BOSTON — For decades, the theft of 13 works of art from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990 — now valued at more than $500 million — remained unsolved.
This remains the largest art theft in history, and much more than that Recent museum theftsincluding theft in broad daylight in Louvre Which involved much less work and was resolved more quickly. In 2013, the FBI said it knew who was responsible for the Boston museum robbery, but declined to name them, sparking speculation that continues today.
The former FBI agent who led the investigation for more than two decades now provides the first detailed account of how investigators reached that conclusion — and publicly identifies the men he believes were involved. In a new book, Geoff Keighley traces how artworks moved through criminal networks, as violence claimed the lives of key suspects and witnesses, and challenges long-held theories by revisiting key details.
The irony of the center is that Gardner’s intention was for the museum to remain frozen in time, as she stipulated in her will that nothing in the Venetian palace-inspired building would be changed after her death. Gardner, who lived at the museum and died there in 1924, intended for the paintings, sculptures and architectural fragments to remain exactly as she had arranged them.
The empty gilded frames of the missing paintings still hang in the museum today, silent witnesses to what was captured.
Early on March 18, 1990, as Boston was wrapping up its St. Patrick’s Day celebrations, two men dressed as police officers arrived at the museum and convinced a security guard to let them in, in violation of protocol.
The men handcuffed the guards downstairs and headed to the museum’s Dutch Room, where they cut Vermeer’s “The Concert” and Rembrandt’s “Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee” from their frames, and also took works by Degas and Manet.
They also took Napoleon’s eagle crown — an ornamental piece of metal of relatively little value that investigators later found puzzling — and the museum’s security videotapes.
The museum offered a $5 million reward, then doubled a decade later, for information leading to the works’ recovery.
Some tips pointed to the IRA and to Boston mob figures, including a notorious crime boss Whitey Bulger.
Kelly followed one lead to France, where he watched through the binoculars of FBI agents, posing as wealthy middlemen, loitering on a yacht – drinking champagne and eating strawberries – trying to lure suspected Corsican mob figures.
Closer to home, agents searched homes throughout New England, relying heavily on informants. A terminally ill triple murderer known as Meatball secretly recorded conversations with suspected associates in the hope of making money for his family.
But none of the tips led to paintings.
In the decades following the robbery, several people believed to have connections to the robbery were murdered, and another died under suspicious circumstances.
Robert “Bobby” Donati, a Boston mob member long suspected in the case, was found stabbed to death in 1991, and his body was left in the trunk of a car after his home was ransacked.
Years ago, Donati visited the Gardner Museum with another known art thief, Miles Connor, to research the scope of the theft, and said that if he captured the museum’s Napoleonic coat of arms, it would be his “calling card.” Years later, a jeweler told investigators that Donati tried to sell a ring from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum but backed out, saying it was “too hot.”
A separate body of evidence centered on George Reissfelder, who investigators believed owned the getaway car.
Kelly tracked down Reisfelder’s brother, a retired military officer who initially did not believe his brother was involved. He broke down after being shown Manet’s “Chez Tortoni,” saying he recognized it as a painting he himself had hung above his brother’s bed.
Reisfelder later died under suspicious circumstances. When investigators searched his home, the painting was gone.
Both men had ties to TRC Auto Electric, a shop in Dorchester associated with the Charles “Chuck” Merlino crew.
Although investigators believed they knew who was responsible, they had difficulty finding conclusive evidence.
In its early stages, the FBI assigned one agent to the case, which Kelly said slowed progress.
“You have to keep in mind when you talk about investigations, it’s limited to dollars and cents,” Kelly said. It was “like pulling teeth” to secure resources. At the time, federal investigators in Boston were largely focused on violent crimes, drug trafficking and organized crime cases.
The decision to release surveillance footage over investigators’ objections became a constant distraction, Kelly said. With no usable video from the night of the robbery, prosecutors released footage from the previous night that showed a museum employee entering the building after his car broke down. Kelly said he disputed the theory that the employee was covering up the museum, because that possibility had already been reviewed and dismissed. The footage sparked years of misplaced suspicion, with the man later determined not to be involved.
Among the questions that remain is whether this is an inside job.
In photos from that night, a museum guard appears handcuffed in the basement, his head wrapped with duct tape.
Investigators noted that shortly before the robbery, the guard opened an anti-policy door — a door facing the area where the robbers were later seen waiting — a move investigators considered unusual and highly suspicious.
“It’s the immutable laws of time and space,” Kelly said. “I think there was enough information at that time to charge him. Would it be enough to convict him? I don’t know.”
By the time investigators examined those questions more closely, the statute of limitations had expired, leaving them little leverage to compel cooperation, Kelly said.
Museum guard Rick Abath denied any involvement in the theft. He died in 2024.
Kelly captures the lost artworks and describes them as “perfect fugitives.”
“They don’t go to the doctor. They don’t get stopped for speeding. They don’t leave fingerprints,” he said. “They can just disappear.”
He added that unlike human fugitives, works of art can also be copied.
Over the years, that has meant chasing down false leads — including paintings spotted at a Reno antiques market, hanging in private homes, and even one featured in an episode of the TV show “Monk.”
Given the popularity of the works, it is almost impossible to sell them publicly.
“Stealing the artwork from a museum is the easy part,” Kelly said. “Profiting from it, that’s the hard part.”
He imagines that the paintings will appear one day, outliving those who carried out the theft.
He added: “I have no doubt that they are still there.”