“What?” She looked at Heinz.
“Nervous ticks. He has nervous ticks. Whenever we mentioned Liliya’s name, his lip twitched at the corner, and I know you couldn’t see it from where you stood, but I could see him twisting his hands behind his back. And his palm was sweating.”
“How do you know that?”
“When he shook my hand, it was wet.” He looked over at her.
“So, you can pick up on all these small things, but see me naked and you see nothing?” She threw it out there.
Heinz went from cocky and superior to embarrassed in a split second. He looked back at the road. “Now is not the time, Birgitta.” He ran a light but tried to stay two cars back as he followed. He noticed that his own palms were now sweating.
IMANI RODE IN THE DELIVERY truck with Otto and Bruce, the gallery’s weekend crew. She was tired and a little hung over, but she felt satisfied that she’d uncovered some very juicy information about the redheaded bitch. Once Paul Christiansen was good and drunk, he was a blabber mouth. He spilled a lot of details about his infamous incident nearly three years ago, including why he came to Berlin in the first place, to recruit a certain dominatrix for his uncle’s sex club, a certain redheaded dominatrix. After that, it was easy to shake him off and leave him at his door. He was, thankfully, too drunk to get it up, so she didn’t have to worry about that. Christiansen was very handsome, but somehow, not her type. Perhaps because he was too easy, or maybe because she viewed him as weak. Either way, it wasn’t going to happen no matter how hard he’d tried to charm her.
Still, she had very little sleep after she arrived home because she went online digging around until she found an old link to Elsa’s page on Club Sexo. Not even a very original name, but that nugget of evidence was going to get her what she wanted—Lukas. She couldn’t wait to trip the bitch up. She just needed to figure out how she would do it without making herself look bad. She pondered this all the way to Yuri Ivchencko’s home.
Once they arrived and were given permission to drive through up to the house from the gate guard, work took over. It was all about delivering the artwork and getting it hung where Ivchencko wanted it. Otto and Bruce did all the heavy lifting. It was simply up to Imani to supervise and make sure the client was happy. The tall Russian met them inside the house. Even his Sunday casual clothing was formal. He wore gray slacks, a Navy-blue sweater over a white collared shirt, and expensive gray slippers, the kind that cost upwards of eight hundred euro per pair. When he saw Imani walk through the door, his eyes narrowed, and his face froze.
He led the way first to his gallery where the Wet Dreams canvases were then hung on the far end of a long wall. The hallway already contained masterpieces by artists such as Chagall, Picasso, Rubens, Harlamov, and more. As Otto and Bruce completed the first four, Ivchencko escorted Imani to his library.
“This is where the other two will hang.” He indicated the blank space on the wall opposite two wing chairs near the vast marble fireplace.
Imani put her hands up in the shape of a frame and squinted her eye as she pictured how they should be hung, side by side or positioned with one high and one low.
“And where is Herr Trommler today? I thought he would be here overseeing this himself.” The somber expression on his face did not seem to reflect the irritation in his voice.
“Lukas has entrusted me to handle this for you.” She turned away trying not to let the anger show on her face at his condescension. His tone seemed to imply no one else could hang pictures but Lukas. Ridiculous.
“I’m sure you are very good at your job, Ms. Bishop. However, I’m not one to tolerate new people well. I know Lukas. I expected Lukas.” He lit a cigarette and puffed as he sat down in his chair.
“Then I apologize for what is obviously a miscommunication. Lukas informed me last night that I was to handle delivery of your items to your home. He never said anything about needing to be here, himself. I’m sure had he thought that the case, he would be here now.” Imani defended her boss, mostly because Ivchencko had already offended her.
“Then what did he say?”
“Pardon?” This caught her off guard enough that she turned to face him.
“What – did – he – say?” His sarcasm, although subtle, came through loud and clear.
“He said he had a date, and then asked me to ensure that your items were delivered on time.” She noted the gleam in his eyes but couldn’t tell by his expression if he was amused or angry.
“The redhead.” He pulled a drag on the cigarette fixed between his long, slender fingers.
Imani’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, the redhead.” She turned back to the wall.
“What was her name again...” He spoke as if to himself, trying to remember.
“Elsa. Her name is Elsa.” This time, a little bit of her displeasure trickled through.
Ivchencko noticed. “You don’t like her? Why is that?” Imani didn’t answer. “I see.” He stated this simply, but it came across as mocking.
She turned back again, standing defiantly. “You see what?”
He stared at her with his cold gray eyes. “Elsa has what you want.” His voice held a cruel glee. His expression showed clearly that he enjoyed her pain.
Her anger spiked. “Elsa has nothing. She won’t last long. And it’s none of your business!”
Yuri Ivchencko let out a loud laugh. It went on too long and Imani stomped angrily over to stand in front of the man. Leaning down and pointing her finger, she let loose.
“I know your type. You get off on hurting others. Well it won’t work with me. I put up with no man’s shit, so you can stow your inquiries. I don’t give a damn what you think or what some two-bit sex-worker thinks. She won’t have him. I’ll see to it. And you,” She narrowed her eyes, “you are simply a man with too much money and time on your hands. You wouldn’t know a real woman if she spanked your old ass! You sit around looking at your masterpieces in this mausoleum of a home all alone, and you dare to question anything about me? You have no right. And I won’t apologize for my outburst since you seem to have instigated it from the moment I walked through the door!” She stood up, stepped back and waited. She knew she’d gone too far, but Ivchencko had pissed her off.
Yuri Ivchencko stood. His height topped her own, and the look in his eyes promised retribution, but it didn’t come. Instead, opportunity knocked. “Did you say sex worker?”
It was like she hadn’t said anything else. He locked in on only those two words, two words about Elsa. Damn it! “Yes. Apparently, she used to be quite the in-demand dominatrix. That’s how Christiansen knew her.”
A rare smile spread across his face, but it didn’t sit well there. Where a smile usually makes most people appear approachable, his smile emanated pure evil, sure to send anyone on the receiving end of it running.
“That’s quite a story. Ah, Christiansen. He’s a twisted one. I knew he and I were kindred souls. That’s what drew me to his art.” He walked to a side bar and poured himself a drink. “So, is this enticing redhead still in the business?”
His curiosity about Elsa felt out of place, but if it kept the man happy after her tirade, she’d play along. She really didn’t want to lose her job despite her lapse in decorum. “No. She’s Schupo now.”
He nearly spit out his drink laughing. “You don’t say? Why, that’s the most contradictory change in career I’ve ever heard. How did she accomplish that one, I wonder?”
“I have no idea. All I know is she’s a cop.”
He regarded Imani. “You’re no sexy redhead, Ms. Bishop, but you have qualities that may appeal to lesser men.” His gaze traveled over her body leaving her feeling dirty. “I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get your turn.”
Otto and Bruce knocked as they came through the door hauling the last two large canvases from the Nightmares collection. “Where do you want these,” Otto asked.
“Ms. Bishop will guide you. I have a call to make.” Ivchencko walked out without a se
cond glance.
Imani watched him go, angry at his insults and glad he was taking his bad energy with him. She shook herself as if she could rid her body of the last fifteen minutes. “The blank wall over here. Let’s set one high, and one low, and then get the hell out of here.”
SUNDAY TRAFFIC WAS heavier in the afternoon than expected as Heinz and Mahler followed the dark sedan. It finally turned off into Charlottenburg. After driving through the denser neighborhoods, they made it further to the less populated area where larger homes stood. The sedan slowed down up ahead and turned into a long driveway that ended at a gate. Heinz pulled past the driveway and U-turned coming back around to park on the opposite side of the road a block down. He reached in the backseat for his binoculars.
The sedan stopped at the guard gate, a moment passed, and the gate opened. It continued up the cobblestone drive and parked in front of the large gray manor house behind a delivery truck that said Galerie George Nothelfer on the side.
“I know that gallery.” Heinz made the statement as he tried to remember where he’d heard the name recently.
“You’re into art? I had no idea.” Mahler’s tone sounded innocent enough, but he knew she was being sarcastic.
He looked over at her. “It was mentioned to me the other day. Where?” He thought a moment, and then it came to him. “Elsa. Elsa’s date. He works there.”
“Elsa had a date? She didn’t tell me. Is he nice?”
Heinz eyed his partner. “I don’t know. I haven’t received all the intel back on him yet.” He returned to the binoculars.
“You didn’t? You ran his name?” Mahler was shocked he would do this.
“I did, and I’m not sorry about it. Elsa’s past bad choices show she needs help in picking and choosing who she befriends.”
“Her choices were those of a young woman trying to survive and care for her brother, not because she was looking to run with a bad crowd.”
“She’s my responsibility, her and Anno—"
“Elsa and Anno are fully grown. You can dial it back, ‘papa’. She’s a smart woman. Hasn’t she already proven it?” Mahler felt the need to defend Elsa in the very same way Heinz felt the need to protect her.
He turned to her. “And yet here her boyfriend’s delivery truck sits at the home of an unknown family member of a possible kidnapper and killer of young girls.” His eyebrow was up as if to say, “And you were saying?”
Mahler blew out a frustrated breath. There was just no arguing with him. He was set in his ways, and he was dogged about Elsa and Anno. He even treated her own son, Jan, to this same level of ...care? Once that word skipped through her mind, she lost her anger. He cared. That care extended to her son, and it probably even extended to herself to a degree.
“Well, let’s run the address.” She typed it into the computer and waited for the police database to spit out the name of the owner.
“Hmmn, this just got stranger.” Mahler read the real estate listing, and then cross-checked the name with Interpol.
“What? Who lives here?” Heinz waited.
“Yuri Ivchencko.” Her eyes were serious.
“You don’t say?” Heinz bit his lip and his memories flew back to Hamburg eight years ago. A woman reported seeing a young girl fitting the description of Marlessa Schubert being carried onto a ship there, but when he investigated it, no such ship had been on the docket. There were, however, several ships in port both during the time he was there, and the weeks prior, all under the same company name, Ivchencko Enterprises. The business damn near owned that port, and yet no one knew anything about that particular ship on that particular night. The harbor master’s docket was suspiciously clear that evening despite ships coming in and out of port regularly. And a representative for IE claimed no knowledge of any women on any of their ships. When he’d tried to push it, an attorney had contacted his superior threatening to file a complaint against Heinz personally if he didn’t cease harassing their employees. Already in hot water, he was ordered off the case.
“Anything come back on him?”
“Not that I see.” She read the brief information on the screen finding only the expected, name, date of birth, country of origin, etc.
“Run his business through the database. Ivchencko Enterprises.”
“What is it? What do you know?” Mahler waited.
“Nothing yet. Run Koslov’s name, too. See what you come up with.” As he waited, the delivery truck began to pull out of the driveway and back to the main street. “Damn it. I didn’t see who came out. Did you?”
“No. I was on the computer.”
The truck exited the gate and turned onto the street pulling away from them. A clear view of the driver wasn’t possible.
“I’m not coming up with anything on a Greg Koslov. No relatives of Ivchencko, anyway.”
“Cast a wider net. Put his name out on Interpol. Include variations on the name with his physical description. He is Russian. There may be a criminal record on file with the Politsiya at the Kremlin.” Heinz started the car. Unless he had a clear link between Greg and the girls, and a warrant, there was nothing more he could do here.
He pulled out his cell phone and tapped the speed dial for a number. Mahler looked up. “Who are you calling?”
“I need to speak to Elsa.”
Chapter Nine
IT HAD BEEN ONE LONG day on patrol with Biemer and Elsa’s feet were killing her. Worse, she was tired and cranky, and her partner noticed.
“You’ve been worse than a grouchy bear all day, Kreiss.” He was not enjoying her irritability. He was in a joyful mood, and wanted to share it with her, but she was not herself, and her sour disposition was starting to wear on him.
“I’m sorry, Hugo. I just need some sleep. Thank God it’s my day off tomorrow. I’ll be better by Tuesday.” She plodded along, huddling into her dark blue police jacket. Her body was feeling every bit of the cold today as the temperature fell. She looked up at the sky. Clouds gathered and rain would begin to fall soon. “Good thing our shift is over in ten minutes. Otherwise, we’d get soaked. I don’t envy second shift.”
Beimer nodded. “We should head back now.” They turned and walked through the near-empty park on their way to their patrol car parked on the far end. “Did I tell you Sigrid is cooking me dinner?” His grin was even more ridiculously goofy today.
‘Yes, Hugo, you did.” She held up her fingers. “Three times.” Elsa couldn’t quite get up the enthusiasm necessary for Beimer. She was happy for him, but at the moment, all she could think about was a warm bed. She’d even turned Lukas down for dinner. He’d been texting her throughout the day trying to convince her to come by after work. She politely and delicately declined. She knew where that would lead, and her body simply wanted rest more than it wanted Lukas.
Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She didn’t even bother to look at it this time. She knew Lukas would be trying again to convince her to come by. He could wait. It would be good for him. Besides, she wasn’t at her best, and she wanted to be at her best when they went for round two. They passed second shift’s car as they drove out of the tourist area. Hoff and Haecker waved at them. The looks on their faces showed they were not looking forward to patrolling in a downpour.
The drive back to the station was short and quiet. Beimer had given up talking with Elsa about his budding romance with Sigrid, and Elsa was thankful. Her energy tanked at least three hours earlier, and she couldn’t muster enough interest to be sufficiently thrilled for him. She was looking forward to a quick ride home on the tube, and bed. Inside the station house, she signed out, and checked her mailbox one last time in case any memos had come down the wire. Inside was an envelope addressed simply to Elsa.
It looked like it was some kind of invitation, so she shoved it into her coat pocket. “See you Tuesday, Hugo. Enjoy your dinner and tell Sigrid I said hello.” She pulled a rain scarf out of her backpack and tied it around her hat and under her chin.
“Any last ad
vice?” Hugo picked up his umbrella from the bench by their lockers. He looked both extremely happy, and completely terrified.
Elsa smiled, but it was a tired smile. “Just be yourself.” She patted him on the shoulder and walked out into the rain.
THE UBAHN WAS CROWDED as people who usually might walk the extra blocks opted to ride because of the weather. A gentleman wearing a tweed jacket sat to her right. He smelled like a wet dog. Tweed never fared well in the rain, and he’d obviously gotten caught in the downpour. Elsa stuck her hands in her pockets to warm them up and her right hand came into contact with the envelope. She pulled it out and tore it open.
My dear lady,
You were right. There is, indeed, a world of ‘festering diseased minds’, those that quite enjoy the pleasure of inflicting pain. You and your sharp observation skills saw a side of me I rarely share with outsiders. But you’re not that much of an outsider, are you? You, too, understand the ‘art’ of inflicting pain. Yes, Mistress Elsa. I know your secret, too. I am expecting your company tonight at my home. Please see yourself here at the address listed below as soon as you leave work. Don’t think to decline my invitation. It would be unwise as your secret might just find its way to the ears of those you care about, Lukas Trommler to start, and then, I believe your career in law enforcement would be in jeopardy should this information find its way to your captain’s desk. I expect to see you soon.
Yuri Ivchencko.
1211 Baumgartenstrasse
Elsa stared at the short missive, reading it again. With each word, her anger rose, and her heart pounded. How? Why? What the fuck just happened? How in the world could that man know about her past? And why has he fixated on her? What was this about? Did he expect she would simply drop everything and come running? She was never the submissive type. She was dominant, and damned proud of it. But he seemed to know what only three others knew; that she’d once been a very successful dominatrix. Only Heinz, Mahler, and Paul Christiansen knew that. Well, and Sarah, of course, but she wasn’t here. And Paul was back in Holland already as far as she knew. He was supposed to have left this morning. So how did this man, whom she only met briefly last night, suddenly know about this, and what in the hell did he want with her?
The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set Page 31