by Ritter Ames
I smiled. He was so predictable.
My baton needed a holder of some kind, to keep it on my person until I needed it. In a few minutes, I’d taken a belt and fashioned a kind of garter-holster, returned the baton to its smallest size, and strapped it in the holder. I slipped the black dress over my head to determine if any sign of the weapon could be detected when I stared in the full-length mirror.
It looked okay, but not good enough. Digging around in my luggage, I looked for any kind of clutch purse. Down deep, I found a royal blue silk-covered bag barely bigger than the baton. It would have to do. I prayed I would know the doorman for the night and could talk my way inside without being wanded.
Twenty
Jack was ready to go when the desk called to say our car had arrived. We hadn’t had any time to talk, but I figured telling about my late-afternoon chat would wind him up to give me a lecture anyway. Putting off a recap of the Moran interview was fine with me.
At the last minute, I removed my mother’s bracelets from the clamshell case in the Fendi and added the glittery bangles to my right wrist. I hoped they brought me luck, and not just at the blackjack tables. I put on my coat in the elevator, then straightened Jack’s tie.
“Is it okay?” he asked. “I did it without looking.”
“Let me wrangle the knot a little,” I said. “There.” I patted the tie against his chest, looked up, and smiled. “Perfect.”
“You clean up well too,” he said, returning the smile. “Did you find something to read?”
I stopped myself a millisecond before I chewed my lower lip. “No, I made some lists. Trying to put everything in perspective.”
“Good idea. We probably need to compare notes again.”
In the car. I’d tell him in the car, I thought. Maybe I’d hold the baton while I told him.
Our driver pulled smoothly away from the curb. Well, as smoothly as one can on a cobblestone road. It was time to face the inquisition. “Jack, I—”
His phone rang and gave me a reprieve.
“It’s the detective in New York.”
“By all means, get it. We can talk later.”
“Yeah, Shultz, thanks for calling me back,” he launched the conversation. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a little.
The conversation ended as the car pulled up to the casino portico. What I’d heard of the exchange revolved around cop shoptalk, and factoring in the wide time zone differences between here and New York to allow Jack to talk to the retired detective.
“Did you catch any of that?” he asked. He stepped from the car and reached back to help me out.
“Enough. It sounded promising.”
“I’m almost wondering if it would be worth a field trip. If I can see all the files.” He returned his phone to the inside pocket of his suit coat. The walk had been swept of snow and ice but remained slick in spots. Jack offered his arm, and I put one hand through the crook of his elbow and wrapped the other around his forearm. I used my upper right arm to clamp the shiny blue clutch tight by my side.
We walked along the portico, fairy lights shining in the gables. Friezes of Grecian gentry decorated the space above the entrance. I recognized Triesa at the door talking to one of the guards as we approached. She was dressed elegantly in winter white. “Triesa,” I called and waved.
“Is it really you, Laurel Beacham?” She laughed and clapped and scampered our way. “You haven’t been here in months. We’ve missed you!”
Triesa was a former blackjack dealer who worked her way up to a general manager position, or whatever they call the level in German. She was originally from Paris, but had settled into the resort area nicely. I’d always gone to the sultry brunette’s table whenever I came to play. Nowadays, I made sure I went by her office to visit before I left each time.
“Work,” I said in explanation. “I was supposed to get a vacation in September, and I couldn’t even break away long enough.”
“You should have come here. We would have hidden you away.”
My hope for tonight. Aloud I said, “We wanted to break away for the evening. For some fun.” I patted Jack’s arm and smiled up at him to be sure he was playing along. I needn’t have worried. Jack introduced himself in French, speaking in one of his amazing accents—this time full Parisian—and had Triesa charmed in no time.
“Come, it’s cold here,” she said. “We’ll get inside quickly.”
Things looked promising. She bypassed the line in and waved for us to follow, hugging the wall and avoiding any security procedure. We got our coats checked, and she introduced us to the “gatekeeper” who subtly checked names, faces, and apparel choices before visitors received permission to grace the gaming area. Jack’s suit and tie easily passed muster, as did my dress, though my nearly bare arms did miss my coat.
“Bernard, make sure they are well taken care of,” Triesa said.
“Always,” he replied, stepping back to allow the three of us to enter.
Triesa put a hand on my arm. “I must go back to the door. I am waiting for someone else to arrive. You look cold. Can I send down a wrap from my office?”
“That would be fabulous.”
She gazed at each of us in turn. “You’ll be at blackjack.”
Jack nodded, and I said, “You know my game.”
Triesa walked away. Jack and I entered the opulence.
Built in the 1850s and designed along the lines of the palace of Versailles, the casino immediately gave the feeling of stepping back into the French courts of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. I just hoped our mission tonight wasn’t as doomed as their reign. Ceilings in the gaming room were several stories high, with luxurious wallpaper covering the lower eight or ten feet, and the plaster and paint beyond showcasing the gilded trim work detail. Carved doorways and entry arches let a steady flow of gamblers choose their games and level of risk. The chandeliers always took my breath away. Crystal and brass, almost dripping light, and looking as if they could rain down diamonds. No wonder Marlene Dietrich called Baden-Baden the most beautiful casino in the world. It was also a favorite of Kaiser Wilhelm I and Russian author Dostoyevsky.
We strolled by black and red roulette wheels framed by highly polished wood, and watched players at tables alternately sit stoically by what was left of their winnings or fiddle nervously with the chips. Everywhere was the sound of clicking chips, spinning roulette wheels, and the swish of cards dealt for blackjack. The air felt electric. What I loved about Baden-Baden was the way the crowd was made up of more middle-class than at Monaco. People came to have fun with friends, dress up, and pretend to be a royal. Given the odds favored the house, this made the experience more palatable to me.
As we arrived at a blackjack table, a casino employee in a dark suit walked up with a cream-colored wrap in his hand. “From Triesa,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, immediately settling it over my shoulders. He gave a respectful nod and left. I would have asked how he knew who I was, but Triesa was always good with description, and security cameras had our picture dozens of times over.
Jack carried my phone in a pocket so we could leave it on vibrate. Minutes after we had our chips and settled into chairs, he was handing the cell back to me. Ralf’s name appeared on the screen. I pushed my chips Jack’s way. “Stay here. I’ll find out where he wants to meet and be right back.”
I hurried away before he could argue.
“Hi, we’re in the casino playing blackjack,” I said in way of greeting. Actually, I was on the far wall trying to catch a little privacy, but the neighborhood was the same.
“Do you know the back meeting rooms?” Ralf asked.
“Yes.”
“Meet me in the second one as soon as you can get away without being noticed.”
Quite an optimistic statement when we were in a
casino with top industry security and cameras covering every square inch.
Seconds later, I had Jack up to speed. He finished his current hand, then tipped the dealer a chip and scooped up the rest to follow me.
We chose a circuitous route, and I stopped to greet a couple of friends I noticed along the way. The meeting rooms weren’t restricted, but I understood Ralf’s concerns and wanted to move cagily but without creating suspicion.
We entered the paneled hallway to the meeting rooms just as another man was leaving. I knew Jack would memorize his features and didn’t bother trying. I turned the doorknob of the second room and poked my head in to make sure I had the right one. Ralf pulled the door open when he saw me.
“Come in, come in.”
He looked as rail-thin as ever, and his impish face made me automatically smile. I always wondered how many times his grin got him out of tight spots. He was not dressed in a suit and tie, but he was in basic black. There was no way he came in through the front entrance.
“Moonlighting in a second job?” I quipped after he’d closed the door behind Jack.
He grinned and held out a hand. “Ralf Burkhard. You must be Jack Hawkes.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, but only said, “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Someone has been doing his homework,” I said.
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same,” he replied, directing his grin at me to take any sting out of the response.
We clustered around the table near the outer wall, our conversation pitched low to reduce the risk of being overheard by the adjacent rooms.
“We’re so sorry about your cousin’s death,” I said.
“Tell me what I can do to help,” Ralf started the conversation. “My cousin was young and stupid due to immaturity and probably greed. But he should not be dead.”
“We need to know about any jobs he did that sounded a bit off,” I explained. “Did Nico tell you—”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I think I know. He was commissioned to do five abstracts for a new client. Ermo Colle.”
“Five different paintings? Or—”
“No. The same one five times.”
“Was he told to add a forger’s mark?” I asked.
He nodded. “On four, yes. We talked about it—laughed at the client’s request—and tried to figure out why four and not all. Or any.”
“What did the forger’s mark look like?” Jack asked.
Ralf flipped out a notecard resting under one of his hands. “Like this.”
“Can we have this?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
It was a new brand we hadn’t researched yet. I snapped a picture of it with my phone. “I’m sending this to Nico. He can check it out while they’re working the other avenue.”
“We have access to the official files on your cousin’s death,” Jack said, without elaborating further. “Is there anything you know unofficially to help us do what we need to do and possibly identify your cousin’s killer?”
Ralf shook his head, making his hands into fists on the table. I could feel his frustration when he said, “My cousin was a brilliant artist, but too young to spot when he was being used. I’ve heard many stories about forgers who’ve met his same fate in the past couple of years. I cannot prove this Ermo Colle is behind all of them.” He covered his heart with his right hand. “I know here.”
“We agree with you unequivocally,” Jack said. “The organization comes up clean at every turn, as does every person connected to it. We need something to use—”
“There are many layers,” Ralf said, his hands fisted again.
“Yes, and the fact each layer is impenetrable simply heightens our suspicions. We have people who know people, but we don’t have a primary source witness who has actually worked for Ermo Colle and can tell about it.”
“Like my cousin.”
“Exactly.”
Ralf dropped his head down for a moment to rest on his fists, then he pushed off from the tabletop to stand and pace his side of the table. He was never a mellow person, but I couldn’t remember seeing him wound so tightly. His belief, of course, was one we’d already suspected. After talking to Moran, however, I was more convinced. The old man didn’t give me proof and a description, but if I knew anything after pursuing him all these years, I knew he had his finger on the pulse of the criminal underground. The murders may not have tagged back directly with anyone affiliated with Ermo Colle, but there was a connection.
“Can you give us a description of someone in the Colle organization you suspect?” Jack asked.
“Better. You can see the head man here, tonight. At least it is rumored he will be here. The casino has been preparing for his arrival. To them he is a big businessman with lots of money. They haven’t yet seen past the mask.”
I thought back to Triesa’s attendance at the front door. “This is a good idea, Ralf. We should be able to spot him without giving away our interest.”
He rose from his chair and motioned it was time to leave. “You can go first. I’ll slip out afterward.”
And no one will see you go. I wondered if he’d depart via a window or a more unconventional route.
The guys shook hands again. Ralf kissed my cheek, and I grasped his hands. They were much warmer than mine. “Be careful.”
“Exactly what I was going to tell you.”
We were soon down the hall and back in the gaming area.
As we walked, I spoke, “We need to find—”
“Triesa’s whale,” Jack finished.
“I wonder if he’s here because of us or if it’s a coincidence.”
“Do you think the people watching us worked for him?”
Past time to tell about my meeting with Moran. I motioned Jack to follow me to a quiet corner and offered a quick but thorough rundown of what happened earlier in the hotel lounge. His face grew darker with every sentence.
“Why the bloody hell did you meet him alone?” Jack’s rage was quiet, but his gaze felt lethal.
“I thought it was Ralf. I told you, I texted Ralf the name of our hotel.”
“When you saw him, you should have—”
“I didn’t know it was him until I was halfway into the room. He looked German. And nice.”
Jack blew out a breath. “You said he looked French and nice the last time.”
“He did. He looks different and the same every time.”
For several seconds, all I got was a steady glare. Finally, he said, “You should have told me right away.”
“You were in the shower when I got back.”
“You could have told me while I was eating or dressing.”
“We needed to hurry.” Frustrated, I raised my hands halfway in the air, palms up. “I was going to tell you in the car, but you stopped me to take the detective’s call. Then we were here and Triesa came up and got us inside so quickly, and we needed to play a little to build our cover, and Ralf called. This is the first opportunity, dammit.”
“Not really, but—”
“At least I didn’t go to Rome and call you,” I finished.
We glared at one another for a minute, and I realized we each had hands on our hips and our faces were only about an inch apart. I relaxed and stepped back, hoping security would believe it was a domestic squabble and pay no more attention to us. Jack obviously assumed the same and offered his arm. We resumed playing congenial date night.
“He told you he only had one person at a time following us?” he asked.
“Yes. He implied the other watchers were from Ermo Colle, but he didn’t say definitively. Are we good?”
“Yes, okay,” he said. “But it’s really not the same.”
The man always had to try for the last word.
“It’
s exactly the same,” I said. Emotion made me huff a little before I plastered on a fake smile to display to the room. “The only difference is I had the information this time. Not you.”
“As long as we’re clear—”
“Shut up, Jack.”
Twenty-One
Spotting Triesa’s whale was easy enough. The crowd around the roulette wheel applauding over the high-stakes bets and wins steered us in the right direction. She was still with Colle but trying to leave. He was a distinguished-looking man in his early sixties with a marvelous head of blond hair that didn’t look like it came from the salon, though it obviously had.
We snagged spots near one side of the wheel, and Triesa noticed me as she walked away. She sidetracked. “You look warmer,” she said, laying a hand on my wrap-covered arm. “More comfortable.”
“No one takes care of people better than you, Triesa. Thank you.”
“If I don’t see you again before you leave, please come back soon,” she said. “We miss you.”
We shared a quick hug and she disappeared in the crowd.
“Anything?” I asked Jack.
“Not yet.”
He turned so his back was to the table and I could take over momentarily. I watched Colle, but stayed hidden by the bystanders who stood two-deep behind each of the players. Colle didn’t look my way, and he seemed to have his own posse surrounding him. I wondered again about what Moran did and didn’t say. If the old con man had actually been playing fox in the hen house.
Jack turned back around, set a few chips on the table, and placed a bet on black. I kept my place a little behind him to see the table and most of the participants. The ball landed on red. Colle won. Everyone cheered. Jack shoved another chip onto thirty-two. Colle put a pile on three. Cheers rose up again when the single digit nailed the prize. I noticed the person standing next to our croupier and nearly swallowed my tongue. It was the schoolgirl all grown up.
I squeezed in beside Jack and gave him a sharp nudge, angling to give my back to her and hide both our faces. “See who’s playing groupie to the croupier?”