The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

“I do?”

J.J. glanced around as though looking for someone in the back seat. He turned to Jason. “Yes. You do. You’ve been tense and short-tempered ever since we left the lawyer’s office. I thought you were going to take poor Hans Brinker’s head off a couple of times at breakfast.”

Jason tried to summon a smile. “No. Just…short of sleep.”

“It’s the Vermeer, right?” J.J. was sardonic. “You had your heart set on restoring a lost Vermeer to the world.”

“That would have been nice,” Jason agreed.

“Well, maybe it’s still out there somewhere.”

“Maybe.”

J.J. gave him another of those sideways looks. “Should I book our flights back to LA?”

“LA?” Jason said blankly.

J.J. made a sound of disbelief. “You remember LA, West. Tall buildings, smog, traffic, our homes and family and friends. Our jobs.”

“Right. LA,” Jason said. “Um, I think we should hold off for a day or so. We still have people to interview, including Edgar Roberts. If he’s of an age with Thompson, maybe they were overseas at the same time. We have to interview Thompson’s great-niece—now there’s something. Thompson had two great-nieces, but only one was mentioned in his will.”

“Bad blood between Bert and his uncle?”

“Maybe. But Bert’s in the will.”

J.J. shrugged. “Okay. Something to follow up, I guess.”

“And we have to interview his friends and neighbors and employees to find out what, if anything, they saw or heard about his treasures.”

“Seriously. Please stop calling them treasures. I feel like one of the Hardy Boys.”

Jason gave a reluctant laugh. “Also, I want to check the newspaper morgue. See what information we can get on possible accomplices.”

“This mysterious commanding officer of Thompson’s.”

“Right.”

“Those archives have to be digitized,” J.J. said. “We shouldn’t have to go through everything here.”

“Are you in a hurry to get back?” Jason asked.

“Hell no. But if you’re delaying on my account…”

That was almost funny. “Of course not.”

Seemingly unconvinced, J.J. glanced away from the road to scrutinize him. “You do think that Vermeer is here,” he said slowly, shrewdly.

Much, much better that J.J. focused on that angle than giving serious consideration to other possibilities.

“It’s not impossible. But either way, there are still plenty of avenues to explore. Thompson may have insured the items, he may have tried to have them appraised, he may have attempted to research their background. All those efforts would leave footprints.”

“And he may have known better than to do any of that.”

“Yes. But what we do know for sure is he was a collector, and one thing all collectors have in common is a desire to show off their collections. If Thompson did bring back other treasures, there’s a good chance he showed them to someone.”

Back in the office, J.J. headed straight for Martinez’s cubicle, and Jason headed straight for the restroom to splash some cold water on his face.

A glance at his dripping reflection in the mirror over the bank of sinks was not reassuring. Hopefully, some of it was the greenish fluorescent lighting, but he looked very tired and very pale. His eyes were fever-bright in his drawn face. No surprise J.J. was wondering what was up with him.