Chapter 7
They went back to his hospital room, and he dressed in the civilian clothes that Benji had brought him from his house. He put on the dark pull over and jeans very carefully, with a lot of help from Benji. He’d already had the artist call and tell the police that he didn’t want the guard on his cabin anymore, and even though they hadn’t been particularly happy about his request to have the police officer guarding the cabin leave, there was nothing they could do to force him to keep him there.
Jed buckled on his uniform belt and checked his gun. Benji watched him, the big form still tense with anxiety and apprehension. Jed couldn’t blame him; and if there were any way he could have gotten around it, he would have left Benji out of this whole thing entirely. But unfortunately, the artist was the bait that would lure the Germans into their trap. They wouldn’t come out of hiding for anyone else. “Are you ready?” he asked, looking up at Benji.
The artist nodded silently. “Let’s go, then. When we get to the cabin, get out of the Rover and walk slowly toward the porch. Give them plenty of time to see you returning by yourself. I’ll get out of the door furthest from the cabin. In the dark, they shouldn’t be able to see me even if they’re looking. Don’t look back over your shoulder, okay? Just look straight ahead at all times, as though your only concern is getting into the cabin and going to bed.”
“Okay, Jed,” Benji replied. “I will.”
“Good. Deep breaths, Benji, and let’s go.”
They left the hospital room and Jed checked himself out, much to the disapproval of his doctor. Then they went out to the parking lot and Jed crawled into the back of the Rover, lying down on the back seat. Benji covered him with a dark blanket that he’d bought when he’d gone to get Jed some clothes to wear, then got into the front and started the Rover. Jed lay still, but he spoke softly for most of the drive. He didn’t want Benji thinking about what might happen once they reached the cabin. Benji replied once in awhile, although he was concentrating on his driving. Finally, after much jolting and bouncing on the dirt road, the Rover stopped. “We’re here,” Benji said, sounding tense.
“Okay. You can do this, Benji,” Jed told him firmly. “Get out and walk toward the cabin.”
An assenting sound, then he heard the front door open and close. He gave Benji a few moments to move slowly toward the porch, then very slowly and carefully slid the blanket off of himself and pushed the door on the far side open. It didn’t creak, which he was silently thankful for. Jed pulled himself out of the Rover, crouching on the ground. He liberated his gun from its holster and began to crouch-walk along the side of the Rover.
He arrived at the front bumper, and craned his neck to look around the front of the Rover. He saw Benji’s broad back as the artist walked very, very slowly toward the porch. Jed wanted to shake his head. Benji didn’t look particularly natural creeping along like that. Oh, well. His eyes adjusted to the dim light from the front porch light and the sliver of moon overhead. Benji was almost to the steps, and he felt great disappointment. It looked like their trap had been a total waste of time. The Germans were probably out of the country by now…
They came out of the night, two silent sliding shadows. Benji cried out and froze as one of them stepped up behind him and shoved something in his back. Jed had no doubt that it was a gun or some other weapon. The other one spoke, but he couldn’t quite make out what the German was saying. Whatever it was, Benji nodded and put his hands in the air. Jed tensed, coiling his muscles. Then he was moving, as fast as he could, running straight toward the three men. His legs still weren’t totally steady under him, but he ignored the tremors in them. His eyes were fixed on the men who were threatening Benji.
They all started toward the cabin together, and Jed didn’t attack them. Instead, he veered off and circled around to the back of the cabin. He wasn’t going to startle these bastards – the armed one might shoot Benji if he did that. Jed ghosted through the back door, glad that the hinges were oiled. He put his back to the wall in the hallway, holding his gun at the ready as he slid along toward the living room. He heard two voices with thick accents speaking. “Sit down,” one of them directed sharply.
He arrived at the living room, seeing Benji sitting on the couch looking scared. The two Germans were standing over him. One of them, a big man with a scarred face, was holding a gun. The other one, a man of medium height who fitted the description that the German woman had given him over the phone, was unarmed. He was glaring down at Benji. “Tell us where the paintings are,” he rasped.
“I…” the artist cringed as the man holding the gun waved it at him menacingly.
“Where have you hidden them?!” the smaller man screamed, looking furious.
Jed knew that he couldn’t wait any more – these guys were too unstable. He stepped out and pointed his gun at the scarred man. “Freeze!” he barked. “If you so much as sneeze, I will shoot you!”
Both of the Germans jumped and stared at him in shock. Jed’s mouth was a slash, and his blue eyes were as cold as the arctic. His gun never wavered as he trained it on the armed German. “Believe me when I say that I will have no problem whatsoever shooting either one of you,” he snarled. “Not after what you’ve done to me and Benji. So let’s get those hands up where I can see them, and drop that gun,” he directed.
The scarred man twitched. It was clear that he was thinking of drawing down on Jed. The deputy smiled coldly. “Do it,” he said softly. “Please. I want you to.”
The smaller man grabbed the bigger one’s arm and said something to him urgently in German. The scarred man looked furious and disgruntled, but at last he carefully bent over and dropped his gun on the floor. He stepped back, putting his hands in the air. His compatriot did the same, and Jeddrick nodded. “Get up, Benji, and come over here,” he told the artist.
Benji scrambled to comply, looking happy. He stopped beside Jed as the blonde told the two Germans: “Sit down on the couch, and let’s have a little talk.” He made a motion with his gun, and they both did as he directed them.
Once they were seated, Jed told Benji: “Pick up the gun and bring it here, will you?”
Benji nodded and went over to crouch down and gingerly pick up the gun, carrying it over to Jed as though it might come alive and bite him. Jed’s lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh. He watched the two Germans carefully to make sure that they didn’t make any threatening moves as Benji handed him the gun. He held it in his free hand as he spoke once again to the men on the couch. “Here’s how it’s going to go,” he began. “You will tell me why you want Benji’s granddad’s paintings so damn bad, or I will shoot you both in the left knee cap. If you’re still not willing to cooperate after that, I’ll shoot you in the right one. We’ll keep playing the game of ‘pick a body part to mangle’ until you tell us why you want those paintings so bad that you’re willing to do anything to get them.”
The smaller German sneered: “You can do nothing to us. You are American police officer.”
“While that would normally be true,” Jed remarked with a small, evil smile, “I’m not on duty right now. Moreover, I’m sure that Benji would lie if I told him to about just how you two ended up riddled with bullets. Wouldn’t you, Benji?”
The artist nodded vigorously. “Yeah!” he cried. “You guys almost killed Jed!” his voice was indignant, and Jed had to fight back laughter againth
Jed pointed his gun at the smaller man’s kneecap. He seemed to be the ringleader here. “Choose,” he said softly, menacingly. “Do you limp for the rest of your life, or do you spill the beans? Your choice.”
Something in his eyes seemed to convince the German. “Very well,” he spat. “I will tell you. I do not want those paintings of his grandfather,” he pointed in Benji’s general direction, his voice thick with contempt(and accent), “They are scheizer. Sheet. I wanted what was underneath them.”
“The Werner Van Pietz paintings?” Jeddrick said incredulously. “Talk about shit…they aren’t worth the canvas they’re painted on!”
The smaller German made an impatient movement with his hands. “Nein, nein, not those either,” he told them impatiently, making them both stare at him. “I want the paintings…under THOSE paintings.”
“Let me get this straight,” Jeddrick said incredulously, “There are paintings under the paintings under the PAINTINGS?!”
“Ja, that is correct,” the German replied. “That is exactly right.”
“Okay,” Jeddrick said slowly. “I can see that there’s some back story behind that statement. Let’s hear it,” he added, pointing his gun significantly at the German’s kneecap.
He flinched, and then held up his hands defensively. “I will tell you,” he said in a surly voice. “I am Heinrich Hulz. An art dealer from Berlin. The paintings,” his eyes went to Benji’s big form, “The paintings that you possess now are of great significance to the art world.”
“You mean the originals? The ones under the Van Pietz paintings?” Benji asked. He was obviously dying on curiosity.
Heinrich Hulz nodded. “Ja. I must begin by telling you of my own grandfather, who was an oberst…a colonel…in the German army during World War II. His name was Hans Hulz, and he was assigned a post in the Kaiser Freidrich Museum in Berlin during the war. That is where many of the pieces of art looted from other countries ended up on display, those that were not put into Hitler’s private collection, or Hermann Goering’s. Some were destroyed, many were put into warehouses…but a good deal of the art ended up in the Berlin museum for all of the people to see. My grandfather was a curator in that museum.”
He paused, taking a deep breath. “As the war was drawing to a close and the Allies were advancing on Berlin, an order came down to those who worked at the museum to destroy much of the artwork so that our enemies could not get their hands on it. An order of pure spite, to destroy so much beauty…” his face was sad as he said this, his eyes far away.
Jed glanced at Benji. The big man looked just as sad as Heinrich did at the thought of art being destroyed. Personally, Jeddrick was more concerned about how many people had been lost during World War II, but then he’d never been a huge art lover. “Go on,” he said aloud, to encourage Heinrich to continue with his story.
“My grandfather was saddened and horrified by these orders. I know this because I inherited his papers after my mother died. It was among them that I found a journal written by him, detailing his life both before and during the war. He decided to save a few of those precious works if he could, as well as getting his family out of Germany if he could. He saw that the war was going to end, and he wanted my mother and her brothers to be safe from any retaliation. And of course he knew what might happen to a Nazi officer, even one that had only been a museum curator. So he secretly smuggled five paintings out of the museum one night, and took them to a local artist who was…not to put things to finely…an utter hack. He knew that no one would look twice at a Werner Van Pietz painting. He had the artist, for a large sum of monies, paint over the original pieces of art to disguise them. Then he altered the paperwork on those pieces, making it seem as though they had been destroyed as ordered.”
“All right,” Jed said, “So your grandfather had Van Pietz paint over some other paintings. How did they end up in Benji’s granddad’s possession?”
Heinrich grimaced. “That is a story in itself. My grandfather spent months preparing his and his family’s flight from Germany. He intended to go to Argentina with them and the paintings, and at a later date he would ‘discover’ the lost artworks and sell them for a goodly price. He would use that money to keep them on comfort. But someone at the museum became suspicious of him, and turned him in to the Third Reich. Soldiers came for him as he and his family was waiting at the train station, and hauled him away to be thrown into prison as a deserter. He didn’t have time to tell his wife about the paintings, and all of their belongings got left at the station when the soldiers took his family away too. They were released a few hours later, none the wiser about what Hans had left behind on the platform. My grandfather was executed almost immediately, and while my grandmother did get most of their belongings back, a street urchin had already stolen the paintings from the platform and had run away with them. He consequently sold them to an American soldier a few weeks later, when the Allies marched into Berlin to overthrow the Third Reich. I learned of most of this from the journal, and I visited Van Pietz’s granddaughter to see if he had claimed possession of those paintings. I did not know about the street urchin at that time. But finding that he had not, I did some extensive research and realized what had actually become of the paintings, and who now owned them. That is when I came to America to try to retrieve the paintings from him,” he looked at Benji significantly.
Jed frowned. “Why didn’t you just try to buy the paintings?” he asked. “Why go to all of these lengths to get them?”
Heinrich shrugged. “Because his mother,” he nodded at Benji, “Informed me that the paintings had sentimental value to her son, and that he would not sell them to me.”
“Okkayy, that covers most of the back story. But here’s the big question – why do you want these paintings so badly? Are they valuable or something?” Jed asked.
Heinrich began to laugh in a croaking sort of way. “Valuable? More like priceless!” he cried. “Three of the paintings are of moderate value only, but two of them…two of them are worth a king’s ransom. Those two…are Caravaggios.”
Benji’s shocked gasp made Jed glance over at him. The artist had gone rather pale, and his eyes were wide. “Cara-CARAVAGGIOS?!” he exclaimed.
“Uh, Benji…” Jed said. When the artist finally looked at him, he lifted a brow questioningly. “Caravaggios?” he repeated.
Benji pulled himself together visibly. “Michelangelo da Caravaggio was one of the most influential painters of all time, Jed,” he explained, his voice shaking. “His work with chiaroscuro and his radical naturalism made him the father of modern art. Everybody imitated him, and there was even a school of art that called themselves the Caravaggisti or Caravaguesques…”
“Benji,” Jed interrupted him gently, seeing that he’d probably go on enthusiastically all night if somebody didn’t forestall him, “None of that means much to me. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jed, I’m sorry,” Benji said. “I forget that you don’t know much about art. But I’d love to show you some of his works later on…”
“And I’d love to see them,” Jed replied easily. “But for now, we need to get back to the subject at hand. I take it that those paintings are worth some money?”
“Lots and lots of money,” Benji told him.
Jed glanced at Heinrich. “So that’s why you wanted them? Because they’re worth lots of money?”
Heinrich’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Their value on the art market would be enormous,” he said tightly. “And the art market has been depressed because of the hard economic times. I was about to lose my gallery and my entire business. I would do anything that I had to to get my hands on those paintings. I could have sold them to a collector, and no one would have been the wiser about their existence except for the person that bought them for his collection. I was not going to let some bourgeois artist get in my way. One of those paintings, Saint Matthew and the Angel, is valued at one hundred million dollars! That is what it would be worth today if it still existed…and I could have sold it to a collector for about half of that price. Fifty million dollars for one painting. I could have gotten at least twenty for the other. I would have been rich enough to become an art collector myself, if only on a smaller scale. That is why I wanted those paintings so badly.”
Jed just stood there for a moment with his mouth open, trying to take in the fact that the paintings that Benji had inherited from his grandfather were worth over a hundred million dollars – and that just for two of the five. Jesus! He’d heard of people killing other people for much smaller sums than that. No wonder Heinrich Hulz had been so desperate to get his hands on all of them. He had no way of telling which the really valuable ones were, and which were only moderately valuable. Mystery solved.
He pulled out his cell phone with one hand and flipped it open. The Sheriff wouldn’t be too happy with him for leaving the hospital and going to Benji’s place, but he’d tell his boss that he just meant to come along to protect Benji – that he’d really had NO idea that these German guys would try to attack them. Of course he wouldn’t believe that, but he’d let it fly because he’d understand. And that’s what would end up in the official report, so he wouldn’t lose his job over this. Not that that mattered – to protect Benji, he would gladly have given up his job.
He called in to work and informed them that he’d captured two criminals at Benji’s cabin. His call caused much excitement, and the Sheriff himself showed up among the group that came to collect the sullen Heinrich and his silent confederate. Jed got read the riot act, just as he expected, but he took it without flinching. He knew he deserved it, after all.
After his tongue lashing by his irate boss, Jed stood in the living room of the cabin as Heinrich and his hired thug were led away in cuffs. He turned to look at Benji, who had been mostly silent(except for the statement that he’d given the deputies about what had happened tonight, which had not included their coming up with a plan to draw the two Germans out deliberately) for the last hour or so. He studied the artist in concern. “You okay, Benji?” he asked, stepping toward the bigger man as he spoke.
Benji roused himself out of whatever trance he had been in. “Yes, I’m all right, Jed,” he said softly. “I just…I can’t take this in! Granddad’s paintings…there’s actually two lost Caravaggios under them! This is like a Christian finding out that the cheap vase they bought at a yard sale is actually the Holy Grail.” His voice was reverent, and Jed fought back a smile at how cute he was.
“So you’re the owner of a painting worth a hundred million dollars,” Jed mused.
“No, I’m not,” Benji replied firmly, shaking his head. “Those paintings belong to the museums and collections that they were originally stolen from. I’m going to have them restored and give them back. I couldn’t keep stolen art,” he added with a grimace, “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Are you sure?” Jed asked him. “That’s a lot of money we’re talking about.”
Benji just stared at him. “A cop advocating that I keep stolen property?” he said after a moment.
Jed winced. “Ouch, you have a point. But what about your granddad’s paintings? If they strip those off, they’ll be lost.”
“I’ll still have pictures of them. Granddad would understand. I know that he’d have done the same thing if he’d known what was under his paintings,” Benji replied seriously.
“So I guess you won’t need protecting anymore,” Jed said, feeling rather down about that fact.
Benji’s face fell. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, sounding wistful.
Jed studied his face intently. “But I could still stay here if you want me to,” he said slowly. “If you don’t feel safe, that is.”
Benji perked up, his eyes glowing at this suggestion. “I’d like that, Jed,” he said shyly, looking down into the deputy’s eyes as he spoke.
Jed smiled. Then he reached up to pull Benji’s mouth to his own, and just before their lips met he whispered: “Me too, Benji. Me too.”
Go to Next Chapter
They went back to his hospital room, and he dressed in the civilian clothes that Benji had brought him from his house. He put on the dark pull over and jeans very carefully, with a lot of help from Benji. He’d already had the artist call and tell the police that he didn’t want the guard on his cabin anymore, and even though they hadn’t been particularly happy about his request to have the police officer guarding the cabin leave, there was nothing they could do to force him to keep him there.
Jed buckled on his uniform belt and checked his gun. Benji watched him, the big form still tense with anxiety and apprehension. Jed couldn’t blame him; and if there were any way he could have gotten around it, he would have left Benji out of this whole thing entirely. But unfortunately, the artist was the bait that would lure the Germans into their trap. They wouldn’t come out of hiding for anyone else. “Are you ready?” he asked, looking up at Benji.
The artist nodded silently. “Let’s go, then. When we get to the cabin, get out of the Rover and walk slowly toward the porch. Give them plenty of time to see you returning by yourself. I’ll get out of the door furthest from the cabin. In the dark, they shouldn’t be able to see me even if they’re looking. Don’t look back over your shoulder, okay? Just look straight ahead at all times, as though your only concern is getting into the cabin and going to bed.”
“Okay, Jed,” Benji replied. “I will.”
“Good. Deep breaths, Benji, and let’s go.”
They left the hospital room and Jed checked himself out, much to the disapproval of his doctor. Then they went out to the parking lot and Jed crawled into the back of the Rover, lying down on the back seat. Benji covered him with a dark blanket that he’d bought when he’d gone to get Jed some clothes to wear, then got into the front and started the Rover. Jed lay still, but he spoke softly for most of the drive. He didn’t want Benji thinking about what might happen once they reached the cabin. Benji replied once in awhile, although he was concentrating on his driving. Finally, after much jolting and bouncing on the dirt road, the Rover stopped. “We’re here,” Benji said, sounding tense.
“Okay. You can do this, Benji,” Jed told him firmly. “Get out and walk toward the cabin.”
An assenting sound, then he heard the front door open and close. He gave Benji a few moments to move slowly toward the porch, then very slowly and carefully slid the blanket off of himself and pushed the door on the far side open. It didn’t creak, which he was silently thankful for. Jed pulled himself out of the Rover, crouching on the ground. He liberated his gun from its holster and began to crouch-walk along the side of the Rover.
He arrived at the front bumper, and craned his neck to look around the front of the Rover. He saw Benji’s broad back as the artist walked very, very slowly toward the porch. Jed wanted to shake his head. Benji didn’t look particularly natural creeping along like that. Oh, well. His eyes adjusted to the dim light from the front porch light and the sliver of moon overhead. Benji was almost to the steps, and he felt great disappointment. It looked like their trap had been a total waste of time. The Germans were probably out of the country by now…
They came out of the night, two silent sliding shadows. Benji cried out and froze as one of them stepped up behind him and shoved something in his back. Jed had no doubt that it was a gun or some other weapon. The other one spoke, but he couldn’t quite make out what the German was saying. Whatever it was, Benji nodded and put his hands in the air. Jed tensed, coiling his muscles. Then he was moving, as fast as he could, running straight toward the three men. His legs still weren’t totally steady under him, but he ignored the tremors in them. His eyes were fixed on the men who were threatening Benji.
They all started toward the cabin together, and Jed didn’t attack them. Instead, he veered off and circled around to the back of the cabin. He wasn’t going to startle these bastards – the armed one might shoot Benji if he did that. Jed ghosted through the back door, glad that the hinges were oiled. He put his back to the wall in the hallway, holding his gun at the ready as he slid along toward the living room. He heard two voices with thick accents speaking. “Sit down,” one of them directed sharply.
He arrived at the living room, seeing Benji sitting on the couch looking scared. The two Germans were standing over him. One of them, a big man with a scarred face, was holding a gun. The other one, a man of medium height who fitted the description that the German woman had given him over the phone, was unarmed. He was glaring down at Benji. “Tell us where the paintings are,” he rasped.
“I…” the artist cringed as the man holding the gun waved it at him menacingly.
“Where have you hidden them?!” the smaller man screamed, looking furious.
Jed knew that he couldn’t wait any more – these guys were too unstable. He stepped out and pointed his gun at the scarred man. “Freeze!” he barked. “If you so much as sneeze, I will shoot you!”
Both of the Germans jumped and stared at him in shock. Jed’s mouth was a slash, and his blue eyes were as cold as the arctic. His gun never wavered as he trained it on the armed German. “Believe me when I say that I will have no problem whatsoever shooting either one of you,” he snarled. “Not after what you’ve done to me and Benji. So let’s get those hands up where I can see them, and drop that gun,” he directed.
The scarred man twitched. It was clear that he was thinking of drawing down on Jed. The deputy smiled coldly. “Do it,” he said softly. “Please. I want you to.”
The smaller man grabbed the bigger one’s arm and said something to him urgently in German. The scarred man looked furious and disgruntled, but at last he carefully bent over and dropped his gun on the floor. He stepped back, putting his hands in the air. His compatriot did the same, and Jeddrick nodded. “Get up, Benji, and come over here,” he told the artist.
Benji scrambled to comply, looking happy. He stopped beside Jed as the blonde told the two Germans: “Sit down on the couch, and let’s have a little talk.” He made a motion with his gun, and they both did as he directed them.
Once they were seated, Jed told Benji: “Pick up the gun and bring it here, will you?”
Benji nodded and went over to crouch down and gingerly pick up the gun, carrying it over to Jed as though it might come alive and bite him. Jed’s lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh. He watched the two Germans carefully to make sure that they didn’t make any threatening moves as Benji handed him the gun. He held it in his free hand as he spoke once again to the men on the couch. “Here’s how it’s going to go,” he began. “You will tell me why you want Benji’s granddad’s paintings so damn bad, or I will shoot you both in the left knee cap. If you’re still not willing to cooperate after that, I’ll shoot you in the right one. We’ll keep playing the game of ‘pick a body part to mangle’ until you tell us why you want those paintings so bad that you’re willing to do anything to get them.”
The smaller German sneered: “You can do nothing to us. You are American police officer.”
“While that would normally be true,” Jed remarked with a small, evil smile, “I’m not on duty right now. Moreover, I’m sure that Benji would lie if I told him to about just how you two ended up riddled with bullets. Wouldn’t you, Benji?”
The artist nodded vigorously. “Yeah!” he cried. “You guys almost killed Jed!” his voice was indignant, and Jed had to fight back laughter againth
Jed pointed his gun at the smaller man’s kneecap. He seemed to be the ringleader here. “Choose,” he said softly, menacingly. “Do you limp for the rest of your life, or do you spill the beans? Your choice.”
Something in his eyes seemed to convince the German. “Very well,” he spat. “I will tell you. I do not want those paintings of his grandfather,” he pointed in Benji’s general direction, his voice thick with contempt(and accent), “They are scheizer. Sheet. I wanted what was underneath them.”
“The Werner Van Pietz paintings?” Jeddrick said incredulously. “Talk about shit…they aren’t worth the canvas they’re painted on!”
The smaller German made an impatient movement with his hands. “Nein, nein, not those either,” he told them impatiently, making them both stare at him. “I want the paintings…under THOSE paintings.”
“Let me get this straight,” Jeddrick said incredulously, “There are paintings under the paintings under the PAINTINGS?!”
“Ja, that is correct,” the German replied. “That is exactly right.”
“Okay,” Jeddrick said slowly. “I can see that there’s some back story behind that statement. Let’s hear it,” he added, pointing his gun significantly at the German’s kneecap.
He flinched, and then held up his hands defensively. “I will tell you,” he said in a surly voice. “I am Heinrich Hulz. An art dealer from Berlin. The paintings,” his eyes went to Benji’s big form, “The paintings that you possess now are of great significance to the art world.”
“You mean the originals? The ones under the Van Pietz paintings?” Benji asked. He was obviously dying on curiosity.
Heinrich Hulz nodded. “Ja. I must begin by telling you of my own grandfather, who was an oberst…a colonel…in the German army during World War II. His name was Hans Hulz, and he was assigned a post in the Kaiser Freidrich Museum in Berlin during the war. That is where many of the pieces of art looted from other countries ended up on display, those that were not put into Hitler’s private collection, or Hermann Goering’s. Some were destroyed, many were put into warehouses…but a good deal of the art ended up in the Berlin museum for all of the people to see. My grandfather was a curator in that museum.”
He paused, taking a deep breath. “As the war was drawing to a close and the Allies were advancing on Berlin, an order came down to those who worked at the museum to destroy much of the artwork so that our enemies could not get their hands on it. An order of pure spite, to destroy so much beauty…” his face was sad as he said this, his eyes far away.
Jed glanced at Benji. The big man looked just as sad as Heinrich did at the thought of art being destroyed. Personally, Jeddrick was more concerned about how many people had been lost during World War II, but then he’d never been a huge art lover. “Go on,” he said aloud, to encourage Heinrich to continue with his story.
“My grandfather was saddened and horrified by these orders. I know this because I inherited his papers after my mother died. It was among them that I found a journal written by him, detailing his life both before and during the war. He decided to save a few of those precious works if he could, as well as getting his family out of Germany if he could. He saw that the war was going to end, and he wanted my mother and her brothers to be safe from any retaliation. And of course he knew what might happen to a Nazi officer, even one that had only been a museum curator. So he secretly smuggled five paintings out of the museum one night, and took them to a local artist who was…not to put things to finely…an utter hack. He knew that no one would look twice at a Werner Van Pietz painting. He had the artist, for a large sum of monies, paint over the original pieces of art to disguise them. Then he altered the paperwork on those pieces, making it seem as though they had been destroyed as ordered.”
“All right,” Jed said, “So your grandfather had Van Pietz paint over some other paintings. How did they end up in Benji’s granddad’s possession?”
Heinrich grimaced. “That is a story in itself. My grandfather spent months preparing his and his family’s flight from Germany. He intended to go to Argentina with them and the paintings, and at a later date he would ‘discover’ the lost artworks and sell them for a goodly price. He would use that money to keep them on comfort. But someone at the museum became suspicious of him, and turned him in to the Third Reich. Soldiers came for him as he and his family was waiting at the train station, and hauled him away to be thrown into prison as a deserter. He didn’t have time to tell his wife about the paintings, and all of their belongings got left at the station when the soldiers took his family away too. They were released a few hours later, none the wiser about what Hans had left behind on the platform. My grandfather was executed almost immediately, and while my grandmother did get most of their belongings back, a street urchin had already stolen the paintings from the platform and had run away with them. He consequently sold them to an American soldier a few weeks later, when the Allies marched into Berlin to overthrow the Third Reich. I learned of most of this from the journal, and I visited Van Pietz’s granddaughter to see if he had claimed possession of those paintings. I did not know about the street urchin at that time. But finding that he had not, I did some extensive research and realized what had actually become of the paintings, and who now owned them. That is when I came to America to try to retrieve the paintings from him,” he looked at Benji significantly.
Jed frowned. “Why didn’t you just try to buy the paintings?” he asked. “Why go to all of these lengths to get them?”
Heinrich shrugged. “Because his mother,” he nodded at Benji, “Informed me that the paintings had sentimental value to her son, and that he would not sell them to me.”
“Okkayy, that covers most of the back story. But here’s the big question – why do you want these paintings so badly? Are they valuable or something?” Jed asked.
Heinrich began to laugh in a croaking sort of way. “Valuable? More like priceless!” he cried. “Three of the paintings are of moderate value only, but two of them…two of them are worth a king’s ransom. Those two…are Caravaggios.”
Benji’s shocked gasp made Jed glance over at him. The artist had gone rather pale, and his eyes were wide. “Cara-CARAVAGGIOS?!” he exclaimed.
“Uh, Benji…” Jed said. When the artist finally looked at him, he lifted a brow questioningly. “Caravaggios?” he repeated.
Benji pulled himself together visibly. “Michelangelo da Caravaggio was one of the most influential painters of all time, Jed,” he explained, his voice shaking. “His work with chiaroscuro and his radical naturalism made him the father of modern art. Everybody imitated him, and there was even a school of art that called themselves the Caravaggisti or Caravaguesques…”
“Benji,” Jed interrupted him gently, seeing that he’d probably go on enthusiastically all night if somebody didn’t forestall him, “None of that means much to me. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jed, I’m sorry,” Benji said. “I forget that you don’t know much about art. But I’d love to show you some of his works later on…”
“And I’d love to see them,” Jed replied easily. “But for now, we need to get back to the subject at hand. I take it that those paintings are worth some money?”
“Lots and lots of money,” Benji told him.
Jed glanced at Heinrich. “So that’s why you wanted them? Because they’re worth lots of money?”
Heinrich’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Their value on the art market would be enormous,” he said tightly. “And the art market has been depressed because of the hard economic times. I was about to lose my gallery and my entire business. I would do anything that I had to to get my hands on those paintings. I could have sold them to a collector, and no one would have been the wiser about their existence except for the person that bought them for his collection. I was not going to let some bourgeois artist get in my way. One of those paintings, Saint Matthew and the Angel, is valued at one hundred million dollars! That is what it would be worth today if it still existed…and I could have sold it to a collector for about half of that price. Fifty million dollars for one painting. I could have gotten at least twenty for the other. I would have been rich enough to become an art collector myself, if only on a smaller scale. That is why I wanted those paintings so badly.”
Jed just stood there for a moment with his mouth open, trying to take in the fact that the paintings that Benji had inherited from his grandfather were worth over a hundred million dollars – and that just for two of the five. Jesus! He’d heard of people killing other people for much smaller sums than that. No wonder Heinrich Hulz had been so desperate to get his hands on all of them. He had no way of telling which the really valuable ones were, and which were only moderately valuable. Mystery solved.
He pulled out his cell phone with one hand and flipped it open. The Sheriff wouldn’t be too happy with him for leaving the hospital and going to Benji’s place, but he’d tell his boss that he just meant to come along to protect Benji – that he’d really had NO idea that these German guys would try to attack them. Of course he wouldn’t believe that, but he’d let it fly because he’d understand. And that’s what would end up in the official report, so he wouldn’t lose his job over this. Not that that mattered – to protect Benji, he would gladly have given up his job.
He called in to work and informed them that he’d captured two criminals at Benji’s cabin. His call caused much excitement, and the Sheriff himself showed up among the group that came to collect the sullen Heinrich and his silent confederate. Jed got read the riot act, just as he expected, but he took it without flinching. He knew he deserved it, after all.
After his tongue lashing by his irate boss, Jed stood in the living room of the cabin as Heinrich and his hired thug were led away in cuffs. He turned to look at Benji, who had been mostly silent(except for the statement that he’d given the deputies about what had happened tonight, which had not included their coming up with a plan to draw the two Germans out deliberately) for the last hour or so. He studied the artist in concern. “You okay, Benji?” he asked, stepping toward the bigger man as he spoke.
Benji roused himself out of whatever trance he had been in. “Yes, I’m all right, Jed,” he said softly. “I just…I can’t take this in! Granddad’s paintings…there’s actually two lost Caravaggios under them! This is like a Christian finding out that the cheap vase they bought at a yard sale is actually the Holy Grail.” His voice was reverent, and Jed fought back a smile at how cute he was.
“So you’re the owner of a painting worth a hundred million dollars,” Jed mused.
“No, I’m not,” Benji replied firmly, shaking his head. “Those paintings belong to the museums and collections that they were originally stolen from. I’m going to have them restored and give them back. I couldn’t keep stolen art,” he added with a grimace, “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Are you sure?” Jed asked him. “That’s a lot of money we’re talking about.”
Benji just stared at him. “A cop advocating that I keep stolen property?” he said after a moment.
Jed winced. “Ouch, you have a point. But what about your granddad’s paintings? If they strip those off, they’ll be lost.”
“I’ll still have pictures of them. Granddad would understand. I know that he’d have done the same thing if he’d known what was under his paintings,” Benji replied seriously.
“So I guess you won’t need protecting anymore,” Jed said, feeling rather down about that fact.
Benji’s face fell. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, sounding wistful.
Jed studied his face intently. “But I could still stay here if you want me to,” he said slowly. “If you don’t feel safe, that is.”
Benji perked up, his eyes glowing at this suggestion. “I’d like that, Jed,” he said shyly, looking down into the deputy’s eyes as he spoke.
Jed smiled. Then he reached up to pull Benji’s mouth to his own, and just before their lips met he whispered: “Me too, Benji. Me too.”
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