Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [60]
“Gawddamn,” Blessing said when he arrived with Sean, “looks like old Mr. Hawkins’ antique store.”
Trueblood led them to a corner holding a separate stack of paintings.
“I suppose you want to know why I called you over. It appears that Count Ludwig had a passion for the French post-impressionist period. Mind you, that is not my forte, but these works here have achieved such a measure of renown that they are commonly known.” He lifted the first in the line. “Toulouse-Lautrec’s ‘Portrait of Suzanne Valadon,’ vintage 1885.” Setting the painting aside he held the next two up, one by one. “These are Gauguins ... ‘Vahine no de Taire’ and, of course, ‘Seashore at Martinique.’ This one here we know is a Van Gogh ... ‘Field at Saint-Remy.’ Quite a foursome, would you not say? I took them out of Count Ludwig’s personal quarters.”
Blessing didn’t understand what was so hot about the paintings but was impressed that the Englishman called them off like names of his children.
Sean was already ahead of it. “Where are they from?”
“The Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen.”
Sean let out a long whistle.
“Let’s carry on, shall we? Van de Velde, seventeenth century, ‘Woman at a Window’... Royal Museum of Fine Art, Antwerp. Lemmen, ‘Harbor View’ ... Giroux Gallery in Brussels, and so forth and so forth. These last three are Renoirs from private collections in France.”
“You mean he stole these?” Blessing asked. “But, hell, we’ve got better painters than this in the Hook County Fair.”
“Certainly not. This lot represents in excess of a million dollars.”
“Gawd.”
“We have suspected all along that many high Nazi officials in occupied countries developed a sudden penchant for collecting art, other people’s art, that is. We think Goering alone has stolen millions from France.”
“Do you think there’s more of them here?” Sean asked.
“I’d wager on it.
Sean thought quickly. “Come back to Rombaden with me, Trueblood. We’ll try to get a line through to this museum in Copenhagen as a starter and find out under what conditions these were taken and what other pieces are missing. Blessing, round up everyone who worked in the castle or on the grounds. Grill their asses off. Promise them cigarettes, double rations, anything. We want to know every cellar, cave, secret passage ... any possible place a cache could be hidden ...
“What about the count?”
“Put a twenty-four-hour tail on him.”
Sean went immediately to Dante Arosa’s office.
“I’m going to need everything you have on Count Ludwig right away. Matter of fact, give me the records on the entire family.”
Dante was startled. “What the hell’s up?”
“I’ll know for sure in a few hours. Run the files into my office.”
Dante laughed weakly. “Hell, there’s nothing you can find out by breaking your head on the records. What is it you are after?”
In that instant, Sean sensed Dante’s uneasiness. An iota of suspicion had fallen on him. “I’m not quite sure what I’m after,” he said carefully.
Dante shrugged. “Well ... they’re really not up to date ...”
Sean was disturbed. “Let’s have them ... now.”
“Sure ... sure ...”
The voluminous files of the interrogation of Ludwig Von Romstein was studied for hours. Dates of his visits to Denmark, Belgium, Holland, and France could certainly concur with the thefts, but as Sean read on past midnight the finding of the art treasures began to take on a secondary meaning.
Dante Arosa’s files began to make an ugly revelation. “Oh God, no,” Sean whispered to himself. But he read on. He lifted the phone. “Operator, see if Lieutenant Arosa is in his quarters,” Sean asked.
Sean dropped his head on his hands, rubbed his temples, beat his fist slowly on the desk, counting each ring of the unanswered phone.
“Sorry, sir, Lieutenant Arosa doesn’t answer. Shall I try the jail. Sometimes he’s there late on interrogations.”
Sean looked at his watch. Almost one o’clock in the morning. “Try the jail.”
“No, sir, no one has seen Lieutenant Arosa ... shall I ...”
“Get Lieutenant Bolinski. Tell him to report here to me at once. Then call Castle Romstein,