“Let’s just say the regime was unstable and a lot of looting was going on. And that’s all you’ll get out of me.”

Decker knew when to push and when to move on. “I know you don’t recognize the names of the victims. Could I show you pictures? Maybe they used different names.”

A sigh. “Why not?”

“This is Angeline Moreau,” Decker told him. “She was an art major at Littleton College. She made frequent trips to the Boston area as well as trips to New York City.”

Goddard barely gave the photo a glance. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

“Okay.” Decker wondered why people made statements like that. How do you know everyone you have or haven’t seen? “What about John Latham?”

It took Goddard even less time to blow Decker off. “I’ve never seen him, either.”

The man was reaching the end of his tether. Decker said, “And you’re sure you’ve never had any contacts—”

“I don’t know them, sir, and I’ve certainly never dealt with them. Is there anything else?”

McAdams said, “Would you mind if we took a look around the gallery?”

“Whatever for?”

“How can I tell my dad about you if I don’t know what you have?”

“Oh . . . yes, of course. I’m sorry if I seem so rude. All this nonsense and rumors with New York has stirred up old memories. It was a bad time for me.”

McAdams said, “Fortis in arduis.”

“Isn’t that the truth!” Goddard sat down at his desk. “Of course, take a look around. And I won’t hover. I’ll be doing paperwork if you have questions. If not, please enjoy.”

The two men left his tiny office and began perusing the inventory. Goddard had everything in no particular order. Some of it was displayed, some of it seemed incidental. There was furniture, paintings, silver, porcelain, old lamps and lighting fixtures hanging from the ceilings, carpets on the pine floors. There were sets of china, antique linens, vintage cookware, and fireplace accoutrements. Shelves and racks and rows of curios were stuffed into every nook and cranny. Decker said, “Do you know anything about antiques?”

“Only to say that this is pretty standard stuff: eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European. Not the right place to fence Tiffany.” McAdams picked up a Rosenthal cobalt platter.

Decker pointed to the wall. He whispered, “Framed antique map.”

“I noticed.” The kid put the platter down. “Also antique plant prints.”

The men continued to hunt around. McAdams whispered, “I was using phrases from the notebook by the way.”

“I gathered that.”

“Tried to work them in as seamlessly as possible.”

They regarded a shelf of silver. Decker said, “Go tell him good-bye and I’ll meet you outside. He likes you better than he likes me.”

McAdams smiled. “Must be my charm.”