Once again, this is about extraordinary incidents around some paintings.

 Who and how is fueling the demand for fine art?

Part one.

The ringtone of the rock-and-roll call shook him up.

 In response to his scratchy, "Yes, I'm listening," the boss's booming bass said, "Are you asleep again? It's only two am, Nick?"

 Let's get going; your team is on the way.

 Let me know what you find out, and call me right away. And remember, the mayor has everything under control.

''Please elaborate on what occurred and where," Nick asked the boss.

The boss quickly snapped, "Of course, at the moon!" 

Andrew Call's residence is nearby. That night, an "attractive man" took an artwork from his collection. 

 However, Andrew is a close friend of the mayor. You must find out more on the spot. Move on. I hope you're in your car, wise person!"

Nick would be lying if he said he enjoyed driving at night, but whenever the chance presented itself, he always went faster than the posted limit, squinting with delight like a cat after a bowl of sour cream.

When he turned the corner, the car's lights shone on a poster advertising an art show at the Elizabeth Gallery.

''How does she handle everything?'' Nick asked himself.

 Elizabeth was his grandma.

When he arrived at the collector's villa, he found his crew in a state of confusion.

 An ambulance doctor inspected Andrew Call's bleeding head, and he winced in agony with each touch.

 In the living room, somebody turned over chairs, a floor vase containing artificial flowers lay on the piano, canvas paintings in an ancient frame were on the floor, and a curtain from the window was halfway ripped off the rod.

 Upon closer study, this whole mess appeared deliberate—as if an unskilled decorator was trying to order the scene of a recent short brawl.

 Simultaneously, the attackers had already left the scene.

Nick glanced tiredly at his partner, Charlie, inviting to tell him what they had already discovered.

And he began to tell some details.

 The entrance door was wide open. 

The hallway chandelier was on, but occasional grunts came from the living room.

 It turned out it was Mr. Andrew Call, the villa's owner. Charlie phoned for an ambulance, and before the paramedics arrived, Mr. Call explained that he had gone to the kitchen to get some sleep aid when he heard noises in the living room.

 He scared off the robber by turning on the hall lights, and in his haste to escape, the thief struck Mr. Andrew on the head as he ran by. 

There was no time for the thief to steal canvas or something else.

Charlie also found it odd that the city TV crew from the Night Channel arrived precisely one minute after the cops.

Nick squinted at his companion, knowing full well that he had nothing to add something else to the proceedings.