museum's lawyers responded cautiously,
Speaker 1: trying to open a dialogue without committing to anything that
Speaker 1: might compromise a future criminal case. A week later, a
Speaker 1: second letter arrived, more anxious in tone. Its author seemed
Speaker 1: rattled by what he prosed received as an overly aggressive
Speaker 1: response from law enforcement, and worried aloud that investigators cared
Speaker 1: more about arresting a low level go between than actually
Speaker 1: getting the paintings back. He wrote that the museum and
Speaker 1: the authorities needed to decide what they actually wanted, because,
Speaker 1: as he put it, pointedly, you could not have both
Speaker 1: the paintings and an arrest. He said he needed time
Speaker 1: to figure out how to guarantee confidentiality for the exchange.
Speaker 1: He never wrote again whoever he was and whatever he
Speaker 1: actually knew. That thread went cold and has stayed cold
Speaker 1: for three decades. Then, in nineteen ninety seven, a strange
Speaker 1: and much more public episode played out in the pages
Speaker 1: of the Boston Herald. An art dealer and small time
Speaker 1: criminal named William Youngworth contacted journalist Tom Mashburg, claiming he
Speaker 1: knew exactly where the stolen paintings were and could arrange
Speaker 1: their return under the right conditions. Youngworth took Mashburg in
Speaker 1: the middle of the night to a warehouse, where he
Speaker 1: reportedly showed the reporter a rolled up canvas that closely
Speaker 1: resembled Rembrand's stolen Seascape, along with paint samples he claimed
Speaker 1: came from the piece. Mashburg wrote about the encounter, and
Speaker 1: for a brief moment it looked like the case might
Speaker 1: finally be breaking open. It wasn't. Youngworth was never able
Speaker 1: to produce the actual painting, negotiations with authorities collapsed, and
Speaker 1: to this day, nobody has ever conclusively determined whether what
Speaker 1: Mashburg saw that night was really a piece of the
Speaker 1: stolen Rembrandt, an elaborate con or something in between. Beyond
Speaker 1: these two specific dramatic episodes, investigators and journalists have chased
Speaker 1: a whole constellation of other theories over the years. There's
Speaker 1: long been speculation about a possible connection to the Irish
Speaker 1: Republican Army, based loosely on the thefts timing around Saint
Speaker 1: Patrick's Day, the involvement of Boston's heavily Irish American criminal underworld,
Speaker 1: and unconfirmed rumors that stolen art has in other cases
Speaker 1: around the world been used by paramilitary and terrorist organizations
Speaker 1: to fund operations or launder money. No hard evidence has
Speaker 1: ever tied the IRA specifically to the Gardner theft, and
Speaker 1: most serious investigators now consider the connection speculative at best,
Speaker 1: But it's a theory that documentary filmmakers and true crime
Speaker 1: writers keep returning to because it's simply too cinematic. A
Speaker 1: possibility to fully set aside. There's also Miles Connor Junior,
Speaker 1: a genuinely legendary figure in the world of American art crime,
Speaker 1: a career art thief with a documented history of stealing
Speaker 1: paintings specifically to use as bargaining chips with prosecutors, exactly
Speaker 1: the kind of motive investigators have long suspected was behind
Speaker 1: the gardener theft. The catch is that Connor was sitting
Speaker 1: in federal prison on an unrelated charge on the night
Speaker 1: of the actual robbery, which rules him out as one
Speaker 1: of the two men who walked through that side door.
Speaker 1: But Connor has always maintained close relationships with many of
Speaker 1: the other men who've been suspected in the case over
Speaker 1: the years, and multiple investigators and journalists have wondered aloud
Speaker 1: whether he might have helped plan the theft from behind bars,
Speaker 1: even if he couldn't have physically carried it out himself.
Speaker 1: Connor has provided interviews and context over the years about
Speaker 1: how the underground art market of that era act functioned
Speaker 1: without ever directly claiming responsibility. And then there's a thread
Speaker 1: that resurfaced as recently as the early twenty twenties. Investigators
Speaker 1: have said they suspect a possible link between the Gardner
Speaker 1: heist and the unsolved nineteen ninety one murder of a
Speaker 1: career criminal named James Marx, shot twice in the back
Speaker 1: of the head outside his home in Lynn, Massachusetts. Marx
Speaker 1: was reportedly friendly with Robert Gorente, the same man later
Speaker 1: linked to Robert Gentile in the Philadelphia Theory, and an
Speaker 1: anonymous tipster claimed Marx had bragged in the days before
Speaker 1: his murder about having hidden some of the stolen paintings himself.
Speaker 1: In twenty fifteen, Gorente's widow reportedly told investigators that her
Speaker 1: husband had killed Marx. Whether that killing had anything to
Speaker 1: do with the Gardner art or was simply one more
Speaker 1: act of violence in a criminal underworld that produced plenty
Speaker 1: of them independent of any stolen paintings, remains unresolved. It's
Speaker 1: worth pausing here to notice something about this entire investigation.
Speaker 1: Almost every promising lead in this case eventually intersects with
Speaker 1: almost every other promising lead through some web of criminal associates,
Speaker 1: mob social clubs, and overlapping Boston area underworld figures who
Speaker 1: all seem to know each other, do favors for each other,
Speaker 1: and occasionally kill each other. That's part of what makes
Speaker 1: this case so maddening for investigators and so endlessly fascinating
Speaker 1: for the rest of us. It isn't a mystery with
Speaker 1: too little information. In some ways, it's a mystery with
Speaker 1: almost too much. Dozens of names, theories, and half confirmed
Speaker 1: leads that all sound plausible, that all connect to at
Speaker 1: least one other piece of the puzzle, and that all
Speaker 1: ultimately run into the same wall. No paintings, no confession,
Speaker 1: no arrest, Where the art might be and why it's
Speaker 1: so hard to find? If you've been listening to this
Speaker 1: episode wondering why with so many named suspects, so many
Speaker 1: documented connections, and so much investigative effort poured into this
Speaker 1: case over thirty six years, nobody has ever simply found
Speaker 1: the paintings you're asking exactly the question that has haunted
Speaker 1: the FBI's Art Crime Team for two decades. The FBI
Speaker 1: established that dedicated art crime team in two thousand and four,
Speaker 1: staffed by agents specially trained in art and cultural property investigations,
Speaker 1: and the Gardener case has functioned for the entire life
Speaker 1: of that unit as its highest profile, longest running open investigation.
Speaker 1: It is not despite how it might sometimes be portrayed
Speaker 1: in casual conversation, a cold case gathering dust in a
Speaker 1: filing cabinet. Investigators have continued monitoring intelligence, cultivating informants, and
Speaker 1: revisiting old evidence using forensic techniques that simply didn't exist
Speaker 1: back in nineteen ninety right up through the present day.
Speaker 1: But stolen masterpieces this famous exist in a strange kind
Speaker 1: of limbo. They're far too recognizable to sell through any
Speaker 1: normal channel. Museums, auction houses, insurers, and serious collectors around
Speaker 1: the world have had the images of these thirteen objects
Speaker 1: memorized for decades. The moment any one of them surfaced
Speaker 1: through a conventional sale, it would be seized almost immediately.
Speaker 1: Meansan whoever currently has these paintings, if they still exist intact,
Speaker 1: which is itself an open question after thirty six years
Speaker 1: of unknown storage conditions, likely can't do much of anything
Speaker 1: with them except keep them hidden, sell them off the
Speaker 1: books to an inn scrupulous private buyer for a fraction
Speaker 1: of their true value, or simply hold on to them
Speaker 1: generation after generation as a strange kind of forbidden inheritance. ANTHONYA. Moore,
Speaker 1: the Gardner Museum's director of Security and its chief investigator
Speaker 1: since two thousand five, has spent his entire career at
Speaker 1: the museum chasing this single case. He's described the investigation's
Speaker 1: challenge in stark terms over the years. This isn't a
Speaker 1: mystery that gets solved by armchair theorizing or internet sleuthing,
Speaker 1: however entertaining that might be for people like us making
Speaker 1: a podcast about it. It gets solved, if it ever does,
Speaker 1: through old fashioned patient investigative work, tips informants, forensic breakthroughs,
Speaker 1: and the simple passage of time, which sometimes loosens the
Speaker 1: tongues of people who spend decades protecting a secret out
Speaker 1: of fear or loyalty. That patience has occasionally been rewarded
Speaker 1: with tantalizing near misses. In twenty fifteen, the FBI released
Speaker 1: newly surfaced security footage from the night before the actual heist,
Speaker 1: showing a man never publicly identified pulling up outside the
Speaker 1: museum in a car and being led inside by a
Speaker 1: guard through the very same door the thieves would use
Speaker 1: twenty four hours later. Investigators have speculated this could represent
Speaker 1: some kind of dry run or a completely unrelated visitor
Speaker 1: with no connection to the case at all. It was
Speaker 1: released publicly, specifically in hopes that someone watching from home
Speaker 1: might recognize the car, or the man, or something about
Speaker 1: that night. As with nearly every lead in this case,
Speaker 1: it didn't produce a breakthrough. As for the two men
Speaker 1: most closely associated in unofficial reporting with actually walking through
Speaker 1: that side door, George Reisfelder and Lewis Royce both died
Speaker 1: years ago, taking whatever direct knowledge they had of that
Speaker 1: night with them. Robert Gentile, the last major suspect still
Speaker 1: alive for much of the twenty tens, died in twenty
Speaker 1: twenty one, maintaining his innocence to the end. David Turner
Speaker 1: has always denied involvement and has never been charged in
Speaker 1: connection with the theft. Every other name we've discussed today,
Speaker 1: Bobby Donati, Carmelo Merlino, Robert Gorente, Lenny de Musio, is dead,
Speaker 1: most of them for decades, which raises the genuinely unsettling
Speaker 1: possibility that everyone who ever had firsthand knowledge of exactly
Speaker 1: what happened inside the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum on the
Speaker 1: night of March eighteenth, nineteen ninety may already be gone,
Speaker 1: and that whatever knowledge they carried about where those thirteen
Speaker 1: works of art actually ended up may have died along
Speaker 1: with them, sitting in a storage unit, a basement, or
Speaker 1: a wall cavity somewhere, waiting for someone with no idea
Speaker 1: what they've actually found to stumble across it by accident.
Speaker 1: What was lost before we closed this episode, It's worth
Speaker 1: slowing down and actually naming what was taken that night,
Speaker 1: not just as evidence in an unsolved case, but as
Speaker 1: what these objects actually were, irreplaceable pieces of human creative achievement,
Speaker 1: assembled with genuine love and expertise by a woman who
Speaker 1: wanted them to belong to the public forever. Rembrand's Christ
Speaker 1: in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee, the only
Speaker 1: seascape the artist ever painted, A swirling, dramatic depiction of
Speaker 1: Christ's disciples battling a storm at sea, rendered with the
Speaker 1: kind of dramatic lighting and emotional intensity that made Rembrandt
Speaker 1: one of the greatest painters in European history. Rembrandts a
Speaker 1: Lady and Gentleman in black, a formal double portrait executed
Speaker 1: with the artist's characteristic psychological depth. A small Rembrandt self portrait,
Speaker 1: etching tiny in scale but significant precisely because of how
Speaker 1: rare and intimate the artist's self portraits were Johannes Vermier's
Speaker 1: The Concert, considered by many experts to be the single
Speaker 1: most valuable unrecovered painting in the world, depicting three figures
Speaker 1: making music together in a quiet, domestic interior, rendered with
Speaker 1: the almost photographic clarity of light and texture that Vermier
Speaker 1: is famous for, and that only about three dozen surviving
Speaker 1: paintings in the entire world can show you firsthand. Five
Speaker 1: works on paper by Edgar de Gas, offering intimate glimpses
Speaker 1: into the working process of one of Impressionism's defining figures,
Speaker 1: Edward Manet's Che Tortoni, a small, atmospheric portrait that captures
Speaker 1: the quiet modern life subject matter. Manet helped pioneer A
Speaker 1: landscape by Guvert Flinck, a talented pupil of Rembrandts whose
Speaker 1: own reputation has long lived somewhat in his teacher's shadow.
Speaker 1: An ancient Chinese bronze beaker roughly three thousand years old,
Speaker 1: connecting Isabella Gardner's collection to a civilization far older than
Speaker 1: anything else in the museum's galleries, and the finial from
Speaker 1: Napoleon's Silk Campaign flag, a small, strange object, whose main
Speaker 1: significance was always more historical than esthetic, and which, unlike
Speaker 1: its far more valuable neighbors, still carries a modest, separate
Speaker 1: one hundred thousand dollars reward of its own, offered by
Speaker 1: the museum specifically for information leading to its return. Thirteen objects,
Speaker 1: eighty one minutes, thirty six years and counting of silence.
Speaker 1: Every year on the anniverset of the theft, the story resurfaces,
Speaker 1: a new documentary, a new podcast, a new true crime
Speaker 1: deep dive, trying to be the one that finally cracks it.
Speaker 1: This one included and will say that plainly, we haven't
Speaker 1: solved anything tonight, that the FBI, the Boston Globe, and
Speaker 1: three decades of dogged investigative journalism haven't already tried to solve. First,
Speaker 1: what we've done is walk through what's actually known, what's
Speaker 1: strongly suspected, and what remains even now genuinely unknowable. Here's
Speaker 1: what we do know for certain. Isabella Stuart Gardner built
Speaker 1: a museum specifically designed never to change, and on one
Speaker 1: quiet March night in nineteen ninety two, men in cheap
Speaker 1: police costumes proved that even the most carefully preserved vision
Speaker 1: can be violated in under ninety minutes. The guard who
Speaker 1: let them in has spent more than three decades insisting
Speaker 1: he was fooled, not complicit. A long line of Boston
Speaker 1: area organized crime figures have been suspected, investigated, and in
Speaker 1: most cases have died without ever facing charges. The FBI believes,
Speaker 1: with what it has publicly called a high degree of confidence,
Speaker 1: that it knows the outline of what happened to the
Speaker 1: paintings after the theft Connecticut, then Philadelphia, then silence, and
Speaker 1: the last man widely believed to have had real knowledge
Speaker 1: of where they ended up, went to his grave in
Speaker 1: twenty twenty one without ever saying a word. The empty
Speaker 1: frames are still hanging in the dutch room right now tonight,
Speaker 1: exactly where Isabella Gardner's stolen Rembrandts used to be. The
Speaker 1: museum still offers ten million dollars for information leading to
Speaker 1: the safe return of the art. No questions asked about
Speaker 1: how it came to be in someone's possession, so long
Speaker 1: as the paintings themselves come back intact and somewhere out
Speaker 1: there in an attic, a storage unit, a basement wall,
Speaker 1: or just possibly on the wall of someone who has
Speaker 1: spent thirty six years quietly enjoying paintings the rest of
Speaker 1: the world has been searching for since before some of
Speaker 1: you listening were even born. Thirteen objects that Isabella Gardner
Speaker 1: meant to belong to the public forever are still waiting
Speaker 1: to come home. If you know something, the Gardner Museum
Speaker 1: and the FBI I both want to hear from you.
Speaker 1: Thanks for listening to this episode of The Empty Frames.
Speaker 1: If you enjoyed this deep dive, tell a friend, leave
Speaker 1: a review, and join us next time. As we walk
Speaker 1: into another case, the world still hasn't solved.
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