Douglas dropped the cards back onto the bench and shrugged; if Rensky wanted to play postal chess with himself using a system that didn’t exist, that was certainly his business.
The phone rang. Dragon’s head jerked up from the rug and his tail began to wag. Douglas hesitated, and then picked up the phone. “Hello?”
The person on the other end of the line grunted in surprise. There was a long silence filled with tense, heavy breathing, then: “Wer ist das?” It was an old voice, old but tough, a voice clearly accustomed to giving orders. It carried clearly from the receiver into the room. Dragon pulled back his lips from his fangs and growled.
Douglas looked at Dragon and frowned.
“Wer ist das?”
Dragon’s growl became a snarl, then a series of short, savage barks that, coming from a small poodle, might have seemed comical were it not for the fact that that same poodle had been shot a few hours before. Douglas didn’t laugh.
“Uh, I don’t speak German,” he said carefully. “How’s your English?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Douglas Franklin. Am I speaking to Mr. Rensky?”
Another pause, then: “This is a friend of Mr. Rensky’s. I hear a dog barking. Do you have a dog with you?”
“That’s Dragon. I found him up on the glacier. He was hurt. I was bringing him back to Rensky.”
“May I ask what you are doing in Mr. Rensky’s apartment?”
The tone of the question was harsh and strained. Douglas felt anger rise within him but he contained it. After all, he had walked into a stranger’s apartment. “The dog showed me where the key was. I thought I’d wait for Rensky.”
“Mr. Rensky is away for a few days.” Now the words were carefully measured. “I will take care of Dragon. Perhaps you would be kind enough to bring him to me. I am an old man, and I do not climb steps well.”
“All right,” Douglas said shortly. “Who are you and where do you want me to meet you?”
“I am Hans Vorteg. I will meet you in front of the Tourist Office by the athletic field. Do you know where it is?”
“I do. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Douglas hung up the phone and looked at Dragon, who had been snarling throughout the conversation. Now Dragon coughed and lay still. Douglas was aware of a pain in his stomach where the muscles had knotted. He walked across the room and picked up the dog.
If Vorteg knew Rensky would be away for a few days, why was he calling? Who was he calling? “I don’t like it either, Dragon,” he said, petting the dog. “I think we’ll pass on Mr. Vorteg. You know where we can find a vet around here?” Dragon barked and wagged his tail. Douglas smiled and shook his head. “I know that’s an answer, but I don’t understand Dog as well as you understand English. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
He started toward the door, and then froze when he heard the sound of metal scraping in the lock. Rensky? He backed up and pulled his face into the kind of smile he thought he’d want to see on a stranger standing in his apartment.
It wasn’t Rensky. The thin blond man was in his early thirties, about Douglas’ age. He was still holding the strip of metal he’d used to pick the lock in a right hand that was missing the ring and little fingers. He was limping badly, favoring his left foot. His left trouser leg was torn and dirty, as though he had recently fallen. The man looked up, startled, as Dragon snarled. The blood drained from his face, leaving splotches of red on paper-white flesh.
Douglas had to yell to be heard above Dragon’s frenzied barking. “Looking for somebody?”
The man recovered, wheeled and limped out as fast as he could. Douglas heard him stumbling down the stairs. He considered going after the man, then decided against it. In a village the size of Zermatt there couldn’t be that many thin blonds missing two fingers and walking with a limp.
“Another friend of yours?” Douglas said, scratching under Dragon’s ears. The dog nuzzled Douglas’ hand. “I know some Swiss law,” Douglas said after a thoughtful pause. “Let’s you and me go find him.”
He found Karl Henning on the tennis courts of the hotel owned by Henning’s father. Henning was a well-built, ruddy-complexioned man who was pushing forty and looked thirty. Henning approached his job as local constable as a kind of civic duty; his father was a member of the Zermatt “commune”, a group of old families who literally owned everything of value in Zermatt, ran the enterprises jointly and shared all profits. Henning took no pay for his work because there wasn’t that much work; Douglas didn’t consider him much of a policeman, but then Zermatt wasn’t exactly the crime capital of the Western world. Douglas had met him on a previous visit, and liked him. He was a terror on a tennis court and Douglas admired competitiveness. Henning recognized him as he came into the fenced-off playing area. The constable waved off his partner and came over to Douglas.
“Douglas!” Henning had a deep, natural bass voice, pleasant to listen to for five or ten minutes, numbing after that.
Douglas shifted Dragon to his left side and shook the hand that was extended to him. “Hello, Karl,” he said. “It’s good to see you. You look fine.”
“So do you. How are the chess wars?”
“A little frantic. That’s why I’m in Zermatt.”
“And you’re not staying with us? You know we would have insisted that you take a room without charge!”
Douglas smiled thinly. “I know. That’s why I’m not staying with you.”
“How many famous Grandmasters do we get in Zermatt?” Henning looked hurt. It passed. He nodded in Dragon’s direction. “A traveling companion?”
Douglas shook his head. “I found him up on the Gornergrat. He was hurt. I think somebody took a shot at him.”
Henning rolled his brown eyes; it was the reaction of a man who didn’t want to talk about hurt dogs and gunshots. “What were you doing up on the Gornergrat? It’s dangerous up there; the ice is shifting. There are crevasses. We lost three Italians yesterday. The slopes have been closed.”
“I just got here last night. I’d planned to do some summer skiing. When I found out the slopes were closed I decided to hike down. The funicular was still running.” He cleared his throat. “Why do you think somebody would want to take a shot at a dog?”
Henning rolled his eyes again. Douglas had found it amusing the first time; now it was annoying.
“Who knows?” Henning said. “A crazy man; some hunter with bad eyesight. Where was his master?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Karl.” Henning cast a glance in the direction of his tennis partner, who was swinging his racquet impatiently. Douglas moved around in front of him. “The dog belongs to a man by the name of Rensky. I got that from a message in a pouch around the dog’s neck. I also got his address. He lives in the Helvetia. The dog showed me where the key was and I went in to wait. While I was there I had a strange telephone conversation with a man by the name of Hans Vorteg.” The name brought a reaction from Henning. Douglas talked through it. “A few minutes after the call a man tried to break in. He’d fallen and hurt himself. Now, I think the call was meant for that man. The fact that he fell slowed him down; he wasn’t in the apartment when he was supposed to be. To my mind, that brings up a few questions. For example, where’s Rensky?”
Henning was staring at his sneakers. “The man who tried to break in—what did he look like?”
Douglas told him. That got another reaction. For a moment Douglas was afraid that Henning was going to faint. The blood had drained from the big man’s face.
“You know who it is?” Douglas asked.
“Jan Vorteg, the son of the man who talked to you on the phone. He lost the two fingers on the north wall of the Matterhorn two years ago.” Henning sounded as if he were going to choke.
“Vorteg is a big name around here?”
Henning nodded. He looked totally distracted. “Mr. Vorteg is a commune member.”
“Well, what the hell was his son doing in Rensky’s
apartment?”
Henning glanced over Douglas’ shoulder and swallowed hard. “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Vorteg yourself.”
Douglas turned. The man coming across the courts toward them was over six feet. Age had withered his frame somewhat, but not much. His hands, swinging militantly at his sides, were large and heavily veined. He had an almost square face framed by a mane of silver hair; his eyes were a deep blue and burned with a cold fire. As he came up and stopped in front of them, Douglas could see that his lips were compressed with anger, giving his mouth the appearance of a tiny, blue-white slash in his face.
Dragon had begun to growl. Douglas put a hand over his muzzle, quieting him.
Vorteg glanced at the dog, then pointed a thick finger at a spot between Douglas’ eyes. “You are Douglas Franklin,” he said in English layered with a thick German accent. “Why did you not meet me as you said you would?”
“I met your son along the way. He convinced me I should look for a cop.”
Vorteg turned to Henning for the first time. “You are very free with information about my family, Herr Henning.” Henning started to mutter a protest, but Vorteg continued: “There is a simple explanation for the questions I’m sure Mr. Franklin has raised in your mind. First of all, I have been caring for this dog since yesterday, at the request of Victor Rensky. As you can see, it is a thankless task; the animal is a spoiled, impossible beast.”
Dragon squirmed, but Douglas held him tightly, stroking his throat, quieting him.
“Rensky was suddenly called out of town on business,” Vorteg continued. “It was his custom to take Dragon for a walk each morning on the Gornergrat. This morning it was my son who took on this chore. The beast ran away from him. We have spent most of the day looking for him.”
Karl Henning swallowed hard. His bass crept up to a tenor as he said, “Douglas tells me the dog was shot.”
Vorteg’s hands flew out from his sides and froze in the air. “Karl! Do you think Jan would shoot a dog?”
“Uh, did Jan hear a shot?”
Vorteg’s eyes became slits, almost matching his mouth. The hands slowly descended to his sides. “As a matter of fact I think he mentioned that he did. Am I being questioned, Herr Constable?” He made constable sound like a dirty word.
Karl Henning was drowning in embarrassed silence. Douglas rescued him. “What was your son doing, coming into Rensky’s apartment Mr. Vorteg?”
“He was there at my express wish, Mr. Franklin. First, to see if the dog had come back to the Helvetia. Second, to check the apartment to make sure everything was in order.”
“He picked the lock.”
Vorteg’s eyebrows arched in triumph. “Because you had the key!”
“He ran away.”
Vorteg snorted. “My son is not a coward; neither is he a fool. He had hurt himself—the reason he was not there to take my telephone call. When he saw you he naturally assumed you were a burglar. Knowing that he was in no shape to fight you, he did the wise thing. He ran for help. You were the one there without permission, Mr. Franklin, not Jan.”
Henning looked immensely relieved, as though a doubles partner had just served an ace for match point. “Douglas was just trying to be helpful, Mr. Vorteg. I’m sure Mr. Rensky would not wish to press charges.”
“That’s your business,” Vorteg said. He held out his hands. “I will take the dog now.”
Dragon snapped at the hand. Vorteg’s hand came back to cuff the furry head. Douglas quickly turned to the side, shielding Dragon with his body. “The dog is hurt,” he said evenly. “I was taking him to a veterinarian. I still am. After that, you can make whatever arrangements you want.” He was not about to have to look Dragon in the eyes while he handed him over to Vorteg.
Vorteg hesitated, then backed away. “Perhaps that is best. Dr. Jenck can tranquilize the beast.”
Karl Henning nodded enthusiastically. “Dr. Jenck’s office is across from the church. You know where that is.”
Vorteg’s large hand dipped into his pocket and came out with a wallet. “Something for your trouble, Mr. Franklin.”
Douglas could feel a white-hot flush spreading up his neck, squeezing his eyes. He turned and walked away before it could blind him.
On the crest of a hill above the tennis courts he stopped and looked back. Something had been said to shake Henning out of his deference; the two men were arguing heatedly.
If Hans Vorteg was lying through his teeth, that was Karl Henning’s problem, not his, Douglas decided, and there was no doubt in his mind that Vorteg had lied. The story the old man had told might be barely plausible, if not for Dragon. Dragon simply was not an “impossible beast,” but a highly intelligent and naturally affectionate dog, the product of a lot of love and training by the kind of owner who wouldn’t leave Dragon with somebody he didn’t like or trust. If Dragon didn’t like the Vortegs, it was for a reason, something the dog knew.
He wasn’t a cop, Douglas reflected, and he wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t even a dog owner. He was an exhausted chess Grandmaster badly in need of a vacation. Dragon and the Vortegs were none of his concern.
Then why couldn’t he sleep?
Douglas dragged on his cigarette and stared down into the swiftly flowing waters of the river. Beneath a full moon the hissing water with its load of dissolved calcium glowed white; the Swiss called such water “glacier milk.” In his mind’s eye, Douglas could see Dragon staring up at him with trusting eyes as the dog was locked into his kennel.
The veterinarian’s report had been a good one. Douglas had found the dog in time, soon after the shooting had occurred. There was no infection and no signs of pneumonia. A few shots and a few days of rest and Dragon would be as good as new.
But for how long? Douglas wondered. Somebody had tried to kill Dragon. Perhaps they would try again.
In the empty stillness of the Zermatt night the footsteps echoed clearly; they belonged to a man with a limp.
Douglas threw his cigarette into the water, then quickly stepped out of the light. A few minutes later Jan Vorteg passed beneath the street lamp directly in front of Douglas. In his right hand Vorteg carried a faded flight bag. The bag was bulky and, judging from the way Vorteg was listing to one side, heavy. He crossed the bridge over the river, then turned right at the first intersection. Douglas felt the muscles in his stomach begin to flutter; Vorteg’s route would take him past the church—and the veterinarian’s office. Douglas waited a few moments, then started after the other man.
Not wishing to advertise his own presence, Douglas kept a good distance between himself and the man ahead. As a result, Vorteg was already in the vast, grassy courtyard in front of the veterinarian’s office a full minute before Douglas arrived there.
Douglas braced against the side of a building and peered around the corner. The courtyard was in total darkness, the moonlight cut off by three huge trees with upper branches that formed a virtual canopy over the yard. He strained, trying to peer into the darkness, undecided on what action he should take. He was concerned about Dragon, and at the same time not anxious to present himself as a target, in the event that Vorteg was armed.
The pungent smell of gasoline wafted to him a split second before the side of the east wing of the building erupted in a sudden flash of orange-white flame.
Douglas groaned and sprinted away from the protective cover of the building, across the lawn. Vorteg, gimping along as fast as he could, emerged from the darkness, saw Douglas, tried to cut to the left and fell to the ground. The man’s eyes were wide with fright as Douglas sprinted past him; it was the second time in twenty-four hours Douglas had allowed Vorteg to escape from the scene of a crime; he’d be most curious to hear the elder Vorteg’s explanation for this one.
He hit the office door at full tilt—and bounced back three feet. His shoulder went numb. The door was solid. From inside the building came the high-pitched yelps of frightened, panicky animals.
There was a window a few feet away from the rapid
ly advancing flames. He quickly removed his jacket and used it to shield his fist as he broke the glass, then to shield his face from the flames as he picked the jagged pieces of glass from the frame. This done, he braced his hands on the frame and vaulted headfirst through the window.
He landed on his shoulder, tucked into a ball and rolled, came up on his feet. First he unbolted the door, then he raced back along the corridor and through another door into the area where the animals were kept. The room was filled with black, acrid smoke. He could hear the hiss of flames above the din created by the animals. Dragon was to his left, standing on his hindquarters, his front paws braced against the wire of his cage. Across the aisle were three other dogs and a goat He released the goat first, grabbing it by the fold of skin under its chin and leading it out to the door. Then he released the three other dogs. Finally, he opened Dragon’s cage. Dragon wagged his tail, then leaped into Douglas’ arms.
“Lazy dog!” Douglas whispered as he carried Dragon out into the cool night air.
He sat down hard on the moist ground beneath a tree and coughed, struggling to catch his breath. From the opposite end of town came the wail of fire engines.
Dragon licked Douglas’ face, then leaped out of his arms, ran off a few paces and began to bark excitedly.
Douglas shook his head. “What’s the matter with you, dog?” he said. “This isn’t playtime.” He was distracted by the thought of what would happen next, and he was convinced the sequence of events would be fairly simple: the Vortegs would simply lie. Hans Vorteg would claim that his son had not been out of his bed all night, and no one in Zermatt, least of all Karl Henning, would be prepared to call a member of the all-powerful commune a liar, not without the kind of evidence that Douglas didn’t have. So, if members of the commune didn’t lie, who was responsible for the fire, and the empty gasoline can on the lawn? An itinerant chess Grandmaster?
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