Hunter's Rain

by Julian Jay Savarin

  “But then,” he went on suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown, “you began investigating in areas they did not like. Worse, you began investigating the death of your parents. They knew then, you might stumble across a can of worms. They could not understand how you managed to start in the first place. You know,” Vogel continued, wandering off again, “I had this place built for my wife and…and I, so we could have a wonderful place to spend our winter years. But she died. No children. So I am alone here…” Vogel stopped, and changed tack again.

  “I told them you would not give up. I’d studied your cases from the very beginning. You were unorthodox, I told them. Unpredictable, and good with it. All very bad news for them. I told them. I told them it had all been a mistake. But they would not, will not listen. Stakes too high. Now the colonel…”

  “Herr Vogel. I must interrupt. You speak of ‘they’ and ‘them’. Do you mean The Semper?”

  Vogel jerked as if hit by a bolt of lightning. If he had been agitated before, he was now terrified.

  “You know?” It was a whisper of horror. “To know this means you know even more than they dared suspect. It means you know people who…” Vogel stopped again. “I’m finished,” he said quietly. It was almost with relief.

  Suddenly, before they realised what was happening, Vogel set off at a run for the villa. His speed was unexpected and by the time they had begun to chase after him, he had already entered the building.

  “Herr Vogel!” Müller called. “The phone!” he added to Carey Bloomfield. “He’s going for a phone, damn it!”

  But Vogel was not heading for a phone. By the time they had entered the villa, they heard a door slam somewhere above their heads. A short while later, a sharp bang followed. Both knew exactly what had happened.

  “Shot!” the said together, and raced up the winding staircase.

  “Touch nothing!” Müller cautioned.

  “I won’t.”

  Müller pulled a pair of cotton gloves out of a pocket, and put them on.

  They split to check the four bedrooms on the first floor. Müller also gave a sweeping glance in each room he searched, to check in passing for security cameras; but this was in effect far too rudimentary to spot anything hidden, given the pressure of time.

  “Nothing,” Carey Bloomfield said as they met up again on a central landing.

  “Same here,” Müller said, looking upwards. “Did you spot any security cameras?”

  “Nothing in the open. Could be some hidden stuff around, though.”

  “If so, we’re on camera.”

  A straight flight of stairs, built against a wall, led up to the attic floor. They went up cautiously and just as cautiously, Müller turned the handle of the door at its end.

  The door was not locked.

  He pushed it open with care. He need not have bothered. In the vast study, lined with packed bookshelves, was a large desk that faced the French windows with a fantastic view of the lake. At the desk, was a crazily slumped Vogel, body leaning to the left, in response to the single shot to the right side of what was left of the head. The gun he had used had fallen out of his hand and onto the floor near the desk.

  Müller entered, followed by Carey Bloomfield. Again, there were no signs of any security cameras.

  “You’ve got a great effect on people, Müller,” she said as they walked up to the desk.

  Carey Bloomfield averted her eyes from the mess, and looked out of the French windows.

  “At least, he got a last look at a great view.”

  Müller walked slowly round the desk, studying Vogel’s body as he did so. “I can’t say I feel sorry,” he said.

  “I’d be surprised if you did.”

  “See if there’s anything hidden in here.”

  “Like bugs, or cameras?”

  Müller nodded.

  “This could take some time to do properly,” she said.

  “We don’t have it. Do the best you can, but don’t touch.”

  “Hey, Müller. I’m no bimbo.”

  “No offence meant.”

  Obeying his own instructions, Müller touched nothing as he worked his way round the desk.

  “I did not get as much out of him as I’d hoped;” he said. “But perhaps more than expected, under the circumstances.” He looked down at the gun. “Makarov, DDR model. Interesting gun for a then West Berlin editor. We should leave,” he added. “Now.”

  “You’ve seen something?”

  “No. But I don’t have a good feeling.”

  “Then you don’t have to tell me twice,” Carey Bloomfield said, hurrying out of the study.

  Müller followed, closing the door quietly. He removed the gloves on the way down, and put them back into his pocket.

  “Did you touch anything?” he asked when they were again outside. “A door, a bed. Anything.”

  She shook her head. “I made sure.”

  “Good.”

  He got out his mobile as they walked back to the car. It rang.

  “Bound to be Pappi,” he said to her. “Nice timing, Pappi. I was just about to call you.”

  “Great minds,” Pappenheim said. “Tried the car. Assumed you were on walkabout. You first? Or me first?” Pappenheim paused and the sound of a long drag came down the connection. “You first, I think. You’ll need to be sitting down for what I’ve got to say.”

  “That bad?”

  “Not good.”

  Müller took a few seconds before saying, “Alright. Here’s mine. We’re just leaving the second home of the first person on my list...“

  “As supplied today?”

  “As supplied.”

  “And?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “You do have an effect on people.”

  “Someone’s already beaten you to that observation, Pappi.”

  “I’ll take three guesses. It will be the same person. So how did person one get dead? You?”

  “The body did it.”

  “Now you frighten them to death. Shame on you.”

  “I’ll ignore that but yes, he was indeed very frightened; but not of me specifically. More of what’s behind my visit.”

  “Well, I’ve got some scary stuff for you too. I take it you want the usual clean-up squad?”

  “I do. Discreet. And nothing’s been touched.”

  “Are you still within Berlin jurisdiction?”

  “Yes. It’s Wannsee…”

  “You must love that place.” Pappenheim began to sing, “nix wie raus…“

  “Pappi!”

  “Just bringing a little cheer. You’ll need it. I’ll put our Tuscan German, Max Gatto’s team on it.

  “Max the Cat. Good choice. He knows his stuff. Tell him to check the place for surveillance gear. I’ve got a feeling about this.”

  “There are feelings, and then there are feelings. One thing…Max and his team can’t get down right away.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s giving a talk on surveillance techniques to some VIPs.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Don’t look at me. It was something planned by the Great White some time ago. One of his mad PR exercises. No one could have guessed you would need Max today.”

  “God,” Müller said in frustration. “How long is this ‘talk’ supposed to last?”

  “He won’t be out of there for another hour. At the very least.”

  “This is just great. Alright. Get the local colleagues. Ask them to spare two people to watch the villa and ensure no one goes in till the team arrives. This includes the watchers. I don’t want them wandering about in there. They are to remain outside, and wait for the team.”

  “Will do. I know someone down there who can set it up.”

  “Of course you do, Pappi,” Müller said with one of his brief smiles. “I’ll only be surprised the day you tell me you didn’t know someone, somewhere.”

  “You know me too well. Details of the location?”

  Müller told
him, then went on, “Now your news.”

  “Are you sitting down now? And where’s your companion?”

  “I’m walking, and she’s a little distance way.”

  “She’s in trouble.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Adams is dead, and she’s the number one suspect.”

  “What? Dead? How?”

  “I’ll take the last question first, and work back. The how is still unknown. My contact only just got it. I didn’t believe it, so ran a corroborative check with the beacon. You remember the beacon.”

  “I remember the beacon. And?”

  “And lo, there was a message waiting. Prophecy…”

  “Prior knowledge?”

  “Definitely. It seems that your friend was to be set-up for the killing. Next answer…yes, he is really dead. As to the ‘what’, my reaction too. Nice sequence of events, eh? Someone tries to give her an early send-off, now this. Plus your stiff in his villa. What a day, so far, eh?” The sound of Pappenheim’s long drag came again. “So, my fine friend, the hornets are buzzing. You’re poking close to the centre of the nest, it seems.”

  “Closer than I thought. You should have seen the fear on Vogel’s face. Terror, would be more appropriate. He made some strange comments that made no sense. About a colonel…”

  “You’ve got her right next to you.”

  “That’s the point. He was talking of someone else. He was surprised it was a woman. He was thinking of a man.”

  “Hmm,” Pappenheim said. “She gets the blame for someone else’s little undertaker job. So what happens? Her lot begin hunting her. Better than doing the job themselves. They get the result, without the blame. They must obviously have thought the better of that clumsy episode this morning.”

  “Someone, somewhere, stepped in with a smarter plan…”

  “And tougher for you. Cunning. I like it.”

  “Thanks, Pappi.” Müller remarked drily.

  “Don’t mention it. Where are you off to now? Or mustn’t I know?”

  Müller had reached the car, and looked round to see Carey Bloomfield hanging back to give him privacy. He made urging motions that she should get in, then moved slightly away to continue the conversation with Pappenheim.

  “Off to my Aunt’s, but you don’t know. Then it’s on to do some Alpine work, which… ”

  “I don’t know about, either. I know so little, it really hurts.”

  “Let me know when more comes in on that Adams thing.”

  “Will do. And Jens…”

  “Yes?”

  “It really is a set-up. I don’t think she did it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “That’s a relief,” Pappenheim said.

  “Of course, we could be wrong. She was not a happy person when she saw him with that crowd.”

  “We’re not wrong.”

  “And you were so sceptical of her, once.”

  “Things change. Times change. People change.”

  “As always. Later, Pappi.”

  Müller put his phone away, and got back into the car.

  “That was a long one,” Carey Bloomfield said to him. “Trouble?”

  “I was arranging with Pappi to have Vogel’s body taken care of. And yes, we’ve got trouble.”

  “We?”

  “You, to be precise.”

  She stared at him. “Me?”

  “Adams is dead.”

  She gave shocked gasp, mouth hanging open for long moments.

  “Oh Jesus!” she said after a while, echoing the comment made by Roberts when he’d found Adams’ body. “But…but how? He was alive when I left him!”

  Müller started the car, and began to drive off. “Pappi got a call from one of his contacts. It’s a set-up. Someone else did the killing, and you’re being framed for it. Pappi decided to double-check. As you know, Grogan always leaves little encrypted messages on the Rogues Gallery computer, from time to time. One about you was already there when Pappi asked the Goth to check.

  “It was predictive. It said Adams would be killed, and you would be blamed. Someone’s after your scalp...perhaps to get to me; perhaps not. Pappi believes it’s a smarter variation of what they tried to do to you earlier. This way, they get your own people do the job. I happen to agree. The baffling thing, is Vogel’s reaction to you. He talked about a colonel but clearly, he did not mean you.”

  Carey Bloomfield was staring unseeingly at the road ahead. “They killed Adams,” she said, after a long while. “Why? Why kill one of their own, even if to get me? He was important. It’s so…wasteful.”

  “Perhaps he annoyed someone.”

  “Drastic response.”

  “Who knows with people? The important thing right now is to hope that your people don’t jump to the wrong conclusions, and do some thinking first. In the meantime, you stick with me.”

  She gave a weak smile. “Protective, Müller?”

  “Ohh…you’re quite capable of protecting yourself.”

  “It’s okay, Müller. I won’t think you’ve gone soft all of a sudden. But thanks. And thanks for not believing I took Adams out.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She suddenly stiffened. “That’s it!”

  He gave her a quick glance. “What is?”

  “What you just said.” She was genuinely exercised by whatever it was that had caused the reaction.

  “Do you mean ‘you’re welcome’?” Müller gave her another glance, this time of uncertainty.

  “Yes! The bimbo.”

  “What bimbo?”

  “The diet-freak of a blonde bimbo in Toby Adams’ office.”

  “I can tell you liked her.”

  “She’s a stinker. Take my word for it.”

  “What’s that sound?”

  “What sound?”

  “The unsheathing of claws.” Müller grinned.

  “You should have seen her, Müller. I get there, she’s at the reception desk, looking as if she’s only slumming it until a film producer discovers her. Right now, the reception area is decked out like a luxury travel company; but it doesn’t exist. It’s just a front, and it’s also changeable. I ask for Toby. She gives me this vacuous routine. ‘I’m sorry. I think you’ve come to the wrong place’,” Carey Bloomfield mimicked the classically high-pitched, empty voice. “I told her if she gave me any bullshit, I’d squeeze her scrawny neck until she felt she wanted to spit out her larynx.”

  “Her larynx? That must have made you a friend.”

  “It was the best I could think of. Finally, she buzzed Toby, and he came out. We went to his office. Simpering Mary-Ann – that’s what Toby called her, and the ‘simpering’ is my addition – brought us coffee. After talking with him, I left. He was very much alive and kicking. There are other doors in the place, all closed at the time I was there. But I know there are always people in the rooms. Any one of them could have done it, and Miss Diet-freak would have been only too glad to point one of her polished fingernails at me. I can imagine the question. Did anyone visit Mr Adams, Mary-Ann? ‘Oh yes!’” came the mimicked voice again. “’A Colonel Bloomfield’. Bingo. There you have it, Müller.”

  Müller took out his phone and passed it to her. “Here. Call, Pappi. Ask him to get one of his contacts to check out this Mary-Ann.”

  “Come on, Müller,” Carey Bloomfield said as she took the phone. “You can’t believe that bimbo…”

  “No. But a background check might help. You never know. Pappi’s number is the same one, from the time you last used this phone.”

  “That was way back, Müller. The time of Dahlberg. But I remember it.”

  She dialled Pappenheim.

  “You again,” Pappenheim said, thinking it was Müller.

  “It’s me, Pappi.”

  Pappenheim coughed in his surprise. “Miss Bloomfield! Is he alright?”

  “He’s fine. He’s driving.”

  “Ah. Obeying the law, like a good policeman.”

  �
��I won’t even pass comment on that one, Pappi.”

  “Good thing too. So what does he want?”

  “The contact who called you about me. See if he or she has heard the name Mary-Ann. No surname, I’m afraid. It’s all I have.”

  “Leave it to me. And Miss Bloomfield…”

  “Yes, Pappi?”

  “Hang in there. We’re with you.”

  “Thank you, Pappi.” She had a warm feeling as she ended the call and passed the phone back. “He’s sweet,” she said.

  “Sweet? Don’t let him hear that.”

  “He won’t, if you don’t tell him. Müller?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d love to drive your car. You don’t have to look so pale,” Carey Bloomfield continued when Müller had said nothing to this unexpected request. “I’m not trying to steal it.”