He pulled up the list of phone numbers stored in the burner. Birgitta, Faust, and Elsa. He smiled. There was one more listed simply as Emergency. He had no idea who that was, and the number below was unfamiliar. He ignored it for the moment and hit number three on the speed-dial.
“Hallo?”
“Are you staying out of trouble?” Heinz asked in a stern voice.
“Of course not, Papa,” the feminine voice answered. He could hear the barely contained laughter bubbling just under the surface of her statement.
Heinz laughed. “I figured as much. Who have you pissed off today, Elsa?”
She giggled, then grew serious. “Well, for starters, Captain Keller thinks I’m screwing Herman.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Yes, can you believe it?”
“Why would he think such a thing? That’s ridiculous! Faust is an old dog with his own porch to lay on.”
Elsa snorted. “What is it with you and Herman, and your old dog references?” She paused, then continued. “Keller got his nose out of joint. It seems he’s been vying for a position within the LKA for quite some time, and he was none too happy to lose me to Faust. That is what prompted the egotistical man to infer I was sleeping my way up the ladder.”
Joseph slapped his knee. “You’ve been promoted?”
Elsa considered his question. “Well, I suppose so, or maybe it’s a lateral move. Faust has me working for him right now...” She stopped, knowing she could not reveal too much.
“Elsa, if you’re working directly for the Direktor of the LKA, you’ve been promoted. Maybe Herman didn’t make that abundantly clear but let me do so now. Congratulations. I’m proud of you.” The last sentence was stated with feeling.
Elsa felt it. His words touched her heart. She swallowed a tight lump in her throat and blinked back a happy tear. “Thank you,” she said, softly. A smile she couldn’t contain spread across her lips. “Well, needless to say, Keller was unhappy.
Heinz laughed out loud. “Well, Keller always was the jealous one. He and Faust have an old rivalry.”
“I heard.”
This surprised him. “You did?”
“Yes, Herman told me all about the competition for Helga all those years ago. It was rather cute, actually. He’s really an old softie.”
A loud snort echoed across the line. “Don’t let him fool you. Faust is tough as nails.” A small smile tugged his lips. “Just do what he tells you to do. He won’t steer you wrong.”
“Will do, Herr Kommissar.”
“How’s Anno?”
“He’s well. His grades are good, and he’s dating a girl named Jules from England. She’s an exchange student.”
“Did I ever have the talk with him?” Heinz began, worried.
Elsa cackled. “No, I did! Don’t worry. I’ve already explained the birds and the bees to him, and he knows to slap a raincoat over his cock or else I’ll beat him within an inch of his life.”
Joseph winced. “Elsa, language!”
“Don’t be so provincial. We’re all grownups.” He could hear the laughter in her voice.
“That may be, but I’m still your elder, and hearing you say words like “cock” just does not strike me right.”
“Sorry, papa,” she mocked.
“And stop calling me papa,” he said with a grumpy inflection. He didn’t really mean it. “Well, I just wanted to check in. Will you be celebrating tonight with Lukas?”
“Maybe a small celebration, dinner or something.”
“Tell him hello for me.”
“I will.”
Heinz was quiet for a moment, staring at the faded, floral wallpaper where it peeled away from the corner by the door. “Keep an eye on Birgitta for me. I’ll call you again this weekend to check on you.”
Elsa felt love fill her heart. Heinz could never say it, but she knew he loved her, and loved Anno. It was in every phone call to ‘check’ on them, and every weekly dinner out, and every action he took to help them along their paths in this world.
“Okay, I will. Be careful,” she said before she could censor her words.
He chuckled. “At a police seminar? I’m sure I’ll be fine. Just bored.”
Elsa replied, “You know what I mean.”
“I do. Auf wiedersehen.”
He ended the call. A growl from his stomach reminded him he’d hardly eaten a thing all day of any substance. With time to kill, he rose up off his bed, and left his room to seek out the hotel dining room.
THE RESTAURANT WITHIN the Kseniya consisted of five tables set in a darkened room with only two windows facing out onto the front and side streets. Small candles lit the individual tables, and Heinz felt sure the low lighting was intentional to hide the down-trodden conditions of the furniture, carpet, and wallpaper, which looked suspiciously like the peeling paper on the walls of his bedroom. Still, the scents coming from the kitchen were appetizing, and he was hungry enough not to care how much of a hole-in-the-wall joint the hotel dining room was.
A plump, dark-haired, older woman led him to a table by the window facing the side street. She handed him a menu, which he took, and asked him for his drink order. Thankfully, Heinz knew enough words to recognize what she was asking him. He ordered a cup of hot tea and a shot of Vodka. The woman raised a bushy, black eyebrow as she gave Heinz the once-over. He noticed the mole at the very corner of her thin lips. It was nearly as dark as her hair. He tried not to wince and nodded his head instead. She left to fill his order.
Opening the frayed paper menu, he scanned the list. It was, thankfully, written in English in addition to the Russian language. His English was better than his Russian any day of the week. When she came back with his drinks, he ordered the Shchi, a soup made of beef stock, spices, vegetables, and pickled cucumber water, and two steaming Pirozhki stuffed with boiled meat and onions. Both were typical Russian fare, and both would fill the empty, growling space otherwise known as his stomach.
She wrote it all down and took her time returning to the kitchen. The older woman didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and in his current state of hunger, that didn’t sit well with him. Heinz sipped his Vodka. It was cool and smooth, and potent. He sucked in a breath, and blew it back out. He was used to German beer, which was also fairly potent, but this was stronger. Slowly, a sensation of warmth spread through his body, and he felt himself relaxing. He began going over his notes inside his head. There was no doubt he’d witnessed a crime being committed, but he was in no position to do anything about it. This weighed heavily on his conscience. A man or woman could have very well been killed while he sat outside observing.
Before he realized it, his shot of Vodka was gone. He reached for his tea and was interrupted.
“Looks like you need a refill.” The words, spoken in Russian, did not register fully at first.
Heinz turned from the window, startled out of his thoughts. A tall woman stood next to his table staring down at him with a small smile on her lips. The first two things he noted were that she held two shots of Vodka in her hands, and she was uncommonly beautiful. Her dark, blonde hair fell over one shoulder onto her Hunter green blazer, which matched her slacks. She wore a silky white blouse beneath, and small gold hoops dangled from her ears. Her eyes were dark, somewhere between green and amber, but Heinz was not positive. The lighting was a bit too dim. He responded back in in his native tongue.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
She switched to German with ease. “I said it looks like you need a refill.” She set one of the two shot glasses down in front of him, and then glanced at the seat opposite.
Heinz nodded, indicating she should sit. Once settled, she introduced herself. “I’m Lana Karakova.”
“Martin Lintz,” said Heinz.
She smiled. “It is nice to meet you, Martin Lintz. I hope you don’t mind,” she gestured toward the table, “but I hate to eat alone.”
Heinz wondered just who she was and where she came from. Beaut
iful women didn’t just walk up and join him for dinner every day. “Not at all. Are you a guest of the Kseniya?”
“Yes, just for a few days.” She didn’t offer any more.
“Business or pleasure?”
“Business, of course.” She lifted her shot glass clinking his before taking a sip. Heinz offered a benign smile and lifted the glass to his lips but did not drink. His brain was on full alert.
“And yourself? What brings you to Saint Petersburg, Herr Lintz?” She smiled through her eyes. They were lovely eyes, and the effect was not lost on him, but he remained guarded.
“Pleasure. I’m enjoying a small vacation.”
“In Russia?” She chuckled. “And what do you do when not on vacation?”
“I teach.” He sat back and away from the table as the older woman returned carrying a hot bowl of soup and a plate of steaming meat pies. She glanced at the woman now sitting across from Heinz.
“Are you ordering too?” she asked, irritated.
Lana Karakova switched tongues again and replied in rapid-fire succession with, “I’ll have the Shchi with a slice of warm bread, and please bring two more of these.” She held up her shot glass.
The older woman huffed, and ambled away, grumbling under her breath.
Heinz watched her go before returning his attention to his unexpected dinner companion. Lana took another sip of her liquor, watching him. “So, what is your business, Frau Karakova?”
“Lana, please.”
“Then you must call me Martin,” he easily replied.
“Well, Martin, I work in the tech field.” She leaned forward.
Heinz surreptitiously observed the woman. She wore a business suit with minimal jewelry; only her earrings and a gold-tone watch. No rings. Her nails were unpolished, filed short, yet shapely. On her feet she wore whiskey-colored leather boots with a pointed toe, and a mid-height heel; neither formal nor informal, but somewhere in between. She didn’t seem to be carrying a handbag which told him she was probably telling the truth about being a hotel guest. She most likely left it in her room. Still, he was thrown by the forward way in which she invited herself to dine with him. Am I being too cynical? He asked himself the question knowing that in his line of work, second-guessing was never a smart move. He commanded himself to take a cautious approach. No one knew he was here except for Faust, so the woman’s story was completely plausible. He was probably overreacting, but the habit was ingrained. If she was simply Lana Karakova, businesswoman from the tech industry, then he had to wonder why she decided to boldly join him. And, he had to admit he felt just a little guilty because he was a man engaged to be married in just a few weeks, and his beloved thought he was in Stockholm attending seminars to advance his career. In a flash, he realized his guilt had to do with only one thing – he found the woman attractive.
“And do you enjoy it?”
The old woman returned once again with a tray containing Lana’s soup, bread, and two more shots. She placed the items on the table, saving the Vodka for last, which she put in the center between them.
When she left, Lana pushed one toward him. “Go on, drink it. I hate drinking alone. So boring.” She set her own down and picked up her spoon.
Heinz took the shot. This one he lifted and sipped before delving into his own meal. Manners dictated that he wait until she was served. They ate in silence for a moment before she answered.
“I do enjoy it,” she said in between bites. “Tech is always changing so it’s never dull.”
“Exactly what type of tech?” He took a bite of his pirozhki.
She looked up, holding his gaze. “Weaponry.”
Heinz stopped chewing, and then swallowed. “Military or civilian?”
A second passed before she answered, “civilian.”
Heinz wondered why she hesitated, even if only for a split second, but she continued to eat her soup calmly. He began to wonder if he’d grown too jaded, being so highly suspicious of a lone female. Still, Mata Hari was a lone female, and look at the grief she caused both France and Germany during World War I.
“And what do you teach, Martin?”
“Mathematics,” he answered.
She groaned. “That was my worst subject.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “But if my instructor had been half as handsome as yourself, perhaps I would have paid more attention.”
Heinz chuckled, surprised by her blatant flirtation. “I have a feeling you managed to pass the course.”
She sat forward. “And how do you know this?”
He lifted his Vodka in a mock salute. “Because you are obviously a successful woman now.”
Lana’s smile spread revealing white teeth in a dazzling display. Her eyes twinkled as she picked up her own shot glass and clinked it to his. “Are all German men so charming?”
Heinz pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I’m Austrian,” he said, maintaining his pseudo-identity.
“Oh, I see. My mistake. And where from in Austria?”
He took a sip before answering. “Salzburg.”
“Home of Mozart. Lovely. I visited only last year.” Lana sat her drink down. “There was a wonderful café not far from my hotel that served delicious food. It was near Mozart’s actual birthplace. It was on...,” she sat back, trying to remember.
Heinz finished off his Vodka. “Getreidegasse. The whole area is a popular tourist attraction.” Thankfully, he knew what she was talking about having visited Salzburg while still married to his ex-wife, Eva. But those were altogether different times.
“Yes, that’s it exactly.” Lana returned her attention to her soup while Heinz continued to work his way through his own meal. They grew quiet as both stared out the window at the foot traffic passing by.
He felt more relaxed. She’d ceased her questions which left him silently berating himself. He knew, as a career detective, that anyone seeking information, either police or the criminal element, would have continued chatting in hopes to lull the other person into revealing more about themselves. Lana seemed satisfied with his brief answers, and what he thought might have been a ploy to trip him up about his origins in Austria turned out not to be the case at all.
A cell phone buzzed. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her mobile. Looking at the screen, she smiled. “Sorry. It’s my son.” She let the call go to voicemail but backed up her chair preparing to rise. Heinz shoved his own chair back and stood. “I’ll need to call him back. He worries when I’m away.”
“How old is he?” Heinz asked.
“Nearly fifteen but thinks he’s thirty.” She chuckled. “Thank you for the company. It has been quite lovely.” She reached out, and Heinz took her hand. He gave her a gentlemanly handshake.
“Not at all. It is me who should thank you. You’ve made my dinner most enjoyable.”
She held his hand a moment longer than seemly before turning to walk away. “Goodnight, Herr Lintz.” She threw a smile over her shoulder at him, and then walked out of the dining room.
Heinz watched her go noting the sway of her long, blonde hair, and how it matched the sway of her hips. He shook himself suddenly. Stop looking! You’re engaged, you dog! The silent reprimand brought him back to the present. He sat back down and finished his now cold tea. It was almost eight in the evening which meant back home in Berlin, Birgitta would be getting home soon. He flagged the old woman who’d served him all night and asked for the check. Too late, he realized that Lana had not paid for her meal, but rather, had left him with the bill. He laughed at himself. Sucker. He knew karma had just paid him back for lying to Birgitta about this trip, and for enjoying dinner with a woman who was not his fiancé. He left the restaurant and headed back to his room.
Chapter Eight
ELSA MOANED. LUKAS kissed a trail down her back as he slowly removed the little black dress she’d worn to dinner. He’d made reservations at her favorite spot, Oma’s Haus. He didn’t know why she loved it so much. The food was good, but it was casual and designed fo
r tourists. Far too ‘cutesy’ for his own well-traveled tastes. Still, it was her celebration for her promotion, and anything his woman wanted, she got. On the way home, she informed Lukas that she wanted him, and he was about to fulfil that request as well.
He tugged the small scrap of black, silky material down over her slender hips revealing the smooth skin of her perfectly shaped bottom to his greedy eyes. From his vantage point crouched down behind her, he was able to enjoy the full view including the red string thong she wore that hid nothing from his gaze. He pressed his lips to a cheek, rubbing them back and forth before slowly rising and licking a wet line up her spine.
“I love when you do that,” she said with her head lolling back and to the side as he stood fully and buried his face into her fragrant neck.
“I know.” He reached around and cupped her breasts, kneading them in his warm palms.
She could feel him growing hard pressed up against her backside. She smiled and reached one hand around to caress his hip through his slacks. “You have on too many clothes.” She pushed away from him breaking his hold and turned around. “Strip for me,” she purred.
Lukas chuckled. “Here? Now?”
He watched as she stepped backwards and sat on the edge of their bed. She spread her knees, placing her hands on them while she kept her feet firmly planted on the floor. She still wore her black stilettos. The image she presented sitting there in nothing but the barest scrap of a thong and her high heels with her red hair tumbling down around her shoulders in loose curls was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a lot since his relationship with Elsa began. She never ceased to surprise him. Just when he thought he’d seen it all with her, she’d do or say something new that enchanted him all over again. He was addicted to her beauty, her scent, her sexy moans, her laugh, and her indomitable spirit. He was hopelessly ensnared by every single freckle that dotted her small, perky tits, and he’d become intimately acquainted with each and every one. He wanted to visit that land of milk and honey again, but she wanted a show first.
The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set Page 51