DCist Interview: Ulrich Boser

Barring an explicit confession from David Turner, what other evidence would it take for you to say that you believe without a doubt that he committed the heist?

I would love to see more information. There was a Boston Globe article written shortly after the book that indicated some more evidence, for instance that David Turner had purchased some items at a surveillance shop in Florida. I'm not 100 percent sure of the exact details and I'd want to look at that. So there is some more evidence that has come forward.

I don't think we can say anything beyond any doubt. He's never been charged with a crime. Until the paintings come back, I don't think we're going to know exactly what happened. In fact, even when the paintings do come back, we probably won't know exactly what happened.

In the book, Turner seems tantalizingly close to wanting to say something about the heist. Is it just his negotiating position that prevents him from saying what it is that's on the tip of his tongue?

I'm not sure. I don't necessarily want to speculate on the motivations of David Turner. What I can see from the letters is that there does seem to be something where he wants to associate himself with this crime. Where he wrote, specifically, that I should put his picture on the cover of this book. That seemed a remarkable thing for him to say, since his current defense is that he was actually entrapped for the crime. He sent me a poem--again, it seems that he wants to place himself within it.

Now, someone could point out that this is the biggest burglary in American history. If you're a career criminal, this is actually kind of a cool thing to be associated with.

It's a sexy crime.

It is a sexy crime. Or, I think, it is commonly believed to be a sexy crime. I think when you look at the case more closely, it's actually just a very tragic and sad crime. These paintings getting cut out of their frames. But I think there is this one view where it is a sexy crime: It's the biggest burglary in American history, and one can see from a criminal perspective why people would be attracted to it. I think when you look at it closely and see some of the knickknacks that they stole, the fact that these paintings haven't been returned, the fact that you and me and our children at this point will never see these paintings again--it becomes much more of a sad and tragic loss.

I wonder about the recovery effort. Has there been any effort to reframe this question? We talk about these works as the missing Gardners, as an entire heist. But has there been any effort to try to reclaim specific works, to emphasize those in the public mind? To get the word about this Vermeer, say, rather than the entire group--since it might not be an entire grouping any more?

There are a couple of ways I could answer that question. One can speculate that these artworks are all together. My reasoning for that is not based on any evidence. It is based on the fact that not a single one has come forward. Had they been split up, and they sort of go into the art underworld and they are traded--each time they are traded, the likelihood that they would come back increases. There's the possibility of a sting, someone talking. Every time someone sees them, if someone's seeing them, it's sort of like a prairie dog sticking its head above ground. The possibility of something bad happening rises. My feeling is that they're all together because we haven't seen a single one come forward. But again, there's no evidence for that.

The characterization you've received in testimony goes both ways. People speculate that they're together, people speculate that they're all over the place.

Correct. If you believe in the David Turner angle, what you see from these wiretaps and these FBI 302s is Carmelo Merlino, who is David Turner's underworld boss, is reaching out to another person to try to get these paintings back. Now, it is possible that Carmelo Merlino was reaching out to the wrong person, but it looks like these negotiations that are occurring. You see people coming in and out of the autobody shop. At one point, Melo talks about some individuals quite specifically, but then it seems sort of confused. My sense, I can say with some high degree of confidence, is that neither Carmelo Merlino nor David Turner had direct access to these paintings. They would have tried to use them to get out of jail. Who that other person is, of course, is the big question on my mind.

How would you characterize Paul "Turbo" Hendry's motivation? Toward the end of the book, Turbo seems to have a lot of things to say without coming up with anything.

I wanted to get out of the way of Paul Hendry and just let him talk. He likes to talk, for one, and he likes to speculate, as he will say himself. And he will often say, well, maybe I am wrong. But he wants to share these theories and put them forward. And he has a blog where he puts forward these theories.

I think there is no question that he just wants these paintings returned, as someone who cares a great deal for art.

In the book, you create this plausible scenario in which you talk to this person who owns the paintings, G. I felt, as a reader, that this passage was more fishing than fantasizing. It seemed like there were off the record conversations informing it. Is that the case?

Yes. Some of those quotes were told to me off the record or came from wiretaps. I do believe there is some sort of G out there. He could be alive, he could be dead, he could be in prison. But in my mind, there is someone out there who has or had control of these works.

I hope to make clear, I do not know who that person is. It is a fictional character.

The reward for the works: Given what you describe in the book as the utility of these paintings in an underground economy, is that reward enough? Are they worth more in guns or drugs than in cash?

I think the reward is an excellent reward. It is the largest reward ever offered by an institution. The only reward that is bigger than that reward is the one for Osama bin Laden. I think that if anyone has those paintings out there that that amount of money is more than enough incentive for that person to come forward. And listen, in better economic times, you and I could have lived simply off the interest on that reward.

Now, this idea that the paintings could be worth $500 million--I think it is very difficult to sell them in the art underworld. They're so well known. It might be difficult to get a couple hundred thousand dollars for them in the art underworld.

Barring a direct phone call to a Gardner curator, you could assume that any move you made could increase your risk of getting caught.

That's correct. And someone who does control these works could still be prosecuted. While the statute of limitations on the breaking and entering into the museum has expired, that art theft law that was championed by Senator John Kerry and the Gardner Museum makes it clear that if you are caught handling a work of art of this value or stealing of disposing them, you could be prosecuted.

Now, the FBI and the U.S. Attorneys office has made it clear that they are no longer looking for a prosecution. They've said that on the record.

In the book, you present testimony suggesting that one of the guards was paid off.

My feeling is that I think there was an inside connection. I have no idea whether that was one of the guards working that night or another guard or a curator who left. I do believe that when you look at the evidence in total, there was some kind of connection. It seems quite strong.

What would you get for that sort of inside job?

I have no idea. But when you look at the evidence? For one, the thieves were in the museum for a very, very long time. One of the alarms went off, one of those alarms that is triggered when you step to close to the art, and the thief kicked it, destroyed it, and continued looting. They bound the guards up. They had total control. The thieves also took a data tape from the security room.

I think it's a possible in a bar room type conversation, if these thieves met a guard in a pub somewhere, that they could know that the panic button was the only connection to the outside world. But going into a locked room, kicking the door open, and stealing this very specific tape that tracked the thieves' motion across all the motion detectors? That to my mind suggests much more than a bar room conversation, that there was an inside connection.

Who that inside connection was, or how that evolved, I don't know.

What makes you confident that these paintings will be returned?

In art theft cases, hope springs eternal. It often takes years or decades for art to be returned. You see this one artifact stolen in 1861 out of the state house in North Carolina. It took 140 years for this art work to come back. I think there's a great deal of evidence that the thieves saw these works as valuable. They wouldn't have blatantly destroyed these works. The paintings are most likely, in my mind, simply sitting somewhere, waiting to come back.