The New Yorker Radio Hour - For a French Burglar, Stealing Masterpieces Is Easier Than Selling Them

Episode Date: December 28, 2021

Vjeran Tomic has been stealing since he was a small child, when he used a ladder to break into a library in his home town, in Bosnia. After moving to Paris, he graduated to lucrative apartment burglaries, living off the jewels he took and often doing time in prison. He became known in the French press as Spider-Man, and he began to steal art. Tomic has a grand sense of his calling as a burglar; he considers it his destiny and has described his robberies as acts of imagination. He eventually carried out a truly epic heist: a break-in at the Musée d’Art Moderne, in Paris, in which he left with seventy million dollars’ worth of paintings. But selling these masterpieces proved harder than stealing them, and that’s where Spider-Man’s troubles began. The contributor Jake Halpern tells Vjeran Tomic’s story; excerpts from Tomic’s letters from prison are read by the actor Jean Brassard.   This segment was previously aired in 2019. New Yorker Radio Hour listeners, we want to hear from you.  We have a few questions about the show and how you listen to it. The survey takes about twenty minutes, and your feedback will help us make our podcast better.  Take the survey here.

This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. On a night in May 2010, some $70 million of art were stolen from a museum in Paris in one night. For months, the French police couldn't find the thief, and they still haven't found the paintings. Who pulls off something like this? And how? Here's contributor Jake Halpern, with the story of the thief, known as the Spider-Man of Paris. It was the screw that gave it away. Vera Entomich was standing in the dark at night

in front of a window of the MAM in Paris. That's the Museum of Modern Art. He just used his pocket knife to scrape the paint away so that he could see the screw better, examine just how it bit into the window frame. And it confirmed his hunch. The frame was old-fashioned, just like the window from a job he'd done before.

He knew how to take it apart. A few days later, Tomic goes back to the MAM. The galleries were open, and like everyone else, he goes into the front door, buys a ticket, and wanders around. On the walls, there are Picasso's, Kandinsky's, and some motion detectors that don't seem to be working. He makes a note, the sensors, the paintings, the windows. There's an opportunity here.

Tomic has been writing to me for a year from his job, jail cell in France. An actor is reading from the letters that he wrote to me. I was a child with a devious tendency, an evil disposition. I did not speak much. I remember myself when I was seven or eight years old, and cousins I lived with. I would put cactus spines in their shoes to see how much pain they could stand. I locked a friend to my age in an empty barrel who were playing hide and seek. I abandon him hoping that nobody would find him. The press calls him Spider-Man, but he says that's been his nickname since he was a kid,

back when he grew up in a Bosnian mountain town, famous for its raging river and tall bridge. Local kids made a sport of climbing the rocks along the riverbank and leaping into the water. It's a custom for us, like in Acapulco in Mexico. For me, climbing started around the age of six or seven. That's where Tomic climbed to his first robbery. He used a ladder to get to the window of a library, about 16, feet up a wall. He stole a few old books. When he was 11, Tomich left Bosnia-Herzegovina for Paris. His family lived in a building that shared a wall with the Père-Lashez cemetery, where Jim Morrison,

Marcel Proust, Edith Piaf, and many others are buried. There was everything in the cemetery. Black masses at night. Hippies going to Jim Morrison's grave. Hundreds of people came on pilgrimage. There were drugs everywhere. and dealer gangs would fight each other. It was our playground because it was the only thing we had, the cemetery, in front of the window. Tomic had a hard time in Paris, a hard time learning French, and money was tight for the family.

His mother was disabled, and his father was mean to him, cold. Tomic often ran away from home. By 12, he started stealing things to get by. He'd break into cars and steal the stereos or rummage around in the glove box. By 14, he and some friends had started breaking into apartments. My first burglary in Paris, I used the cemetery outer wall to access the yard

and climb one of the buildings. I got a gold-plated DuPont lighter with a small bag of jewels and no more than 150 francs. So did I imagine that I was going to become a famous burglar? Of course. He got hooked. It started as a test, like an obsession to do something more.

Something was pulling me, encouraging me to do it. Later, I found that there was a double personality in me, a spiritual guide. My ability to sneak into buildings is like a gift. I sometimes think for a while. Then, as if by magic, without the magic wand, I have the formula. The night after I uncovered the screw in the MAM window, Tomich goes back. He wears a hoodie, and he walks around the outside of the museum very carefully.

He has to pick the right window. And there's one just behind a parapet out of view of the security cameras. The one on the corner of the facade that allowed me to watch over both sides of the esplanade. Nobody could see me, except for a few passing cars. Now the museum, it's across the street from the Sen. Tomic finds an inconspicuous spot to sit. And he waits. I stay there five hours to see if an internal or external security check will happen.

Inside, a guard shows up around 3 o'clock in the morning. A guard with a dog comes to the street to check the surroundings. So I am not alone. The museum is not alone. He watches for another night just to make sure that he's got the guard's routine down. And once he figures out his window and the schedule, Tomic goes back with supplies. He's got a dark piece of cloth that he hangs like a curtain outside the window to give himself cover. It is smart and it allows me to do my job quietly without being seen.

Tomic sits and works. He uses paint-stripping acid to expose the heads of each screw. Then he applies another solution to remove the rust. I chose acid with a stripper. for the frame paint, a small Dremel tool to remove the plaster where the screws are. It is necessary to sand off and clean

everything. Two hours per night, six nights. There is a lot of work to be done. And always, always, he keeps an eye on his watch. He's a pro. He's been doing this for decades. He's come to believe that his success

is part practice, but also part destiny. It's like he feels mystically drawn to the places he robs. I also have to be in harmony with certain places. Some places pull me. Something is waiting for me. Sometimes it's hard to understand what I feel. So I let myself be guided by my subconscious.

The luxury apartment started when I was 17 years old. His first one is this chic building, and he gets his way up onto the roof and then repels down. on the side to the fourth floor to the apartment that he's got his eye on. The apartment was more than 5,000 square feet. I noticed white sheets on some dressers and furniture. All the works of art were placed on the wooden floor. There were lots of them.

It looked like a museum. Tomich didn't know anything about paintings, and so it didn't occur to him to take them. But he did notice a catalog for an upcoming art auction. And a few weeks later, he went to check it out. That's when I realized that a month before I had at my feet everything that was in front of me at the auction. There were tour noir and several ingres and de Ga. When I realized the prices, I couldn't believe it.

The famous books of Picasso and Chagall were sold for more than 800,000 francs at the time. That's how I came to like works of art, because everything that was sold was worth millions. But here's the thing. Stealing art, it's not the same as selling art. Stolen masterpieces are like gold that happens to be radioactive. They seem valuable, but are actually dangerous and unsellable.

Jewels were the best choice. I could live off them and never be in jail. Really, I got into art personally. I like paintings the most. I had Degas, Renoir, Signac, Dorein, Pissarro, Du Buffet, and many others. To sell them was dangerous, and I never had reliable sources abroad

to flog them to collectors or receivers. Tomich got caught sometimes, in fact, he spent nearly 15 years in prison. There was one guy, though, who Tomic could sell to reliably. His name was Jean-Michel Corvez, and he ran this small gallery right in the best deal. Corviz was a middleman,

so he had clients, and they had particular tastes. and those tastes were the basis of a kind of shopping list that he gave to Tomich. On this list, there was Basquiat, Chagal, Climped, Pizarro, Monet. Oh, and Modigliani and Legé, they were on the list too. And they were also on the walls of the MAM when Tomet strolled through the museum. So after he spots these paintings, Tomic meets with Corvaz. He tells him what he's seen, and Corvaz says that he wants the Leger, a painting called Still Life with Candlestick. They haggled. Corvez would only pay 40,000 euros, which was less

than Tomich wanted, and way less than the painting was worth. But in the end, Tomic gave in. The money was nice, of course. But for Tomic, he also just loved pulling off a clean heist. Contributor Jake Halpert, our story continues in a moment with the New Yorker Radio Hour. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. We're hearing a story. We're hearing a story about one of the biggest art thefts of all time, how it was pulled off and how it went so badly wrong. We'll continue now. Vierin Tomich had agreed with his middleman on what he would take from the Paris Museum of Modern Art, a painting by Fernand Lige, called Still Life with Candlestick. Here's Jay Calpurn. It's the early hours of May 20th. The streets are quiet. It's dark.

Paris is asleep, and Tomic's window is ready. He's bought two suction cups that he attaches to the glass pane, and then he uses a crowbar to ever so gently pry the window from the frame. There is also the seismic sound alarm on each. The slightest noise can trigger it, so I am very careful, especially when I move the window pane, which is very heavy. Behind the window pane, there is the grill padlocked with a chain, which I have to open.

It is not hard. He slips into the museum and then leaves almost immediately. He goes back to the banks of the Sen where he waits for 15 full minutes just to make sure no alarms have gone off in the museum. When it seems like the coast is clear, he climbs back through the window a second time.

He takes a legé off the wall and out of its frame. Now, this should be it. Mission accomplished, a clean job. But standing alone in the museum, in the dim light and the silence, a feeling overtakes him, that old irresistible pull. And he finds himself staring face to face with Matisse's pastoral of three nudes reclining in a verdant setting, while a fourth figure with dark red coloring plays of lute. It's magical.

It's colors and the paint that pops out a little in relief. Thick, make a beautiful work. In this painting, I sew a deep, deep. vivid nature, much more fertile than today. And the little devil playing his flute out of nowhere, as if by magic, as if you were the guardian of this environment where hostesses guests join in on his alluring music. I love Impressionists. He grabs it, and a Modigliani, and then three more paintings.

Then he spots another. It's Modigliani's. Woman with Blue Eyes. I will never forget what this woman with blue eyes did to me. When I went to get it off the wall, it told me, if you take me, you will regret it for the rest of your life. I think when I touched it, to take it out of its frame, it started instantly. A fear that came over me, like an iceberg, a freezing fear.

All the hair of my arms were stiff. I had to run away. That was it. So he leaves the painting on the wall. He takes the others out of their frames and carries them to his car. And he sits there for five minutes, equivocating.

I mean, he's so close to the museum. He could go back for more. The window, it's still accessible. It would be so easy. And like that, he's in motion again. Crossing the street back towards the museum that he's just robbed. He's stepping over a small barrier when his pants rip.

A car stops at red light a few hundred feet away, and boom, reality sets in. The streets are empty, and here he is next to the museum wearing a hooded sweatshirt, looking very much like the thief that he is. He leaves, this time, for good. The evening at AMAM could have been worse. Not for me, but for them. Five was the limit. I saw the burglary.

of the five paintings from the MAM in my dreams. Fifteen years earlier, I knew that someday I would do something great. More than $70 million worth of art stolen in one night. The five paintings were some of the most important in the museum's collection. Investigators said that the thief had a sophisticated knowledge of the works. At least he had a good eye. The next morning, though, Tomich has a problem.

Instead of one stolen painting on his hands, he has five. When he meets the buyer, Corvez, he only gets paid for the Lege, the painting they'd agreed on. A shoebox filled with 40,000 euros and small bills. But Tomich gives all five paintings to Corvez. Corviz says he'll try to sell three, no promises, but Tomich wants Matisse's pastoral for himself. He's just leery of having it on him right now. After all, he's a convicted art thief. He's got to lay low.

Sure enough, the police start watching him. As their investigation points ever towards Tomich, they begin listening in on some of his phone calls. And when they actually call his phone, they get this surreal greeting. If you want to buy paintings or works of art or exceptional jewelry, do not hesitate to contact me. Among the lot of paintings,

there are also five that. that are extremely expensive so we can discuss. Tomich is so eager to sell the other paintings that he's actually advertising them to people who call and he's bragging a bit too. But the police, they need more than just an outrageous phone message to arrest Tomic. They need material evidence.

About a year goes by. And Tomic needs money, but it's not just money he needs. He wants his Matisse back from Corvettes. On the upside, you know, he's not in. jail, and maybe even the MAM robbery will go unsolved, and he'll eventually get some money for the rest of the MAM paintings that he'd given to Corviz. But Tomich robs this other apartment, and he gets busted. This time he stole some watches and a bizarro, and when the police searched Tomich's apartment, they find the stolen jewelry, a bunch of watches, climbing equipment.

They also found paintings, but not the ones from the MAM. When the police questioned him, Tomic confessed to the latest department robbery. But then the police tell him that just a couple of days earlier, they'd question Jean-Michel Corvez, too. And Tomic, he gets paranoid. I could not believe it. Maybe he wanted me to go to jail, so he walks away. With people like Corviz, you will quickly rot in a very deep hole for the rest of your life.

He's totally worried that Corvez is going to pin the entire MAM job on him. A lie about the fact that it was Corvez himself who commissioned the robbery in the first place. Not just that. What if Corviz would get off and keep the paintings? Or worse yet, what if he'd already sold them without giving Tomich any money? I had been waiting for a year. I thought, he had already sold all my works.

It was a nightmare. The question is to know where the works really. are right now. Now if Tomich confessed to his part and told them everything he knew about Corvez, maybe at least the police would find the art. For me, the trial was the solution to make the paintings reappear. Maybe they are still alive but well hidden. At trial, Corvez said he'd pass them along to someone else, another middleman, who then testified that he'd panicked and thrown them into the trash. Yeah, the trash. In France, there's... no penalty for lying on the stand, and Tomich doesn't believe that Corvez or the middleman

told the truth. And I got to wonder how honest Tomic was with me. He seemed to really love telling his story, but sometimes I felt like he was toying with me, just reveling in the mystery that he had in fact created. And sometimes he seems to think that whoever has the paintings will give them up. One day or another, he will be able to be. be forced to give them to the person to whom they belong. That is to say, me. The letters of Viehrin Tomich were read for us by the actor Jean Brassard.

Jake Halperin's most recent book is Welcome to the New World. It's based on his Pulitzer Prize-winning story about a Syrian refugee family. I'm David Remnick, and that's it for The New Yorker Radio Hour this week. Hope you enjoyed the show, and I hope you'll join us next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and the New Yorker, Our theme music was composed and performed by Merrill Garbus of Tune Arts, with additional music by Alexis Quadrato. This episode was produced by Alex Barron, Emily Boutin, Ave Carrillo, Calalia, David Krasnow, Gauphin and Putubuele, Louis Mitchell, Michelle Moses, and Stephen Valentino. And we had additional help from Harrison Keithin.

The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund.