After a series of phone calls, Charlie handed the phone back to Alan. "Charlie, that sounded as complicated as planning the D-Day invasion."

"Not quite that bad," Charlie chuckled. "I just have to get my computer across town, not across the ocean."

"So," Don said, "what do you have in mind, Chuck? I assume you're not planning on playing Freecell."

"Not hardly. I was thinking about the problem you're having with Ellen Davis's murder. I obviously missed something in my network analysis. Assuming that Felicia is running this thing, I think she would have trusted Ellen. So if we assume that Felicia didn't have her killed, someone else did. I'm going to go through her other connections and see what I can find."

"How are you going to do that with a bum arm?" Alan asked.

Charlie flexed the fingers on his right hand carefully, grimacing. "I think I can type as long as I don't move my arm too much. And Amita's picking up my computer from Liz and bringing it here. She said she could stay a while and help."

Don nodded. "David's having the techs go over everything that was found where they found Ellen's body. And he's pressuring the school to get him a list of any students who have had contact with the Agincourt brothers in the past fifteen years. Maybe we can help David finish this thing up after all."

Alan shook his head. "Why can't the two of you just rest and recuperate like ordinary human beings?"

Charlie shrugged and grimaced. "Maybe because you and Mom raised us to be extraordinary human beings?"

"Well, this ordinary human being needs to get some breakfast. Can I trust the two of you to stay in bed while I'm gone?"

"No, Dad," Don said, "The minute you leave we're going to have wheelchair races in the hallway."

Alan scowled and ruffled Don's hair. "Wait'll I get back. I want to see that."

When Alan returned, both boys were still in bed, but Charlie was working clumsily on his laptop with Amita sitting on the bed next to him, watching over his shoulder. Don was on the phone. Alan noticed Don had reclined his bed and was rubbing his eyes wearily.

Amita looked up, smiling as Alan entered. "Hi," she said. "I tried to get him to let me do the typing, but you know how stubborn he can be."

"Oh, I know," Alan said, sitting next to Don. He rested his hand on his son's shoulder. When Don looked up, Alan whispered, "Everything okay?"

Don nodded and said into the phone, "Okay, thanks for keeping me updated, David. Call me when you know anything more, okay? And I'll call you if – when – Charlie comes up with something."

"If?" Charlie said when Don had finished his call. "IF?!"

"Sorry, Buddy. Must be the painkillers affecting my brain. I did correct myself."

"Okay, I'll let you get away with it this time. What'd David have to say?"

"Wait," Alan said, "before you two – three – get going, let me ask one thing. Donnie, are you feeling okay? You're looking a little peaked, Son."

"I'm fine, Dad. Just a little tired, that's all. If it gets to be too much, I'll stop and take a nap, okay?"

"Yeah, right," Alan said. "Well, I'm staying here to make sure you two don't overdo."

Charlie gave Alan an annoyed look. "Come on, Dad. Don, what did David say?"

"The Van Gogh turned up."

"What?" Charlie said, sitting up abruptly. He winced and grabbed his arm. "Ow. The Van Gogh turned up? Where?"

Don grinned. "You're not going to believe this. A guy who owns a pawn shop in one of the worst neighborhoods in LA called the LAPD. Some kid showed up, claiming the Van Gogh was a really old copy from his grandma's attic. The pawn shop clerk gave him 200. The owner recognized the painting the moment he saw it."

"A kid? How old of a kid? Was there a security camera?"

"I don't know. David, Maggie and Ben are on the way to see the pawn broker and pick up the painting. He's going to call me when he knows more."

Charlie sat back, rubbing his arm. "This might be the break we need. If we can find out who the kid at the pawn shop was, maybe we can find Ellen's murderer."

Amita pulled the laptop closer to her. "If I do this, we can isolate anything we already have about Ellen Davis," she said as she tapped on the keyboard. "There. Now when David calls Don with his information, we can just add it here."

Alan cleared his throat. "Uh, may the mother hen make a suggestion here?"

Charlie and Don exchanged glances and then turned to face their father. "Sure," Don said.

"The two of you are tired and sore. When you get the call from David, you're going to want to be at your best, right?" He waited for their nods, and then continued, "So why don't you take a nap until that call comes?"

Charlie started to object, but Don interrupted. "Sounds like a great idea, Dad. But if I could make a suggestion, you need to get out of here for a while."

"Right. So you two can overtax yourselves and end up having a relapse."

"Dad," Charlie said, "I don't think you can have a relapse from a gunshot wound."

Alan scowled at Charlie. "I know you two. You'd find a way. All right. Amita, are you going to be here for a while?"

She glanced at her watch. "I can stay for three more hours. Is that long enough?"

"It'll have to be. I'm trusting you to..."

"... make sure we don't overdo it," Don and Charlie said in unison.

Amita laughed, "All right. They are making progress, don't you think? I mean, they do say the first step is admitting you have a problem."

--

Ben and Maggie were waiting when David pulled into the driveway, red and blue lights flashing. They climbed into the SUV, Ben in the front seat and Maggie in the back. "Well," Ben said after they'd gotten strapped into their seats and David had backed out of the driveway, "this will make quite the impression on the neighbors."

David chuckled. "At least I didn't turn on the sirens or cuff you."

"Been there, done that," Ben said. "It's an experience I don't care to repeat."

David gave Ben a sideways glance. "And you got security clearance with an arrest on your record?"

"Don't worry. I was framed."

David snickered. "Ah, an art crime, huh?"

Maggie laughed. "As a matter of fact, Ben was arrested for stealing a Monet and replacing it with a forgery. All charges were dropped, by the way, and Ben was a model prisoner for the one night he spent in jail."

"Well, enough of my checkered past," Ben said. "Are we really on our way to pick up the Van Gogh?"

"Looks that way. All we have right now is the word of a pawn broker. That's why I thought of you two. I'm assuming you can tell me whether it's the real thing. I also need your help with transporting it back to the office. I don't want to be responsible for damaging it."

"A pawn broker?" Maggie asked. "The thieves pawned a Van Gogh?"

"We're not sure if it was the thieves. The pawn broker said a kid brought it in, claiming it was a really old copy that belonged to his grandmother. The clerk gave him 200 for it. I'm hoping they can give us a good description."

"If we're really lucky," Ben said, "the pawn shop will have security cameras."

"It would be a wise choice in that particular neighborhood."

Ben had to agree as they pulled up in front of the pawn shop – an neat little oasis in the desert of crumbling buildings and crumbling people. When they stepped onto the sidewalk, Maggie took Ben's hand and held it tightly. They both felt the comfort of being accompanied by an armed federal agent. David led the way and knocked on the locked door. "Mr. Edelman?" He held his badge up to the glass. "I'm Special Agent Sinclair of the FBI."

A short bull of a man approached the door and unlocked the cluster of locks. "Please, come in," he said. "I'm Herman Edelman."

"David Sinclair. This is Dr. Ben Cole and Ms. Maggie Cole. I'd like them to have a look at the painting, if you don't mind."

"I would say I'm pleased to meet you all, but under the circumstances, 'pleased' doesn't seem to be quite the right word." Edelman pulled the door shut and reset the locks. "The painting is in the back room, along with my fool of a clerk. I assumed you would want to speak with him." As they walked toward the back of the store, he said, "I post all of the notices I receive about stolen items. I tell my employees to commit those notices to memory, but most of these kids are just biding their time here until they can get a job at Best Buy."

"Well, Mr. Edelman..."

"Herman. Please call me Herman."

"All right, Herman, I want you to know that we really do appreciate your conscientiousness."

"You're welcome. Down here, in this God-forsaken neighborhood, we depend on the police for our very lives. The least we can do is help you in your investigations. Here we are," Herman said, opening the door, and gesturing toward a sullen teenager seated in front of a massive wooden desk. "Agent Sinclair, this is Clark Fowler. He's the clerk who received this painting," Herman waved in the direction of a small portrait lying on his desk.

Ben and Maggie immediately approached the painting while David stood in front of Clark Fowler. "Good morning, Clark. Why don't you tell me everything that happened from the moment the customer came through the door with this painting?"

With a nervous glance at his boss, the boy took a deep breath. "Well, I was waiting on another customer, and this kid..."

"Can you give me a description? A rough idea of how old this kid was?"

Clark shrugged a skinny shoulder. "I don't really know. He was probably eighteen, maybe nineteen. He was a little taller and heavier than me. Not really fat, just kind of filled out more, you know? He had brown hair. I think his eyes were brown, but I'm not sure. Mr. Edelman?" Clark glanced at his boss. "Have you looked at the recording from the security camera yet?"

Edelman smacked himself in the forehead. "I forgot all about it. Thank you, Clark, for reminding me." Turning to David, he said, "If you don't need me here, I'll go check..."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather wait and go over it with you, after I finish up with Clark."

"That's fine. I'm sorry I didn't think of it earlier. Things have been just a little crazy around here."

"That's okay. So, Clark, what was this kid doing?"

"He just kind of hung around lookin' at stuff until the other customer left. Then he came right over to me and put this thing wrapped up in brown paper on the counter."

"What did the kid say?"

"He said he had this really old copy of a picture and wanted to know how much I could give him for it. He said his grandmother had it for years and gave it to him. I looked it over. It looked old, and I know Mr. Edelman likes antiques, so I took a chance and gave the kid the two hundred dollars. I guess I made a mistake..."

Edelman smiled. "No, Son, you didn't make a mistake at all. You know, I like my employees to take initiative, to try to learn the business. I'm sorry I jumped all over you."

"That's okay, Mr. Edelman. I'm going to start reading those notices you post.. I guess they're not such a waste of time after all."

David chuckled. "Unfortunately a lot of people look at them that way. So what happened after you gave the kid the money?"

"He shoved it in his pocket and said, 'thanks,' then hurried out like he was afraid I was going to change my mind."

"Thank you, Clark," David said. "Herman, why don't we go have a look at the video?"

David stepped back to let Herman lead the way to the CCTV system. He turned to Clark. "Would you mind coming with us?"

Clark shrugged "Sure. Anything I can do to help."

Ben and Maggie were seated at Herman's desk, examining the painting. David paused, resting a hand on Ben's shoulder. "You two going to be okay in here?"

"Hmm?" Ben looked up, surprised. "Oh, yes, right. We'll be fine. By the way, at first glance, this looks like the real thing."

"That's good to hear. I suppose it's too late to ask you to be careful of fingerprints."

"Not at all. I haven't really touched anything other than the edge of the frame. You don't happen to have any gloves with you, do you?"

David reached into his pockets and pulled out a wrinkled pair of latex gloves. "Here you go."

Ben pulled on the gloves. "Thanks. We should be done here in a few minutes. Perhaps we could impose on Mr. Kaplan for some packing materials to protect the painting."

"Gladly," Herman said. "I've got some bubble wrap, and we can probably find a box the right size."

"Thank you," Ben said. "That would be wonderful."

Ben turned back to the painting. He pulled Herman's desk lamp over and bent it to shine on the surface of the canvas. He ran one gloved finger gently over the surface of the painting, feeling Van Gogh's telltale brushstrokes. "It always amazes me," he murmured to Maggie, "that old Vincent always lived hand to mouth, scrimping on materials and even on basic necessities, and yet he slathered the paint on like it was free."

"Well, be grateful he had his priorities in order," Maggie said. "If he scrimped on paint and lived like a king, the art world would be the poorer for it."

"True." Ben picked up the painting by the frame and tilted it, studying the way the light hit the surface. "It's a truly humbling experience to handle such a work of genius. I always feel like I'm in the presence of God."

"Ben! What heresy!"

"No, that's not what I meant," Ben said with a laugh. "God gave Vincent van Gogh an incredible talent. I've dabbled in painting enough to know how exceptional the man was."

"Do you wish he'd given you that kind of talent?"

"Sometimes, yes. But then I remember how unhappy most of the great artists were, and I realize I would not want to give up a single day with you in exchange for being able to paint like Van Gogh."

Maggie kissed Ben on the cheek. "Good answer." She pulled away and nodded at the painting. "So it's the real thing?"

"In my humble opinion, yes. Most definitely." Ben stood. "Did you see where they headed?"

"This place isn't that big. I think we can find them."

Ben and Maggie followed the voices to a small closet of a room just behind the service desk. "There," Clark said, "That's the guy."

Herman paused the video. "I can give you a print if you'd like, Agent Sinclair."

"That would be great. I'm going to need the video too."

"Give me a minute and I'll burn a DVD for you."

"Thanks." David noticed Ben and Maggie. "How's it going with the painting?"

"I'm ninety nine percent sure it's the real thing," Ben said.

"Good. Clark, would you mind helping Dr. Cole wrap up the painting?"

"Sure, Agent Sinclair. Come on," Clark said, leading Ben and Maggie back to Herman's office.

Ben strapped himself into the front passenger's seat, and Maggie placed the box on his lap before climbing into the back seat. "You sure you don't want me to hold it?" she asked, grinning.

"No thank you. This is fine. David, did you want us to come back to the office with you?"

"If you don't mind," David said putting the SUV into gear. "I can have someone drive you home when we're finished."

"So," Ben said, "David, did you recognize the kid on the security recording?"

David pursed his lips and nodded. "I think so. We need to verify it, but I think he's that Spencer kid – the one who attacked Charlie at Cal Sci. The image quality wasn't great, but the techs can clean it up."

"Why not just show it to Charlie?" Maggie asked.

"I could. Knowing him, he's probably got a computer at the hospital."

"Let me give Liz a call and let her know what's going on," David said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing. "Hey, Liz, it's David. We've got the Van Gogh."

Ben was reluctant to leave the Van Gogh in the car, so he carried the box with him. As they approached the front door, Ben said, "Let's hope they don't decide to search us on the way in. I'll be bad enough bringing this through security at the FBI office. I don't want to explain to a hospital security guard what I'm doing."

Maggie shrugged. "Just tell them it's a gift for a patient."

"Strange gift," David said as he walked through the front door.

"Not in our circles," Ben said.

"Really?" David was skeptical. "You guys routinely exchange Van Goghs?"

"Not the real thing, of course, but good quality reproductions are not unheard of," Ben said.

David pushed the elevator call button. "Well, it's a moot question now anyway. We got this far without a problem. Now we just have to get past the nurses on Don and Charlie's floor."

--

Amita sat on Charlie's bed, his laptop on the tray table, and Charlie's head on her lap. Charlie and Don were both sleeping, and Alan was nowhere to be seen. Amita looked up and touched her finger to her lips, "Shhh."

David held up the DVD. "Hey, Amita," he whispered, "maybe you can help me with this. It's security footage from a pawn shop where someone tried pawning the stolen Van Gogh."

"Really?" She held out her hand for the DVD. "This should be interesting."

Charlie stirred and murmured in his sleep, and Amita gently massaged his scalp. "Shhh, Charlie. Go back to sleep." She popped the DVD into the drive.

At the sound of the DVD loading, Charlie's eyes opened. "Hmm? What's that?"

"David brought the video footage from the pawn shop," Amita said softly.

"The kid with the Van Gogh?" Charlie asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Don raised the head of his bed. "Let me see it, Amita."

"Both of you chill. Let me load the video and find the right spot, okay?"

Charlie reached up and played with a tendril of her hair. "Gee, Amita, you don't have to get mad."

"I'm not mad. You two just have to learn some patience."

Don chuckled. "If you'd hurry up, we wouldn't have to."

David leaned over and watched the black and white image on the screen. "There. That kid with the box. He just came in the door."

Amita zoomed in and tinkered with the image quality. When she was done, Charlie gasped. "It's Greg Spencer."