The fucker understands, his eyes darting away as if he doesn’t.
“Heinrich Schliemann,” Beau says.
Fritz closes his eyes. Beau looks up at Rothman.
“What? The soccer player?”
“Close. Archaeologist.”
Beau stands, goes back to the kitchen, runs water in the sink, waits for it to be lukewarm and fills a small glass, pours most of it out, goes back with it behind his back. Fritz’s eyes are still closed.
“When’s the last time someone pissed on you?” says Beau.
Nothing from Fritz. Beau makes a zipping sound with his mouth and starts pouring the warm water on the top of Fritz’s head.
“Fucker! I am Swiss citizen. I demand to talk with the Swiss Counsel.”
“That sounds like English to me.”
“Me too,” Rothman says.
“You gotta pee?” Beau asks Rothman.
Fritz stammers. “No! No urinate. I am not an animal.” He looks up and Beau shows him the glass.
“Tap water, Fuckhead.” He drinks the rest of the water.
“Heinrich Schliemann,” Beau repeats. “We have the jewelry, Fritz. The headpiece, necklaces, the rings. We have the paintings. We have everything. Including Edna and you.”
The Joneses step back in.
Before Beau and Tim stand Fritz up, Beau tells him, “Spit on me and I’ll kick your balls into your stomach.”
“You cannot strike manacled prisoner.”
Tim and the Joneses laugh and Beau has to tell him, “This is New Orleans, ass-hole.”
They search him, come up with the Toyota keys and the key to the house.
“Thanks for carrying your passport around, Fuckhead,” says Beau.
“I am not fuckhead.”
“Right now, you are the fuckhead.”
Jordan arrives with the warrants, same time as the Crime Lab tech and the Joneses take Fritz out and Beau asks Jordan to take Sam along to tell his wife what he’s been up to.
The tech takes photos of the velvet pouch and pulls on rubber gloves and a mask to gingerly take out the vials to dust, comes up with an excellent thumb print on one, two nice fingerprints on the empty vial.
Beau goes to wash his hands. He touched nothing but the velvet but didn’t think to put on a mask. They leave a copy of the warrants after they search the car. Nothing to take from the Toyota. The Jonses get credit for recovering a stolen vehicle.
On their way to the office, Beau calls the LSP Crime Lab, gets Aubrey Monistere on the phone, tells him about the vials.
“Get ‘em up here as soon as possible and I’ll see what it is. If it’s furbanide, I’ll know in 10 seconds.”
Before they reach the police garage, Monistere calls back, says two troopers from Troop A are booking a douche-bag at Parish Prison. “Get the vials to them and they’ll bring it straight to me.”
Beau drops Rothman off to fetch the portable AFIS machine from the Detective Bureau to fingerprint their prisoners and compare them to the prints from the vials and calls the crime lab tech to meet him at the prison with the vials.
THE FLIGHT FROM Washington is a half hour late, which is good as Beau barely makes it to the airport in time. He waits until Madison’s in the SUV to tell him about Edna, Fritz and the vials.
“Jesus Christ! How’d you find them?”
“Good police work.”
Madison looks out the window.
“That’s cop humor, isn’t it?”
Beau tells him about the stolen Toyota, the occasionally-working GPS and the shotgun house.
“Juanita has Edna in our conference room. Jordan and Sam have Fritz in our office. Edna’s been talking up a storm. Bullshit mostly. When I left, Sam finally has Fritz talking. The two ass-holes hate me so much, I’m staying out of it. For now.”
“Who’s Sam?”
Beau tells him about Aileen’s husband. “Works the First District. Patrolman. Better interview than Jordan.”
Beau cuts behind a taxi, guns it to zip up the right lane on I-10 as the car in front cuts into the center lane, Madison says he’s always surprised by New Orleans drivers.
“Like New York and Rome – without the horns.”
They move quickly through Metairie and Madison goes, “Those two aren’t working on their own. When they don’t check in to whoever sent them, we’ll hear something through their consulates or someone else will show up. You haven’t contacted their consulates, have you?”
“Ziff. No phone calls either.”
Alizée beckons and Beau sees it’s Aileen.
“We have an Interpol here, along with an FBI Specialist.”
“Ask them to have a seat.”
“I did. They aren’t happy.”
He hears a voice. Sounds like Brigitte Leneuville.
“They give you any shit, get Juanita to handle them.”
“I can handle them.”
Beau tells Madison, then asks if he wants to go to the FBI Field Office first to see the jewels. Madison shakes his head, looks out the window again.
“Always love looking at these cemeteries as I come into town.”
Above ground crypts, sepulchres, mausoleums and walled tombs line both sides of the expressway, vast Metairie Cemetery on their right, Greenwood, St. Patrick’s and Cypress Grove on the left, concrete crosses and angels rest atop most of the tombs.
“Peaceful.”
“Like a fuckin’ graveyard.”
Madison shakes his head. “More sophomoric cop humor.”
“One day I’ll graduate to federal cop humor. Hillel Jordan will help. Ask him about his soundtrack.”
“I know. The kid’s meant to be in New Orleans.” Madison twists his back. Kinks mostly likely. “Couldn’t get the local ATF to take him.”
“So you palmed him on me.”
“That’s what we call top management humor.”
Fuck.
IN THE POLICE elevator Alizée sings and Beau sees it’s the LSP Crime Lab.
Monistere tells him, “Bingo. Fubanide. The empty vial has traces of furbanide as well. The CDC’s gonna love this. No one has seen this much furbanide at one time. Ever. They want it.”
“It’s still evidence.”
“Yeah. I mean after the fact.”
He hangs up and Madison asks, “Why is she fed up?”
“Who?”
“The French singer.”
“Is that what she’s singing?”
“You don’t know?”
They step out of the elevator. “You should see her dance with this song. I’ll send you the YouTube link. She’s mesmerizing.”
Beau grabs Madison’s arm.
“The vials. Furbanide.”
“Son of a gun.”
“Fuckin’A.”
Beau takes a few seconds to text the news to Juanita and Jordan.
THREE HEADS TURN their way when they step into the office. On the right Brigitte Leneuville stands. She’s in a white blouse and tight black skirt, high heels, her face made up as if she’s about to pose for a magazine cover. A man standing a couple inches taller than Beau comes up from the left side of the room. He’s about 40 with short brown-graying hair and wears a suit, tells Beau he’s Special Agent William Grantling, FBI.
The two talk over one another, Brigitte in her heavy French accent, Grantling sounding like a news anchor. Their voices rise and Beau gets it. They demand to speak with Edna and Fritz.
“When we’re finished, you can speak with them.”
Brigitte shuts up, obviously satisfied the FBI doesn’t get preferential treatment.
Grantling starts up about the FBI’s superseding authority and Beau waits, steps closer to the man and brushes imagined dust from the man’s shoulder.
Beau, in a low voice – “I know you’re an expert in stolen art, Nazi loot and all that, but this is a first degree murder case and murder trumps any larceny. You’ll get them when I’m finished with them.”
“The FBI doesn’t play second fiddle
to anyone.”
Beau looks into the man’s eyes now. Waits.
Grantling turns to Madison and Beau goes to the conference room door, steps in and locks it behind him. He spots the digital video camera in the corner on a tripod, red light showing it’s recording.
Juanita sits up in her chair, yawns. Edna, sitting ram-rod straight in a chair across the conference table, glares at Beau who moves over to sit next to her. Edna jumps but her left hand’s cuffed to the chair so she can’t go far.
“Get away, Psycho.”
Juanita still doesn’t know. He’ll have to tell her about going Anthony Perkins back on Derbigny Street. He looks at Juanita, asks her if Edna’s stopped talking nonsense and got to the point.
“She told me how Albert bumped her with his shopping cart at Whole Foods on Magazine and how they became instant friends.”
Edna leans away from Beau who says, “Not what you told me first time we met. Remember?”
No answer so Beau reminds her, “You said you and Albert have known each other since childhood.”
Edna looks away.
“I’m sorry,” Beau says.
She looks back, her eyes narrower, which is hard to do.
“I’m sorry,” Beau says.
“You should be.” She rubs her right wrist. “Your handcuff hurt.”
“They’re not made to be comfortable. But I’m not sorry about that.”
His eyes turn inexpressive, his face still before he adds, “The vials.”
Surprise in her eyes, but not enough to rattle her.
“Whose fingerprints do you think we’ll find on them? Yours or Fritz’s?”
“Vut vials?”
“Glass tubes, two inches tall with red caps. Clear liquid inside.”
She shakes her head.
“You ever touch them?”
“I know no vials.” Her mouth quivers and she presses her lips closed.
Beau’s phone does that sonar thing and he sees it’s a text from Jordan to come to him.
He steps back into the front office and Aileen tells him Mr. Madison took the others for coffee.
Fritz sits on the floor now, his right hand handcuffed to the desk leg.
“He kicked me,” Jordan says.
“Why’d you get so close?”
“Ze Negro!” Fritz says, then growls. “He punch me.”
Beau leans against Juanita’s desk. “Was that after you kicked a federal agent?”
Jordan tells him yes and after Fritz tried to run cuffed to a chair.
Beau points to the digital video camera on the tripod. “You see the camera, Fritz. Kicking a federal agent is a serious crime.”
Fritz rattles in German and Beau waits. When he comes up for air –
“Fritz. Are your fingerprints on those vials we found, or are those the countesses?”
More German.
“Is that a yes?”
“Nine. No. No. Vut vials?”
“The vials we found in the velvet pouch.”
Fritz tries an angry look now. Beau leans down and uncuffs Fritz’s hand.
“Stand up.” He points to the camera again. “Try anything funny and we’ll entertain the jury with a little fisticuffs and you won’t win.”
Fritz rubs his wrist.
“Take off your coat?”
“Vhy?”
“Take it off, or I’ll take it off.”
Fritz glances at the camera, takes off his coat. Beau takes it, puts it on the desk. He can see the bandage through Fritz’s white shirt.
“Roll up your left sleeve.”
The Swiss does it, exposing the bandage.
“How’d that happen?”
“Accident. I fell near fence.”
Beau steps behind him, pulls a chair around, tells the man to sit and cuffs him to the chair.
“The doctor at Parish Prison will examine that wound, Fritz. I’ll bet it’s a dog bite.”
Beau reaches atop Juanita’s desk, grabs the blue criminal code book, flips through until he finds it and reads, “Louisiana Revised Statue 14:30. First degree murder –
“Section A. First degree murder is the killing of a human being.
“Part 1. When the offender has specific intent to kill or to inflict great bodily harm and is engaged in the perpetration or attempted perpetration of aggravated kidnapping, second degree kidnapping, aggravated escape, aggravated arson, aggravated or first degree rape, forcible or second degree rape, aggravated burglary, armed robbery, assault by drive-by shooting, first degree robbery, second degree robbery, simple robbery, terrorism, cruelty to juveniles, or second degree cruelty to juveniles.
“So which was it, Fritz? I think aggravated burglary? What do you think?”
Beau closes the book. “You know we still have the death penalty here in Louisiana.” He turns and winks at Sam.
Sam adds, “You could get a life sentence but you won’t like our penitentiaries. Lotta black fellas.”
Fritz tries to sit up.
Beau goes, “Getting back to the vials.”
“I know nothzing about zee tubes.”
“Never saw them?”
“Zat is correct.”
“Never touched them?”
“Never.”
“Not even the empty one?”
“I never touch any of zee three vials.”
Beau points to the camera and Fritz looks that way.
“Who said there were three vials?”
Fritz’s face shakes a second and he looks at Beau.
“I asked about the vials we found in the velvet pouch. I never said how many.”
“You try to trick Schweizer mann. I wunt to speak to Swiss Counsel.”
“You will.”
Tricks. Cops can use tricks. Happens a lot in bad movies and bad police novels, but in real life – it’s better.
“I wunt to speak with lawyer.”
Beau nods. “Now you’ve said the magic words, Fritz.”
He looks confused. Beau tells Jordan and Sam the statement’s finished.
“We’ll let the FBI and Interpol fight over him before we book him.”
He picks up the criminal code book, points a finger at Fritz and thanks him.
“When the jury sees the video they’re going to wonder how you knew there were three vials.”
Beau steps out, asks Aileen to start up another search warrant for DNA from Fritz.
“His left arm’s bandaged.”
Aileen turns to her computer, nods. “Dog bite, I’ll bet.”
“And cut an arrest warrant for Cruelty to Animals. Cat deserves a charge listed.”
Madison steps in carrying two PJ’s coffees, Brigitte and Grantling right behind with their own coffee. Madison brings one to Aileen who thanks him.
“They can talk to Fritz now, but he’s lawyered up.”
Grantling says he’s taking Fritz to FBI headquarters.
“Not now. We’re booking him with first degree murder first. Then he’s all yours.”
Beau goes back into the conference room where Edna ends a sentence with, “ … orange and red and some leaves a bluish gray.”
They turn his way and Beau sits next to Edna again, opens the criminal code book and reads the opening of the murder statue aloud. He closes the book.
“I’m sorry again. It’s not looking good for you, countess.”
She shakes her head, shrugs.
“Vy you tell me murder?”
“Because you and Fritz murdered Albert.”
“Murder? Albert die of heart attack.”
Her eyes grow damp.
Damn, she’s good.
She starts crying and Juanita reaches for a Kleenex box from one of the small tables.
“You know I wasn’t always a Chief Inspector. I’ve been a Homicide Detective for a lot longer and the killers I don’t shoot, I send away for a long time, a few to death row.”
It takes a few minutes for her to stop crying and Juanita texts Beau – “He gave her up?”
Beau shakes his head.
Edna finally comes out of it.
“Now, about those vials. You said you never saw or touched them, correct?”
“Yes.” She wipes her eyes again with a Kleenex.
“What do you think is in them?”
“How vud I know?”
“They were in your place, not mine.”
Her nose crinkles and she looks at Juanita.
“You were the last person to be seen with Albert D’Loup.”
“Vy do you say he vus murdered? Did he not die of heart failure?”
“Who told you that?”
She rattles off a sentence in German, then says, “I learn from Untersuchungsrichter. Coroner. After you tell me Albert is dead.”
He watches her eyes. “He was poisoned.”
Her irises change as if he’s shining a light at her but her face is still now.
The sonar alert again and Beau sees its from Captain Hammond, NOPD Crime Lab. The text reads: Got matches. Call me.
Beau calls right away.
“The vials,” Hammond says. “Thumb print is Greta Schwandorf’s. Two fingerprints on the empty vial belong to Fritz Reinach.”
“You sure?”
“Fuckin’ A.”
Beau hangs up, looks at Edna.
“Furbanide.”
Again, the pin prick of recognition and she sets her jaw.
“You can pretend all you want but we go with the facts in a murder case. Rare poison from central Europe and we got a German and a Swiss German in custody.” He watches carefully. “And Fritz’s fingerprints on an empty vial with traces of furbanide inside.”
Edna nods. “There you go.”
“So, he did it.” Beau says.
Nothing from her, not even a shake of the head.
“You let me go now?”
“We have a warrant for your arrest for Illegal Possession of Stolen Things. The Remingtons. Remember?”
“Albert give zem to me.”
“Tell it to the judge. But it might go better for you if you tell me how Fritz poisoned Albert. You let him in the back door?”
She looks at Juanita and takes in a deep breath.
“He let himself in and put it in ze cup.”
“You saw him do that?”
She shakes her head. “Ven Albert collapse, Fritz step into the kitchen and tell me and zen he leave through back door.”
STELLA SITS UP on the foyer table and goes, “Arowl. Arowl.”
The Great Beau Page 17