Restoreth My Soul (Psalm 23 Mysteries) (13 page)

Mark whistled.

“What is a Flakturm?” Cindy asked, after a moment.

“They were anti-aircraft gun towers that also served as bomb shelters,” Mark offered.

Jeremiah glanced at Mark in surprise.

Mark shrugged. “My grandfather fought in WWII, came home and became an architect. He was like a walking encyclopedia about German architecture. Some of it stuck. The more important question here is how did you come by it.”

“That’s the thing,” Jeremiah said. “It was here the morning that you called me over to see the writing on the walls. I had just gotten in and Marie told me someone had left a package that she’d found when she got to work. You called, I put it in my office, and I forgot completely about it until I got in today.

“I saw it and I immediately thought of the painting Cindy found. I also thought about Heinrich wanting to talk to me three months ago and never following up. When I opened it and realized what I was looking at I called both of you.”

Cindy bent down to take a closer look. She reached out hesitantly and touched the frame. If it was real, it was the closest she would come to actually being able to touch a famous piece of art in her lifetime.

“But how do you know this isn’t a copy of some sort?” Cindy asked.

“Someone was bound to want to recreate it if they could,” Mark said.

“You can find pictures of it online that were taken before it was destroyed so that copies could be distributed in books and for students to study. I’m sure there’s more than one reproduction out there,” Jeremiah said. “We’re going to need an expert to authenticate it, but I found something that convinces me, at least.”

“What’s that?” Mark asked.

Jeremiah flipped the painting around. He pointed to the first written line which was in black ink. “You see this top line of writing here on the back, KF114?”

“Yes,” Mark said.

“Does it mean something?” Cindy asked.

“When the Nazis stole artwork from Jewish families, they’d catalogue it in this way. First a letter that stood for the first letter in the family’s last name, then a number indicating which piece this was in the collection. This piece was part of the Kaiser Friedrich Museum in Berlin. It was moved to the Flakturm where it was hoped it would be kept safe. However, the Flakturm suffered two successive fires and the pieces housed inside were believed to be destroyed. Whoever moved this from the Flakturm where it was being housed followed the Nazi naming system. The KF stands for Kaiser Friedrich and this is the 114th piece taken.”

Cindy blinked. “If this one is marked 114, does that mean that at least 113 other pieces were also taken from the Flakturm before it was burned? Maybe even more?”

Jeremiah nodded. “That would be my guess.”

“If that’s true, and Heinrich left this for you hours before he died, then this guy could have known where a fortune was hidden. 114 paintings or more. What are we talking, millions of dollars?” Mark asked.

“Hundreds of millions of dollars,” Jeremiah said. “There was more than one Rubens in that group and if they’re among the ones that were saved...” he didn’t bother completing the thought. “And it’s more than just money at this point, it’s restoring masterpieces thought lost. I’d almost say that at this point they’re priceless.”

“Who do they belong to?” Mark asked.

“That’s a good question,” Jeremiah said. “I believe the collection, or at least part of it, was legitimately owned by the museum. They probably belong to Germany.”

“But I’m sure there’s a whole lot of people who would like to contest that,” Mark said, looking more and more flustered.

Jeremiah shrugged.

Cindy’s mind boggled at the number. She took a step back from the painting, not wanting to be the one to mar it if it was authentic.

Jeremiah’s adrenalin was starting to wear off a little and the pain in his arm wasn’t receding as fast as he’d like it to. He was gratified at both Mark and Cindy’s reactions. Of course, that didn’t detract from the fact that they had a big problem on their hands now when it came to figuring out what to do with this thing. There were a dozen different ways they could go, plays that could be made. Part of the problem was they didn’t yet know who all the actors involved in this drama were, not by a long shot.

It complicated things. His eyes strayed to Cindy and he watched her as she stared at the painting, clearly overwhelmed by everything. Complicated was the last thing he needed right now in his life.

It was certainly the last thing that she needed in hers.

More things were beginning to trouble him about this case and he didn’t have the time to properly think about them. It did seem odd that Heinrich would have left this on his doorstep mere hours before he was killed. Why?

He was also becoming more and more suspicious about the true nature of the poker playing dog painting. It was not unheard of for art thieves to paint over a more famous painting with something mundane. An art restorer could easily strip off the new paint at a later date without damaging the original.

But why would Heinrich go to all the trouble of hiding the identity of that painting, but not this one? None of that made sense. There was clearly a missing piece of the puzzle.

He looked again at the back of the painting with its mounting brackets in place. He found himself wondering if this had been the lone painting on Heinrich’s dining room wall that the single nail hole hinted had been present.

Whatever was happening, the implications could be staggering. With only a few hours before the holiday started, he realized that he couldn’t be the one to pursue any of this as much as he’d like to.

He took a deep breath. It was time to relinquish responsibility for all of this. “Well, Detective, what do you want to do?” he asked.

Mark passed a hand over his face. “Hundreds of millions of dollars in art, the Amber Room, two dead art restorers, a dead Nazi, a dog painting stolen from a police car, and someone in a car with diplomatic plates taking a shot at you. Even if the picture is a reproduction, and the slab of wall is fake, this is getting too big, too crazy. We need to call in the F.B.I. or somebody. I just need to slow down and think for a moment. This is way bigger than anything I’ve ever even heard of before if it’s all true.”

“What do you think?” Cindy asked, turning to look at Jeremiah.

“About what?” he asked.

“About what we should do? Do you think Mark should call the F.B.I.?”

It wasn’t good that she was automatically deferring to him instead of Mark on a question like that. He opened his mouth to respond, to tell her that he thought they should leave the decision making to Mark. After all, they were civilians just along for the ride.

Before he could say anything, Jeremiah heard the sound of the main office door slam. No one ever slammed the door like that, not even Marie. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and he was overcome with a sudden distinct uneasiness.

Maybe he was being paranoid, but what about the last few days hadn’t gone completely awry? A moment later he heard a startled exclamation from Marie which was enough to turn his blood to ice water in his veins.

“I think we’re all in a lot of trouble,” he said eyes darting around the room, as he snatched up the painting.

“What are you doing?” Cindy asked as Jeremiah yanked open the closet in his office and threw the painting up onto the top shelf. He snatched a coat off of a hangar inside and tossed it over the painting.

“Sit!” he hissed, waving to the couch as he dropped into his chair behind his desk and leaned forward, face solemn.

Cindy sat and after a moment Mark did as well, looking nearly as puzzled as she felt.

Jeremiah cleared his throat and spoke up in a loud voice, “Now, look you two, I know that marriage is hard, but you have to try and work it out. I’m tired of hearing about your petty squabbles.”

“What-” Mark began.

Jeremiah held up his hand. “Don’t interrupt! Now I want each of you to look at the other and tell that person sitting next to you that you still love them.”

Cindy wondered if Jeremiah was hallucinating from the medication the doctors had put him on. That had to be the only explanation for what he was doing.

“Do it, now!” Jeremiah demanded.

She jumped at the intensity of his tone and timidly turned to Mark who was now looking more frightened than puzzled.

“Hold hands while you do it,” Jeremiah instructed.

Nervously, awkwardly, Mark reached out and took Cindy’s hands in his. His touch made her jump again.

“Good, now tell her you love her,” Jeremiah told Mark.

“Cindy, I uh, well, you know how I feel-”

“Not good enough!”

“Please, this isn’t necessary,” Cindy burst out.

“It is. Telling your spouse you love them is the most necessary thing to a healthy marriage. Now tell her,” he said.

“Cindy,” Mark said, his eyes pleading with her to figure out what was going on, “I-I love you.”

The door flew open, startling both of them.

Jeremiah turned and barked. “I’m in the middle of a marriage counseling session. Make an appointment with my secretary.”

“It can’t wait,” a man with a thick German accent said.

Cindy saw Mark’s eyes widen in comprehension. He turned around toward the door. “Look, if you don’t mind, my wife and I were just having a moment.”

“This will only take a moment, I assure you,” the speaker said.

Cindy glanced at him. He was in his fifties with salt and pepper hair, pale skin, thin lips, and shifty looking eyes.

Jeremiah stood up and moved toward the door. “I’m sorry, but this is unacceptable. Marie!”

“I’m afraid my associate has her busy at the moment. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Albert Schmidt. I work for the German consulate in Los Angeles. I’m attempting to clear up a few...irregularities let us say regarding one of our citizens who was residing in this area until recently. Heinrich Beck. I believe you know him?”

Cindy felt her spine stiffen and she turned back to Mark who was carefully avoiding catching the eye of the German. He was squeezing her hands hard now, hard enough that it hurt, but she didn’t dare move a muscle. She had no idea what Jeremiah had in mind, but she sensed that somehow he had known something was about to happen. That would explain his hiding the painting and his subsequent strange behavior.

“I never met the man,” Jeremiah lied coolly, “but I’ve been in his home. I was called in to try and interpret some Hebrew writing that was found there. It’s a mess, though, mostly gibberish with an occasional word. It’s worse than trying to read a five-year-old’s scribblings if all they knew was pig Latin. Whoever left the writing clearly didn’t learn Hebrew from a qualified teacher. It was a complete waste of time and I’m happy to be done with that. Now, if you could tell me if there’s anything you need quickly, I’d appreciate it. I need to finish up with this couple and then I have to make preparations for the start of Rosh Hashanah this evening.”

“I just wanted to give you my card and tell you that if you found anything...unusual...in his writings, particularly relating to belongings, a will, anything like that I’d appreciate hearing. His grandchildren are quite concerned about some personal property of his that no one can seem to locate.”

Cindy saw Jeremiah take the card. “Frankly, I didn’t find anything like that. I don’t have any plans to return to the house. This is my busiest time of year and I’m going to be completely taken up with work for the next three weeks. I’ll keep your card, though, in case I hear something, though it’s unlikely.”

“I...appreciate it,” Albert said, his voice ominous to Cindy’s ears.

“Good luck with your marriage. You should listen to the rabbi. ‘I love you’ is the most powerful thing a couple can say to one another.”

He turned and walked out the door. Jeremiah shut it behind him and then leaned his ear against it, clearly listening.

Cindy pulled her hands away and Mark let them go with an apologetic grimace. He stood and drew his gun, clearly waiting for some sort of signal from Jeremiah.

She wondered where the most out of the way place for her to be was and decided that there truly wasn’t a good spot in the office for her to be. She pulled her feet as close to the couch as possible and got ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Another minute crawled by in absolute silence and then Jeremiah’s shoulders relaxed. He opened the door and strode out into the main office.

“Are you okay?” she heard him asking Marie.

“Who were those dreadful men?” she heard his secretary ask.

“They’re from the German consulate,” he said. “What did they ask you?”

“They asked me if Heinrich Beck had ever come by here or given you or me anything. I told them I had never even heard of Heinrich Beck.”

“Good,” Jeremiah said, then started to walk back into his office.

“Who is Heinrich Beck?” Marie called after him.

“A dead man,” he said over his shoulder.

He closed the door and sat down on the edge of his desk as Mark reholstered his weapon.

“That was pretty tricky, Rabbi,” Mark said.

“How did you know?” Cindy asked.

“I heard the door slam and the way Marie reacted it sounded like it was a stranger. She would have lit into them for slamming the door if it was someone she knew. Given everything that’s happened, I made an educated guess.”

“You saved our butts with that guess,” Mark said. “I just can’t believe it worked.”

“Do you think that was the man who shot you?” Cindy asked, feeling sick to her stomach even as she asked.

“He’s certainly capable of shooting someone and he was wearing a gun in a holster,” Jeremiah said. “Something tells me, though, that he wasn’t the one who shot me.”

“Pardon me if I kind of hope you’re wrong about that one,” Mark said. “Because if you’re right, that’s one more person involved that we don’t know about. I guess it could be someone else at the consulate.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jeremiah said. “After all, when the paintings were thought destroyed, the Russians were occupying Berlin. It’s possible that a Russian had a hand in stealing those paintings, payback for the Amber Room, spoils of war, something.”

“Then how would Heinrich have gotten involved? Wouldn’t it have been more likely for this hypothetical Russian to involve other Russians instead of a German?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps Heinrich was easier to work with, or in the right place, or he thought about getting rid of him afterward. Then again, maybe it’s the Russians or someone else who figured out after all this time that Heinrich had access to these things and has come looking.”

“Do you know there’s like 150 consulates in Los Angeles,” Mark said with a groan. “This could end up being a very large haystack we’re looking in.”

“Odds are good, though, it’s one of the European ones involved, those are the countries that have been most active in tracking the missing art pieces from the war.”

“Still, that’s a lot of consulates and it’s not like we can just waltz in and start questioning their people.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Jeremiah said. “This is all getting very complicated very quickly.”

“I’m not sure my nerves can take much more,” Cindy admitted. Now that the danger was over she realized she was starting to shake. Embarrassed, she folded her hands in her lap, hoping neither of them noticed.

“I know a guy in the Bureau. I’m going to give him a call. Hopefully we can manage this a bit so whoever they send our way won’t be a total jerk,” Mark said.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jeremiah said. He took a deep breath. “What I told that guy was true. Rosh Hashanah starts in just a few hours and I have to be able to focus on that. I can’t let down my congregation. I’m out of time to work on this whole problem.”

“And I’m out of names of art restorers. I’m going to have to find someone we can trust who might not already be in the crosshairs for whoever took out the last one,” Mark said. “Maybe my friend can recommend someone in the Bureau for that, too.”

“Maybe your killer won’t be looking for their next target now that they have the painting that you had.”

“Or maybe they’re going to go all kinds of crazy looking for the one that you now have,” Mark said.

Cindy was getting a headache, but she didn’t want to just leave. “What are you going to do with that painting?” she asked.

Mark and Jeremiah looked at each other.

“I’m going to be here all day,” Jeremiah said. “I think I can find a better hiding place for it until you find someplace safe to take it.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Mark said. “Clearly my car isn’t the place to keep it.” He rolled his eyes in disgust.

“So, that’s settled. I’ll hide it. You’ll look for someone who can authenticate it.”

“And I’ll get back to work,” Cindy said, dragging herself up off the couch.

“I’ll walk out with you, make sure those guys aren’t still lurking around,” Mark said.

“Good idea,” Jeremiah told him.

“Just don’t hold my hand again. I’m going to be bruised from the last time,” she said.

Mark grinned at her.

It wasn’t a joke
, she thought, but she didn’t bother telling him that.

She was grateful, though, as they walked out of the office that he was with her. This way if those creeps were still around she would be safer than if she was alone.

As it turned out they were nowhere to be seen and neither the synagogue nor the church parking lot had any strange cars, certainly no black ones with darkened windows.

Mark was a gentleman and walked her onto the church campus and up to the door of her office.

“Thanks,” she told him.

“Anytime,” he said, then turned to go.

She took a deep breath before opening the door, trying to get herself back into a work frame of mind. Cindy walked into the office and stopped midstride. Sylvia, the business manager, was seated at her desk, staring off into space.

“Sylvia? What’s going on?” Cindy asked.

The older woman looked up. “Royus.”

Cindy’s heart sank. “What are they doing now?”

“They’re in my office going over the budget. Gus wants more money for the Christmas production and Roy doesn’t think there’s any way he can have it.”

“What do you think?” Cindy asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Well, you are the business manager. It is your job to handle the money. Shouldn’t they be asking you instead of trying to argue it out themselves?”

“You would think,” Sylvia said, with an eerie calm to her voice. “They originally came into my office wanting to know how soon before I could have another graphic designer in here.”

Cindy felt sick at the very thought of someone else sitting at Geanie’s desk. “What did you tell them?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t get a chance to tell them I wasn’t planning on hiring anyone for at least a month. Probably just as well. I’m not sure either of them could have handled that answer.”

“If they both weren’t acting like such idiots, they wouldn’t have to wait for you to hire a new graphic designer,” Cindy growled.

“Too true. Good luck getting them to see that, though.”

A quiet fire seemed to be building inside of Cindy. It wasn’t right that Gus and Roy’s feud was doing so much damage to the rest of them. She thought of poor Dave and wondered how soon before he quit. When that happened it would be a black day for the church, and the kids would be devastated. It wasn’t right. She was about sick to death of things that weren’t right.

Sylvia got up. “Sorry, I took your desk. I needed to make a phone call and my office was...occupied.”

“It’s okay,” Cindy said, moving around it and sitting down.

Sylvia glanced at her and frowned. “Are you okay?”

Cindy self-consciously put her hands under her desk and faked a smile. “Just tired and a bit stressed, I guess.”

Sylvia sat down in the chair in front of Cindy’s desk. “You need to take better care of yourself,” she said.

“I try to,” Cindy said sheepishly. Having Sylvia talk to her felt a bit like having a mother talk to her. The only difference was, Sylvia cared more about her welfare than her own mom seemed to. Maybe it was because Sylvia didn’t have any kids of her own.