“I repeat, Monsieur, tell me.”
“Niklaus Gast. I think he murdered Bennett Blake.”
Chapter 55
“Niklaus Gast? The Swiss? How did you come to that conclusion?” Plaschke asked.
A few hours before, Burke had few ideas about who had murdered Bennett Blake. Now, for a variety of reasons that had processed their way through his brain during the evening’s entertainment, he felt he’d emerged from a cloud and could see matters better.
He took a moment to muster his rationale and then began, mentioning a prickly exchange between Gast and Blake a few days before, Gast’s non-membership in the so-called inner circle and yet his ease in talking to the other men in the group, and Gast’s detailed knowledge of Richard the Lionheart.
“Blake was murdered by someone who’s calculating and clever, someone not given to panic. Gast fits that description better than anyone, especially the calculating part. You haven’t found any evidence that identifies Blake’s killer because whoever did it – and I’m thinking Gast – planned the murder for weeks, maybe months. Gast knew exactly which community he wanted to murder Blake in and when to do it. He established a routine that he followed and which, over time, made him invisible to others; the more he followed it, the less he was noticed. Then there’s the matter of so few clues and probably no DNA. Very unusual, right?”
“Maybe.”
“Gast did his homework and knew exactly how DNA could be left at a scene. Then he figured out ways to not leave DNA behind. And he wasn’t worried about you finding the dagger because he expected you’d never be able to tie it to him.”
Something flashed into Burke’s mind.
“What are you thinking?” Plaschke said.
“Gast had to be wearing something that anyone who saw him would consider regular clothing for him, but it also had to be clothing that would not be loose fitting enough to touch anything else, leaving DNA behind. I think he wore something tight, like a cycling outfit. And probably plastic gloves, too, the type people use to avoid getting greasy hands when they’re working on bikes.”
Plaschke brought out a small notebook from his pocket and scribbled a few words.
“It was also clothing that could be easily disposed of,” Burke said. “For a moment, I thought he might have burned his clothes, but that’s not right. He couldn’t have known in advance that there’d be a fire going on someplace where he could burn his clothes right after killing Blake. Besides, if you burn something outdoors, people usually notice it.”
“OK, no fire. That tells you what?”
Burke glanced at the Krems flic and saw Plaschke’s mind was working, too. “It tells me he destroyed the clothes another way. I think he started by dumping the clothes, but not in a garbage can or public dump where someone might spot them or find them. He took them someplace else, away from where people were generally going to be. And when he was there, he destroyed them.”
Plaschke pointed a finger at Burke. “Chemicals. He could have used some kind of high-concentrate chemical that would remove any DNA and destroy the clothing.”
“Maybe some acid or industrial bleach.”
“He’d have to know how to use it without leaving traces,” said Plaschke, picking up on Burke’s theory. “He also couldn’t bring much of it with him. After all, someone might have noticed if he walked around with a pail or jug of the stuff. So, it had to be very powerful stuff that could be effective in a small amount.”
“Wherever he dumped the clothing, it couldn’t be too far from the ship,” Burke said, visualizing Gast’s movements. “He didn’t have access to a car and wouldn’t want to use a taxi because he wanted to stay unnoticed. He didn’t want to walk far, either. What happens if someone stopped him and saw what he was carrying? He didn’t want to take the risk. He had to get rid of it quickly and efficiently. But where? I don’t have the answer.”
“I’ll get some officers to do a search but not in the usual spots. Maybe they’ll find a trace of clothing that might be useful.” The flic paused and stared at Burke. “Now tell me how you think Gast got Blake to go to the storage compartment without anyone noticing.”
“By most accounts, Bennett Blake was motivated by his own self-interests. Gast knew that. So, he told Blake he wanted to talk to him about something that would benefit Blake. Gast emphasized that no one else should know about their meeting and he recommended the storage compartment as the best place to talk. No one would see them or be there and I wouldn’t be checking the bikes till later. Figuring he had something to gain, Blake went along with the suggestion. And once they were there alone, Gast killed him.”
“And what was Gast’s motive for murdering Blake?”
“Blake had something on him. What it was, I don’t know. But it was something bad.”
“Of course, you know all you’re offering are theories without facts. And those theories could probably be applied to a number of the Sunna’s passengers, not just Gast.”
“That’s true, but you’re the one who asked what I thought,” Burke said.
Plaschke smiled slightly. “You’re right. I was just seeing the challenges in proving your theories.”
Burke nodded, not really offended. Plaschke was open to his ideas or so it seemed. Besides, he knew evidence for his theory would be difficult to find, but the more he thought about Gast, the more he believed the elegant Swiss was involved in Blake’s death. It was just a feeling, but it was a strong one. And over the last two years, Burke had learned to pay attention to those feelings.
He had a question for the policeman. “You interviewed Gast, Sergeant. What did you think when you talked to him?”
“Much the same as you do. He’s a very controlled, intelligent individual, completely aware of his surroundings. He’s one of those few people who never speaks without carefully considering what he wants to say.”
“In your interview with him, did he provide you with any information that was valuable?”
Plaschke shook his head. “Not really. His observations weren’t really different from those of most passengers. However, he did make some intriguing comments about a few people.”
“Which ones?”
“Young, Beck, Langford, Kimura and your Canadian friend Chapman.”
Burke was surprised to hear the names of Kimura and Chapman. “What did he say about them?”
“He suggested in a very offhand way that they were all known to be ambitious and eager to rise up the company hierarchy – and that they could be ruthless.”
“Do you think he was trying to get you to consider them as possible suspects in Blake’s murder?”
Burke could see Plaschke reviewing in his mind some of the remarks that the Swiss had made. “I recall writing down his thoughts in my notebook and wondering if he was trying to manipulate me. If he was, he was definitely subtle about it, just giving me the slightest hint. Now I believe I have a new perspective.”
Burke was curious about something. “Gast isn’t married, is he?”
“He isn’t.”
“Any children?”
“Not that I know of. Why do you care about his home life?”
“He’s always struck me as someone who keeps to himself. He’ll talk about business, politics, history, food and wine, but not about himself.”
“Is that relevant?”
“It tells us he doesn’t want people to know what he does behind closed doors.”
“Again, that doesn’t tell us much.”
“It suggests he has something in his private life that he wants to stay unknown.”
Plaschke considered the point and then finished his beer. “I think we’ve talked enough, at least for the moment,” he said, standing.
Burke agreed. He had nothing more to offer the policeman.
They paid and left the beer garden.
Outside, Plaschke turned to cross the street.
“What about your car?” Burke asked.
“So, why did you drive here if it’s so close?”
“I didn’t know when you might show up and I didn’t want to be standing around waiting. A black man hanging around a street corner attracts attention, even in modern-day Austria. Besides, my car has comfortable seats.”
Then Plaschke walked away.
Burke watched him leave. He considered going to Hélène’s hotel, but put that notion aside; she needed sleep. On his way back to the dock, Burke thought about Niklaus Gast. And the inner circle of participants.
What was it they shared besides working for the same international organization? And what had Niklaus Gast done after leaving the Donaubühne? Sat on the Sunna’s deck? Read a book? Or done something different in the privacy of his cabin?
Back at the ship, Burke took a detour by the lounge bar where a dozen people were enjoying themselves, but he didn’t see Gast. He continued to his cabin where Claude was stretched out on his bed, reading a magazine about soccer, one of his passions.
Burke sat on his bed and looked at his friend. “Claude, you’ve talked to most of the team-building people, right?”
“All of them.”
“Who strikes you as the one person who’s the most calculating and maybe the smartest?”
Claude put aside his magazine and took a moment to consider his answer. “I won’t give you one name because two come to mind: Niklaus Gast and Eric Chapman. On the few occasions when I’ve chatted with them, they seem extremely capable and intelligent, a little more so than the others. I’ve never seen either of them look or sound out of control in the slightest way.”
“A few days ago, you told me your theory about how people’s eating habits indicate a lot about their character.”
“I remember. It’s an excellent theory. In fact, I think I should write a book about it.”
“Have you had a chance to notice anything about Niklaus Gast and Eric Chapman when it’s meal time?”
“I have. Whenever I’ve had a chance, I’ve watched how the various participants are doing. I guess it’s because of the little investigation you’ve got going on.”
“And what do you think about Gast and Chapman?”
“Unlike most of the others, their dining habits haven’t changed since Talbot and Blake were discovered dead. They’ve eaten the same portions and in the same way. Now that we’re discussing it, I find their reactions to be interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because it shows their moods didn’t change much whereas most of the others were quite different, their appetites dipping after the two deaths and only recently getting back to normal. Of course, I’ve also noticed both men don’t eat much at the best of times. That’s probably why they’re both so slim.”
“What about the way they eat? Any observations there?”
Claude studied Burke for a moment. “You’re really giving my theory some credence, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Claude nodded, satisfied by his friend’s sincerity. “They eat the same way, slowly and meticulously. They never rush.”
Burke considered what Claude had said.
“You have something cooking in that brain of yours, don’t you, Paul?”
“I might, but right now, it’s all theories and no proof.”
“You’ll come up with something. You usually do.”
Burke shrugged. He put aside Gast and Chapman, and, once again, thought about the inner-circle members. He recalled the look in their eyes whenever he had seen them together. Every time, the men had seemed on high alert as if frightened that someone might figure out what they shared beyond the obvious – and what the consequences of that knowledge might mean for them. Whatever it was, he was sure it involved something illegal.
“Claude, I hope you won’t mind the next question, but when you were in prison, were most of the inmates from one class of society or from all kinds of backgrounds?”
“Most were from the lower classes, people who had lived in poverty or who had been discriminated against for most of their lives. But there were also inmates who came from the middle class or even from some wealthy background although there weren’t many of them.”
“What were the middle-class and upper-class people in there for?”
“All manner of crimes, but most seemed to involve violence against family members or sex crimes like rape or attacking prostitutes. The ones who committed fraud or other white-collar crimes were sent to other institutions.”
“How were the rapists treated in prison? I’ve heard there’s a code in prison that says rapists or child molesters are often attacked because of what they did on the outside.”
“That’s true. Our prison didn‘t permit much socializing among inmates which was probably a good thing for the rapists, child molesters and child-porn perverts. If there had been, some of those guys wouldn’t have made it out of prison alive or, if they did, they would have been ruined. The only inmates who were hated more were snitches.”
Burke thanked his friend. He had the information he had wanted.
He hoped he’d get to sleep early since the next day promised to be a long one. But he doubted it since his mind was already busy sorting through theories.
Chapter 56
The next morning, after a quick visit with Hélène who looked well-rested and ready for a new day’s efforts in the Sunna’s kitchen, Burke went into the ship’s dining room. It was early and he hoped Carmen Moreau would be there.
She was, sitting alone at a table, working on her tablet.
He asked if he could join her. She smiled and motioned for him to sit. Before anyone could interrupt them, Burke asked the question he had asked Claude the previous night.
”The most calculating and the smartest? Why do you want to know? Does this have something to do with what we talked about before?”
“It does.”
She nodded and thought for a moment. “I’d vote for Monsieur Gast. He’s a little older than the others and seems wiser and more sophisticated. I also get the sense that he’s always watching everyone and weighing everything he hears.”
“Have you ever witnessed him getting upset or angry?”
“Monsieur Gast? No, never. He’s always been very calm, very much in control.”
“What about Eric Chapman?”
She paused again to consider the question. “Yes, he’s much the same, but he doesn’t have the savoir faire that Monsieur Gast has. Maybe it’s a matter of age.”
Burke studied the young woman opposite him. She was smart and personable. She was also attractive with a youthful vibrancy that was probably appealing to many people.
“Has either of those men flirted with you?”
Moreau frowned slightly and Burke could see she was weighing whether she wanted to answer the question. Then she relented. “Never. To me, Monsieur Gast is from the old school where you mix with people from the same class. I’m from a different background, farther down the social ladder, which means he’s not really interested in what I think or do. I mean, he’s always been courteous to me, but that’s it. I’m just the hired help. As for Monsieur Chapman, he’s married and doesn’t seem to have a roving eye. He’s always polite and pleasant, though.”
That was good enough for Burke. He moved off the topic but still pondered her responses as they ate breakfast together.
After the meal, as passengers started flowing into the dining area, he went to check the bikes. No issues there. He was glad. His mind was still echoing with Claude’s analysis the previous night of the inmate hierarchy within a prison and there was something he wanted to research.
With 90 minutes to go before the start of the group ride to Vienna, Burke returned to his cabin, cranked up his laptop and began reading about the pathology of pedophilia. He didn’t know if that was the common denominator among the i
nner circle and with Niklaus Gast, but it was worth considering, given everything he knew and had seen with the Sunna passengers. He had considered other social behaviours, but had eliminated them. The one that worked, at least with the inner circle, was pedophilia.
After an hour, he realized he had barely touched the topic. But he had learned a couple of points he hadn’t known before. One was that pedophilia was happening far more often than he had ever thought, especially in some countries. The other was that child molesters usually tended to work alone, whereas it wasn’t uncommon for child-porn aficionados to share photos and videos, in some cases almost like they belonged to a special club.
Burke sat back and wondered if he was going too far with his theorizing. But the more he thought about the matter, the more he felt he was close to some discovery. Was Bennett Blake’s murder somehow connected to child molestation? Were the members of the inner circle seeking kids for their own pleasure?
He doubted it. But he wondered about the possibility of them being involved with child porn. Burke knew the members of the so-called inner circle were married, but that didn’t matter since his brief research had indicated that people who were addicted to child porn were often in a relationship. The inner-circle bunch also matched the description of child-porn enthusiasts eager to share their interest. They were a group, they were secretive, they were anxious and they might have been blackmailed by Bennett Black.
Then there was Niklaus Gast. Smooth, clever, wary, single, childless. Was he involved in child porn like the others might be?
Burke considered all the times he had seen Gast on the trip. Most of the occasions had been innocuous, but several suggested Gast was indeed hiding something.
For the first time, Burke had an idea why Gast might have murdered Bennett Blake.
He also knew he still had no proof to convince anyone. Maybe he’d get some later. Or maybe neither he nor the police would ever find out the real answers. Right now, no one was getting very far, he thought.
Burke checked his watch. It was time to get back outside to start the day’s work, and so he retreated into the small bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, hoping it would help wash away some of the ugly thoughts and images flooding his brain.
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