The speeding truck slammed into the car’s rear fender panel. The violent impact felt like landing on pavement from a two-story window. The car whirled around. Through the shock, Mason heard Adelle screaming.
The centrifugal force pinned him against the door. He tried to protect Adelle even while struggling to gain control of the car. The world outside the windshield blurred past, the headlights flashing by a dark void, pavement, then trees.
Then he saw it. The tree seemed to be flying at them as if wielded by a giant, and it headed for Adelle’s door. A split second later the car plowed into the towering tree. It ricocheted off the tree trunk, rising off the pavement and spinning 180 degrees before coming to a crashing halt. The two wheels on the driver’s side hung off the edge of a twenty-foot-deep ravine.
Adelle lay limp against her door. Blood streamed from her head and face. Her body seemed oddly crooked from the waist up and her head leaned at an unnatural angle. Still, Mason kept calling her name as he tried to revive her.
Then he heard the crunch of gears as the truck backed up to align itself for another ram. Mason tugged at Adelle’s body. He tried to pull her toward him, but the crumpled metal had trapped her leg.
The truck, now repositioned, moved forward, slowly at first as it slipped on the ice, but it quickly picked up speed and was now racing toward them. Mason tried once more to free Adelle. She felt like a rag doll as she slumped into his arms, but the metal would not release her.
In rage and desperation, Mason pulled out his .45 and fired through the broken passenger window. He fired five times at the charging truck. It was too dark, the headlights too blinding, for him to see what he might have hit.
The headlights and the truck’s grille were on top of him. He flung himself backward, out the driver’s door, just as the truck collided with the sedan. He dived behind a tree a second before the truck impacted with the sedan. Like being shot from a catapult, the car became airborne. The rear fender hit the tree, flipping it around.
An instant later, the truck flew over the edge and swept past him in hell-bound pursuit, both vehicles tumbling and spinning before crashing into the bottom of the ravine.
Mason clambered down the slope, the snow and his shock making it difficult. He stumbled down the last four feet, then he jumped up and ran to the overturned car. Adelle dangled upside down, her leg still held firm by the crumpled door panel. There was no need to rush; she was dead.
He staggered over to the truck, which lay on the passenger’s side. There were two men inside and both wore civilian clothes. The driver’s body had tumbled onto the passenger, his head half gone from the impact of Mason’s bullets. The passenger had fallen halfway out the door window, and the truck had landed on his chest. The man’s eyes were frozen open to the black sky. Mason didn’t recognize either of them. He had to bust through what remained of the windshield to search them, but they carried no IDs.
Returning to the sedan, Mason had the overwhelming need to free her from the steel and chrome coffin. Mason yanked at the door with all his strength. Over and over again he pulled at the door. Then, with one final tug, the door gave a few inches. That was enough. Adelle’s body slumped onto the inside roof of the car. He pulled her from the wreck, despite pain that seemed to radiate from every muscle. He lifted her by her armpits and dragged her ten feet from the wreckage. He sat next to her and stared at nothing at all.
THIRTY
The passing of time went unrecorded. Mason became aware of the ambulance and the MPs only when he noticed the red light sweeping across the snow and Adelle’s bloody face. Flashlights and voices came to him, and he stood as MPs and two medics ran up to him. They asked him his name, and he responded. He summoned his strength and presence of mind, fished out his CID badge, and identified Adelle. He started to explain what had happened, but the two medics took over and examined him.
“I’m okay,” Mason said.
“No, sir, you’re not,” the sergeant medic said as he looked at Mason’s head.
Mason touched his face and brought away blood. The medics took him by the arms and led him up the embankment to the waiting ambulance.
Mason jerked his arms free. “I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“Let us determine that.”
“You’re not taking me to any goddamned hospital!” Mason yelled, which only made his head throb.
“All right,” the sergeant medic said. “You’re going to need a few stitches for your head.”
“Patch me up, and let me go.”
While the medics tended to Mason’s head wound, another car pulled up. Abrams got out and ran up to the back of the ambulance. “I figured it was you when the call came in.”
“Adelle’s dead,” Mason said, the words making his throat clench.
Abrams fell silent and put his hand on Mason’s shoulder. Mason shot to his feet and pulled Abrams aside. “I need you to go to Laura’s and warn her that Schaeffer might know where she lives. The only way the men in that truck knew where to intercept me was when I called Laura to make sure she was there. Most of the phones at the Sheridan barracks are on a common line, and whoever was listening heard me ask for an exchange in Breitenau. There’s only one main road from Garmisch to there, so all they had to do was wait for me in a strategic spot. Eliminate two problems in one blow.”
“I’ll pull Wilson and Tandy off their surveillance and get them to go up there to stand guard.”
Abrams started to leave, but Mason pulled him back. “Do that and come right back to HQ. I’m getting Volker tonight, and we say nothing about it. To anyone. Do you understand? I’m going to make him squeal no matter what it takes.”
* * *
Mason sat shirtless in a chair in a corner of the ground floor of MP headquarters. A doctor and medic examined him thoroughly, while Densmore stood nearby.
“You could have a concussion,” the doctor said. “We need to get you x-rayed and observe you overnight.”
“No,” Mason said for what was probably the tenth time.
“You’re as stubborn as an old mule.”
“I don’t want to waste time in a hospital.”
“You’ve got bruised ribs and contusions on both thighs, not to mention the nasty laceration on that hard head of yours.”
Abrams entered the lobby and walked up to the group. He gave Mason a subtle nod that all was taken care of.
An MP clerk came over to Densmore and handed him two sheets of paper. “The reports on the two in the truck.”
Densmore’s eyebrows rose as he read. He asked Mason, “You sure this wasn’t an accident?”
“When a truck makes a three-point turn to slam into an already smashed car, it’s not an accident.”
“Well, the two assailants were MPs from the 508th in Munich. A Corporal Ivers and Private Frazier. They were reported AWOL two days ago.”
“Munich?” Abrams said.
“You’d prefer they’d been from here?” Densmore asked Abrams.
“It means Schaeffer’s got a long reach,” Mason said. He expected Densmore to howl about accusing Schaeffer again, but he continued to look at the two reports.
Mason flinched with pain when the medic wrapped a bandage around his rib cage. The doctor tried to check his pupils again, but Mason tilted his head away. “I’m fine.”
“Have it your way,” the doctor said and put his instruments back in his bag.
Mason mumbled a “thanks” as the doctor walked away. His entire body was one big throb, but the pain of Adelle’s senseless death hurt more.
The same clerk came up to them again. “Sirs, Colonel Udahl would like to see Mr. Collins and Mr. Abrams in his office.”
“Now?” Densmore asked after looking at his watch.
“Right away, sir.”
Densmore turned to Mason. “Good thing you’re not in the hospital, or he would have ins
isted on wheeling you up there on a gurney.”
“Calling for me, too,” Abrams said. “This can’t be good.”
* * *
As Mason and Abrams climbed the stairs in the Rathaus’s main building, Abrams filled Mason in. “Laura refused any help and wanted to send Wilson and Tandy away. She wants to stay put, and Berko said the same thing. I’m not sure her boyfriend was too happy about it.”
“Damn stubborn . . .” Mason stopped himself.
“Don’t worry, I only half listened to her. Wilson and Tandy are sitting in a car out front of her place, poor lads.”
The two investigators were ushered straight into Colonel Udahl’s office. The colonel waited for them on the sofa. He rose to shake their hands and said to Mason, “Glad to see you’re okay. Sorry to hear about the German woman.”
“A friend of yours?” said the booming voice behind Mason.
All turned to see Major Gamin striding into the room with a big grin as if making a grand entrance on a stage. Mason glanced at Udahl, who looked just as surprised as Abrams and he.
“You all look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Gamin said. He stopped in front of them with his hands linked behind his back. He looked straight at Mason with one eyebrow pushed low. “Well?”
“She was the sister of the woman killed with Agent Winstone, and she was helping with—”
“Yes, I know all that. I’ve been catching up on your reports. Seems you stir up more trouble than you solve.”
Udahl tried to change the subject by saying, “It’s good to see you feeling better, Bob. It’s been a while. Why don’t we sit down?” He made a gesture for all to sit, but Gamin ignored him.
“Sir,” Abrams said, “those murders would have happened—”
“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak,” Gamin barked.
“This man has every right to speak,” Mason said. “If you think you’re gonna make up for lost time by being a hard-ass—”
“Mr. Collins, that will be enough,” Udahl said.
Mason turned away from Gamin and asked Udahl, “Sir, you wanted to see us?”
Gamin took two steps toward Mason. “You have a black touch, Mr. Collins. People wind up dead when they’re around you. And it will stop as of now.”
“Major, please,” Udahl said, but that was as far as he got.
“I’m transferring you out of here, Mr. Collins,” Gamin said. “As far away as possible.”
“Major,” Udahl said, “this man stays until we can wrap up this case.”
Gamin turned to Udahl. “He’s under my command—”
“Don’t make me pull rank and go over your head,” Udahl said. He paused to gain his self-control, then looked at Mason. “I imagine your interview with Kessel yielded some useful information?”
“He says he was the front man,” Mason said. “He received written instructions from concealed sources and wasn’t able to provide further evidence.” He noticed Abrams ogling him out of the corner of his eye. Even if he could trust Udahl, he didn’t trust Gamin, and he had no intention of mentioning the information about Volker.
“You don’t feel you could get any more out of him?” Udahl asked.
“He seemed sincere, like he was relieved to get things off his chest. I believe what he said is the truth.”
Gamin fidgeted on his feet as if in a nervous frenzy. He said to Mason, “Colonel Udahl may want you to stay and finish this case, much to my objection”—he pointed to Abrams—“but day after tomorrow this man is on the first train for Frankfurt. He’s to report to the 709th MP Battalion.” He looked at Abrams. “That train leaves at ten-hundred hours. Be on it.”
“Mr. Abrams has been invaluable to this investigation,” Mason said.
“I don’t care.”
“If Colonel Udahl and General Pritchard, not to mention General Clay, are adamant about solving this case, then Mr. Abrams is vital—”
“Don’t blow smoke up my ass. He’s a rookie with about as much experience at detective work as I have at brain surgery.”
“Then you must have quite a few satisfied patients—”
“Mr. Collins,” Udahl said in a rising voice.
Mason turned to Udahl. “Sir, Mr. Abrams knows this case inside and out. He’s performed as an investigator to the highest standards, and it would not only jeopardize the case, but be unjust to punish him because of the setbacks.”
“Mr. Abrams, what do you have to say for yourself?” Udahl asked.
Abrams cleared his throat. “Sir, I request that I be allowed to stay on. We’re close. I know it. I will go where the army sends me, but I only ask that you delay my departure until we finish this.”
“That may never happen,” Gamin said.
“Give me a week, sir,” Abrams said.
“Thirty-six hours,” Gamin said. “And that goes for you, too, Mr. Collins. I don’t know whose dick you’re sucking, but it ends right now.”
Mason wanted to slam his fist into Gamin’s smug smile, though he wondered if this rabid-dog routine was another clever ruse to cover his involvement in the gang. First his stroke-addled charade, then this act. And now he was trying to torpedo the investigation by sending both of them away. It was time for Abrams and him to look closely at Gamin.
“Mr. Collins,” Udahl said, “are you any closer to determining Major Schaeffer’s role in this investigation?”
“Everything points to him, but he’s been very careful about covering his tracks.”
“Then find the proof you need ASAP. I’m depending on you to get it done. And Mr. Abrams, we appreciate all the work you’ve done so far for us, and I wish you all the best for your future in the army.”
Mason and Abrams thanked them, saluted, and left. By this late hour, the corridor and stairway, in fact the entire building, had turned quiet. As they descended the stairs, Abrams said, “I’m not going to let them transfer me anywhere.”
“Yes, you are.”
“It doesn’t make any sense. Why transfer me in the middle of an investigation when I’ve done nothing wrong? When we’re so close?”
“That’s exactly why you’re being transferred. I think Gamin is doing this on purpose to cripple this investigation. For whatever reason, I think he’s been putting on an act to cover up his guilt.”
“You think Gamin is the lead guy?” Abrams shook his head. “I don’t see it.”
“He’s in a perfect position to wield local power, but the lead guys are higher up on the food chain than him. We’re talking colonels and generals, people with enough power to squash us both. And that’s why I’m glad you’re getting out of here before that happens.”
“They’re transferring you, too, you know,” Abrams said.
“I don’t think they plan for me to be alive long enough for that to happen. I know too much.”
“I do, too.”
They reached the ground floor, and Mason stopped to face Abrams. “Don’t screw up your chances with the army. Keep your mouth shut and your head down, and you’ll do fine.”
“I don’t want to stay in the army if it means I have to duck under a rock.”
“I want to see you do well. Have a life and a career. In a couple of years this will all be history. They’re giving you a gift. A way out, with excellent commendations and an exemplary record. All you have to do is keep quiet about all this. Do it. Now, let’s go get Volker.”
THIRTY-ONE
Mason noticed Abrams checking his watch again. “I bet the minute hand hasn’t moved since the last time you checked.”
“It’s two past midnight,” Abrams said. “Maybe we have the wrong spot. Maybe Kessel set us up.”
“Maybe you want to be quiet just five minutes.”
“I liked Adelle, too. You don’t have to bite my head off.”
“For once I’m pulling rank and o
rdering you to shut it.”
Mason and Abrams had gone by Volker’s mistress’s apartment, but by the time they arrived, she had already stepped out. Waiting near Kurpark, Garmisch’s city park, had become their only alternative. They sat in their car on the south side of the park, with a clear view of the main entrance and an isolated park bench. There were other benches, but this one was under an umbrella of trees and seemed the best for a clandestine rendezvous.
Apparently Mason had guessed correctly, as a woman, silhouetted in a lone streetlamp, approached the bench. She wore an ankle-length ivory coat and a matching hat. The ensemble looked very expensive by the way the fabric shimmered in the light. She paused in front of the bench, looked both ways; her condensed breath swirled around her head as she did so. She finally sat, and the streetlamp illuminated one side of her face.
“That’s her,” Mason said.
“You sure?”
“Yep. Margareta Schupe. I interviewed her that night at the Casa Carioca about Hilda. I remember that face, and also how she moves—like she has well-lubed ball bearings in her hips.”
“Didn’t Adelle say that she was Schaeffer’s squeeze?”
“Hence the out-of-the-way meeting place. She’s stepping out on Schaeffer, and Volker’s stepping out on his wife.”
“Such naughty Nazis.”
Mason chuckled despite himself.
Abrams pulled his gaze away from Margareta and looked at Mason as if trying to gauge Mason’s intentions. “Even if you get Volker to admit to murder and name Schaeffer, kidnapping and torturing him—”
“Who said anything about torturing him?”
Abrams gave him a skeptical look. “Come on. Don’t give me that. You do it, you’ll never get him into a courtroom. This will more or less make him immune from prosecution. He could even try to get us in hot water with army prosecutors.”
“The only courtroom I’d like to see him in is one for war crimes. My concern right now is to get him to talk. He talks, then we make sure his buddies find out about it. One way or another, this is Volker’s last night of freedom.”
Spoils of Victory Page 27