“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, locate Blessing ... he’s either in the castle or on the grounds. Tell him to report here.”
Sean slumped back in his chair. His eyes welled with tears. Why in the name of God did Dante do it? Sean continued to read more deeply into the documents.
Bolinski was still drowsy from his rude awakening, but having worked under O’Sullivan he was used to having his sleep interrupted. Sean apologized to his legal officer for the hour; through a yawn Bolinski said it was okay.
Sean questioned him carefully. “Bo, you’ve been drawing up the recommendations for the indictments against the Von Romstein family. How far have you gotten on it?”
Bolinski scratched his jaw. “I’ve been going through the interrogations and recommendations. Matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“How do you feel about our case?”
“Dante Arosa seems to think the count is pretty clean.”
“Are we going to be able to link him with Schwabenwald?”
“Not according to Dante.”
“How about crimes against humanity for use of slave labor?”
Bolinski shook his head.
“Any known collusion between Ludwig and the Nazi brother?”
“According to the interrogations the count looks as pure as driven snow. If we go on Dante’s stuff we couldn’t get a conviction for jay walking.”
Sean nodded. “Thanks. Sorry I woke you up, Bo. Keep it quiet.”
“Sure.”
Sean watched from his south window, looking toward the bridge, waiting for Blessing’s headlights to come into view. He watched the jeep cross the bridge, park, and the fat man make his way out.
“Lord almighty,” Blessing said to Sean’s back, “I got twenty men digging around in passageways inside passageways. They’re turning the castle inside out.” Then the weariness of the hours fell on him. “Well, one thing good about nonfraternization—been working so hard I haven’t seen the end of my pecker for a month.”
Sean spun about. “Where’s Dante Arosa?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“If you’re my police chief, you damned well better know.”
“Hell’s afire. You call me over here just to ...”
“Don’t get folksy with me, Blessing!”
“Can’t talk to you when you’re riled up like this ...”
“You’ve been covering up for him, haven’t you?”
Blessing turned beet red.
Sean’s arm and shoulder muscles bulged with anger. “I ought to bust you in your fat stomach!”
Blessing fell into a chair. “I only knew about it for a week. I swear to you, Major, I just found out about it. I’ve been going through plain hell, Major ... just plain hell. I know Dante’s been doing something wrong but I swear ... I just couldn’t bring myself to telling you. I just hope to God he ain’t hurt you.”
Slowly Sean’s anger ebbed from him. Now there were two of them in the predicament
“In my work,” Blessing said, “I have to use informers. You hate the goddamned little wart who squeals, but you’ve got to use him. Informers are the lowest polecats in the world. I just didn’t want to become one myself. I was going to talk to Dante ... try to set him straight ...”
“Too late now.”
“What’s he gone and done?”
“Whitewashed the whole Von Romstein family. He’s doctored up every report, every interrogation.”
“How’d he figure he’d get away with it?”
“With so many tens of thousands of legal processes being drawn up he figured we’d be long gone from Rombaden before Von Romstein got into court. I suppose there’s a woman involved?”
Blessing nodded.
“Who? Von Romstein’s daughter?”
“Yeh. I followed him last week and waited until he left. I stayed until dawn and saw her come out and tailed her home.”
“Where are they?”
“Bombed-out apartment down near the factory.”
“Let’s go.”
They parked two blocks away from the apartment. They tiptoed the rest of the way through the silent streets. Blessing pointed to the second floor of a badly shattered house; then they retreated around the corner to where Dante’s jeep was hidden inside an archway of a courtyard.
“We can rush it.”
“No,” Sean whispered, “at least let him have the dignity of being caught with his pants on. I’ll stay here by his jeep. You watch the apartment and pick up the woman when she shows up later.”
One o’clock.
Sean sat in Dante’s jeep. Starving alley cats screamed in protest, for there was no garbage to scavenge. The rancid smell and the stillness of a death-haunted street enveloped him.
Two o’clock: Sean dozed for an instant and awoke, heart pounding with remembering where he was and what was happening. There might have been a tinge of envy, but it was drowned in anger and sorrow for Dante. What was it like to steal love in a slimy pit? ... burning with fear ... with guilt. What kind of love was it? Would not the urge to choke the German woman in her bed be too tempting?
Two-thirty: soft, quick footsteps. A shadow over the rubble. A trot. A long, deep and uneven sigh. Dante Arosa lit a cigar.
He felt someone alongside him. Bum joke in the darkness ... no ... he lit another match. Sean was there, beside him ... no dream! Dante gripped the steering wheel and emitted only a single pathetic groan of despair.
“Drive to my office,” Sean said coldly.
When they were there Sean slammed the door behind them. Dante began to cry and Sean slapped his face.