The Monuments Men Murders (The Art of Murder 4)

Jason sucked in a sharp breath, said, “Call Kapszukiewicz, then. Go ahead. Tell her everything. I don’t care. But I didn’t— It was not my— If you believe I’m morally, ethically, fundamentally compromised, then whatever. I’m not asking you to cover for me.”

Sam rose. Jason rose as well, ready for…well, Jesus, were they going to punch it out? He had no idea. He had never seen Sam this angry, had never imagined that level of anger could be directed at himself. In a faraway corner of his brain, he wondered if he was dreaming.

This can’t be happening.

But they did not come to blows. They did not get within touching distance.

Sam said in that strangely flat voice, “Take your file and get out of my room,” and then went into the bathroom.

Jason stood unmoving; then he dressed with shaking hands, grabbed the folder, and left Sam’s hotel room.

Chapter Fourteen

“What if de Haan spotted a Nazi war criminal living in Bozwin?” J.J. asked.

“Hm?”

It was about ten o’clock on Thursday morning, and Jason and J.J. were in their temporary office at the Bozwin RA. J.J. was bringing Jason up to date on the results of his inquiries the day before.

“That’s a pretty powerful motive. And it’s possible when you see how many of these old geezers are still hanging out at the VFW.”

Jason nodded. He was scrolling quickly through his email, looking for something, anything, from Karan or George or even Sam.

There was nothing.

He was not sure if he was relieved or not. He had no idea what Sam would do next—if anything. He was still shell-shocked from Sam’s reaction earlier that morning. He had known Sam would not be pleased, yes, had expected Sam to advise him to recuse himself at once. He had not expected…that.

And maybe it was naive, but he felt betrayed. If anyone ought to understand about shades of gray, he’d have figured it was BAU Chief Sam Kennedy. Also, if anyone ought to understand about occasionally ignoring protocol, you’d think it was that same asshole, BAU Chief Sam Kennedy. For God’s sake. How about Wyoming? How about New York? How about Massachusetts? How about was there any fucking place on the planet Sam had not flouted rules and regulations when he felt he could get faster and better results by doing so?

And yet, maybe Jason should have expected it, because despite his tendency to operate in a legal twilight when it seemed imperative to him, Sam could be very black and white about other people bending rules. And once you got on his bad side? Well, it wasn’t that Sam was vengeful or spiteful. Not remotely. You were just dead to him.

In fairness, Sam had worked hard to position himself where it was difficult for his enemies—and he had his share—to attack him. Jason had inadvertently endangered that unassailable position, and therefore, Sam’s mission, and Sam had a sense of mission like no one Jason had ever known.

No, scratch that. The only other person Jason had known with such a sense of mission was his grandfather. Now there was irony.

J.J. said, “Are you still planning to reinterview Roberts?”

At the same time, Sam was pragmatic, a realist about people. Wasn’t there a decent chance that once he’d cooled down enough to view the situation objectively, he would see that Jason had not intended to make him complicit in any wrongdoing?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, West. He could almost hear Sam whispering it in his ear.

“West?”

Jason looked up. “What’s that?”

“Are you going to have another try at Edgar Roberts?”

“Yes.”

“Because I can take him if you want—”

“No. I’ll talk to him. I need you to get what information you can about de Haan’s murder from Sandford’s office. No way is anyone over there going to talk to me now.”

“Right.” J.J.’s gaze was curious. “It is weird Sandford didn’t want to question you.”

“It sure as hell is. He couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Almost for good.”

J.J. made a pained expression. He had been skeptical when Jason had told him he believed Sandford had considered shooting him the previous day.