“We don’t know that,” Jason said. “We don’t know there was any such officer.”
“I agree,” J.J. said. “That sounds like a bullshit excuse to me.”
“What are you saying? We have the man’s name,” de Haan objected. “Emerson Harley. The McCoy woman says there is proof.”
Every time he heard his grandfather’s name, Jason flinched internally. He tried to clarify without actually stepping into the zone of possible obstruction. “Harley existed, yes, but there would have been other officers around too. We don’t yet have proof that any of them were involved with Thompson.”
“It’s Thompson’s word against whatever this Harley will say,” J.J. agreed.
“Harley is dead,” de Haan said dismissively. “Perhaps you are right. But I believe Quilletta is lying. She is hiding something.”
For an instant Jason was paralyzed by the realization that de Haan had done preliminary research on his grandfather—and could easily have stumbled across Jason’s personal connection.
He missed the next bits of conversation, before managing to say, “She might not be lying. She might not have all the facts to begin with. I think she’s legitimately afraid of further lawsuits.”
Bert’s…friend comment popped into his mind. Bert’s expression had been…what?
He added, “Bert Thompson, however, is hiding something, that’s for sure.”
And not just the obvious something. Something more. Something Quilletta didn’t know?
“Bert?” J.J. sounded surprised.
Jason nodded.
“I didn’t get that. He didn’t say more than ten words the whole time.”
“We must get a search warrant,” de Haan said. “We must search Thompson’s house for the missing treasure.”
“Thompson’s house is Quilletta’s home now,” J.J. said. “She got the house. Bert got the flower shop.”
That was one of the things that worried Jason. Roy Thompson had not been a rich man, but he’d been comfortably off. In addition to real estate and a small but lucrative business, he’d been able to leave his niece and nephew each a hundred thousand dollars. Was that financial cushion the result of quietly selling off stolen art treasures over the years?
De Haan thought not. De Haan had been tracking these individual pieces for decades, waiting for them to show up on the international art market, and he believed the treasure was still intact. But then, he wanted to believe it was intact. They all did.
“Anyway, we’d have to have a hell of a lot more evidence than we currently do to get a search warrant,” J.J. said. “No judge is going to grant one based on what we’ve got so far.”
De Haan turned to Jason.
“Agent Russell is right,” Jason said. “The Thompsons are ostensibly cooperating with us. We don’t have any proof they possess the missing items. If they do have them, why wouldn’t they have put them up for sale at the same time as the altar piece and the two paintings?”
“They may have been testing the waters.”
“Maybe. Or they’re telling the truth. They don’t have the rest of the treasure.”
“Then the accomplice has them,” J.J. said. “We need to figure out who that guy was.”
Jason said, “Okay, again, we don’t know that there was an accomplice. And even if there was, we don’t know if it was a fellow soldier—”
“But it was,” de Haan insisted. “It was the officer Harley. We must find out more about this mystery man. If we speak to his family…”
“Emerson Harley,” J.J. mused. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“No!” Jason burst out.
De Haan and J.J. gaped at him. Jason controlled himself with an effort.
“What I mean is, yes, of course, we have to follow up on that, but we can’t afford to make assumptions. It’s very unlikely Thompson’s commanding officer, let alone a member of the MFAA, gave any such order. If you understand anything about the Monuments Men, you’ll see it’s…it’s ludicrous.”