“What will it be,” he asked.
Heinz picked out two of the words and understood the question. He answered with his own stilted Russian, “Vodka, neat,” and then switched tongues, “und sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“Da, ein bisschen.” The man pulled out a small tumbler, poured two fingers of vodka, and passed the glass to Heinz. “That will be two-hundred twelve rubles,” he answered.
Heinz placed the money on the bar, but kept his hand over it as he asked, “And how much for some information?”
The man held his gaze. “Are you police?” He kept his hands down below the bar, out of Heinz’s line of sight.
“Nein. I am a man in need of finding his wife and taking her home. Our children are waiting, and I have very little time.”
The man relaxed. “I see. And what kind of information are you looking for?”
“I need to purchase a handgun.” He offered no prevarication. Simply straight to the point as a desperate, jealous man would be.
“Go to a gun manufacturer.” The man stated, still taking Heinz’s measure.
“I don’t have time for that, friend, nor would I qualify. I’m an Austrian national, not a Russian Federation citizen. What I require is immediate, short term, and cash only.”
“You don’t think you could convince your wife to come home with you otherwise?”
“It’s not for her that I need a gun. This man she has run off with, let’s just say he’s a bit younger and more athletic than me. A real smooth operator with honey dripping off his lying tongue, and no real intention of doing anything more than ruining her. He already convinced her to empty our bank account and leave our children. I’m not the least bit happy about it, but I’m willing to forgive and forget, for the sake of our daughters,” he added. Making his fictitious children girls was a gamble, but he was more than sure the child tattooed on his arm was a daughter.
The gamble paid off.
The man nodded. “It’s the children who suffer when women lose their minds and their virtue. I may know of someone.” The man reached out his hand. “I’m Viktor.”
Heinz took the man’s hand, shaking it. “Martin. And thank you.”
“How soon?” he asked.
“By day’s end, if possible.”
Viktor walked to the end of the bar. He leaned over and spoke to a man sitting there reading a newspaper. The man appeared menacing with dark hair and thick brows. A scar cut across his forehead down his left cheek to his jaw. He glanced over at Heinz, checking him from head to toe. Heinz sat down at the bar, and sipped his vodka trying for all the world not to look like a cop. He ignored the man as Viktor spoke to him relaying the story. Finally, the bartender returned.
“Nine hundred rubles, cash. Finish your drink, and then in thirty minutes, go out the side door. Take a left. The transaction will take place there.”
“Thank you, Viktor.” Heinz reached out to shake his hand once again. “I won’t forget your kindness.”
“Just bring your wife home to her children, and make sure she understands what she has put her family through, make sure she never leaves again.” The look in Viktor’s eyes conveyed exactly what he meant. The man clearly advocated a good beating. It was repulsive to Heinz’s way of thinking, but he wasn’t here to preach against domestic violence. He was here to find answers. At least part of his story was truthful. If God answered his prayers, he’d find a way to either bring Marlessa Schubert home, or at the very least, put her ghost to rest.
“I will.” Heinz looked at his watch, and then slowly sipped his drink. When thirty minutes passed, he placed a few extra rubles on the bar, got up, and walked out the side door.
“THIS IS THE PLACE.” Rudi Oppel kept up a running one-sided dialogue as he drove them to an exclusive neighborhood in Reinickendorf on Berlin’s northwest side.
Mahler let him talk. Now and again, she nodded or offered a short reply. She concluded that Oppel liked to hear himself speak, and that he held himself in very high esteem beneath the deferential demeanor he presented to his superior.
He turned to her after parking his Audi in the long driveway that curved around the front of a four-story mansion set at the end of a picturesque drive. It was opulent, to say the least. The grounds surrounding the estate were meticulously manicured with tall trees forming a boundary at the edges of the property. The house screamed money, but looking at it, the last thing anyone would guess was that it served as the site for a high-dollar escort service.
“Madame Denouve has granted you this interview, but not without reservations. I’ve assured her you’re here only in the capacity of helping the minister, and not to interfere with her business.” He said this while giving her a stern eye.
It was all she could do not to laugh at him. Only someone who knew her well would understand the slightly raised eyebrow in an otherwise blank expression.
“Understood, Herr Oppel. Shall we?” Mahler opened her door and stepped out, leaving the assistant to catch up as she walked purposefully toward the massive, dark oak double doors with intricate, stained glass, arched windows.
As she reached out to knock, Rudi Oppel caught her hand and stopped her. He pointed to the doorbell on the left wall of the porch enclosure, and then pressed the button.
Church bells chimed alerting the occupants inside of visitors. The irony was not lost on Mahler.
The door opened, and they were greeted by a tall brunette in a burgundy silk sheathe. Her makeup, hair, and nails were immaculate, and her legs beneath the mid-thigh-length dress seemed to go on for days ending in matching burgundy leather stilettos. Mahler looked up at the woman who topped her by a good six inches. Her bosom was impressive, she’d give her that. The amount of cleavage revealed by the low, scooped neckline bordered on pornographic yet stilled appeared elegant within the silken material.
“Herr Oppel, Madame Denouve is expecting you. This way, please.” The woman’s accent revealed a possible Georgian background, maybe Ukrainian, but Mahler wasn’t completely sure.
“Wonderful. Thank you, Salome. Detective?” Oppel glanced at Mahler indicating she should follow.
Birgitta stepped inside the opulent manor behind him. Salome closed the door and caught up to them. She slid a sideways look at Mahler, a small smile on her full, red lips. The woman took her measure raking her dark eyes over the detective from head to toe. Birgitta felt every inch of her perusal in a disturbingly familiar way. She pulled her shoulders back and straightened her spine, subconsciously showing her full height of five feet, four inches of no-nonsense policewoman.
As they neared an open doorway at the far side of the impressive foyer, Salome stepped in front of them, reaching out to offer a perfunctory knock. She stood just inside the doorway and addressed the room’s occupant leaving Oppel and Mahler standing outside.
“Madame, your guests have arrived.”
“Send them in, Salome,” A sultry, low voice answered.
Foregoing gentlemanly etiquette, Rudi Oppel walked inside first. Mahler trailed in behind him, but not before she felt a hand touch her shoulder and slide down to the small of her back as she walked through the doorway, directing her as a man would his lover. Birgitta threw a sharp look over her shoulder at Salome. The tall woman smiled down at her, cat-like, before finally removing her hand, and stepping out of the room.
Mahler didn’t like this one bit. It was bad enough when men took liberties, but this was the first time she’d experienced the phenomenon at the hands of a woman. The fact that it happened inside what could only be legally termed a brothel made it that much seedier. Worse, she didn’t quite know how to handle it. When a man took advantage, it was easy to rebuke him straight out with a look or a word. But what does one say when it’s another woman? First, she’d have to admit she assumed the woman’s intentions to be sexually motivated when perhaps the woman in question was merely the ‘touchy-feely’ sort. The second guessing is what allowed this type of thing to happen every day to women everywhere. No, overthink
ing was never the answer. Trusting one’s natural instincts was usually the truer course of action, and her instincts told her she’d just been felt up. The bitch.
“Welcome, Rudi. I see you’ve brought your detective with you. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
A petite woman with silver hair and clear blue eyes sat in a cream-colored, wing-back chair. She wore a dark gray Chanel suit over an ice-blue blouse. Her upswept hair enhanced her prominent cheekbones, and teardrop diamonds adorned her ears while a matching pendant graced her long, slender neck. Despite her advanced age, her skin was smooth, taut over what Mahler’s mother would call a blessed face, one that aged well. Madame Denouve had obviously been quite beautiful in her younger days, and she was still a stunner today. There was something familiar about her face, but it was fleeting.
“Yes. Allow me to make the introduction. Madame,” he nodded in deference to the lady, “this is Detective Mahler. She is here to ask you a few questions related to the minister’s, eh, time spent here with your talented staff.”
“I know why you say she’s here, Rudi,” Madame stated sharply. “What I want to know is how my establishment has anything to do with the minister’s need for protection by the police?” She directed the last question at Mahler. “Come, detective, and sit.” She indicated the royal blue wing-back opposite. “Rudi, you may go and amuse yourself. I’ll have Salome find you when we’re finished.”
Oppel sputtered. “But should I not be here for this interview? It is, after all, concerning my employer.”
“It concerns no one but my business, which, in this arena, is not your business. Thank you, Rudi. That will be all.” Madame Denouve turned her attention to Mahler, effectively dismissing the man. After hesitating a moment, he nodded, and made his way out of the drawing room, red faced.
“Now, let’s discuss this without men around to fuck it all up.”
Mahler had to smother a laugh. Hearing the elegant woman before her casually uttering the course expletive surprised her, and she was rarely surprised these days.
“Tell me, detective, are you truly here solely for the purpose of ferreting out whoever is making threats to Minister Obermeyer or is there an ulterior motive? Come, come, I have no time for prevarication.”
Mahler held the woman’s steely gaze. “I’ve been assigned to investigate the threats against the minister, Madame Denouve, and nothing more. As for your business, as long as you are operating within the letter of the law, I’m sure we have no issue.”
“Indeed,” the Madame replied. A moment passed before the woman let out a small sigh, and sat back, crossing her legs. “So ask your questions, Detective.”
“I need to know which of your staff are intimately acquainted with Herr Obermeyer, all of them, but especially, those of whom he spends the most time. I’ll need to question each, and if there is any background information you can offer that will help me eliminate them as suspects, it would be appreciated.”
“What makes you even consider that the individual threatening the Minister is a female?”
Mahler leaned forward. “A hunch.” She offered the vague reply, refusing to share any details of an ongoing investigation.
Madame Denouve smiled slyly. “Women always know. We know because we recognize what we, ourselves, would do. Tell me, when did the threats begin?”
“Why do you need to know?” Mahler asked.
“Because, my dear, it will help me to pare down the list of the Minister’s...how did you state it? Ah yes, his intimate acquaintances. If I know when this began, I can have Salome compile the list from that date on.”
“Of course.” Birgitta opened her notebook. The threats began approximately four and a half weeks ago.
“So, around the first of August?” The older woman reached over to the small table next to her chair and lifted a ledger which she opened in her lap. She spent a quiet minute running her manicured fingertip down the pages. One eyebrow raised and lowered, and then she called out, “Salome?”
The tall woman entered, walking to Madame Denouve’s side. “Yes, Madame?”
Denouve handed the ledger over. “Please pull the files on all the Minister’s appointments from August 1st forward. Make a copy of their applications, and bring them to me, please. Also, call each and have them come in,” she looked at Mahler, “tomorrow afternoon? Will that work, Detective?”
Mahler checked her schedule. She would still be on the clock protecting Obermeyer. “Actually, I’m on duty until around 6:00 p.m.”
“Then make that 7:00 p.m., Salome, to give the Detective time to get here.” She looked at Mahler. “You’ll be here during business hours, Detective. I trust you will be discreet, but just in case, I shall be joining you—a silent observer, of course, but it’s my duty to protect my employees, and to ensure my clients’ appointments are not interrupted. We’ll meet back here,” she stood, “but please, dress appropriately for after five.” She ran her blue eyes up and down Mahler’s usual, dark utilitarian pantsuit. “No offense, dear, but you look every inch the police. I can’t have that. Not here. You understand?” Her silver eyebrow rose as she stood, waiting.
Irritation nibbled at Birgitta’s patience. “I understand.” She did, but she didn’t like it. It was already bad enough that she had to spend her days shadowing Ritt Obermeyer, but now, she was expected to dress up for a cocktail party to conduct serious, investigative interviews. Worse, she would have to maintain her professional dignity while questioning call girls inside a residential brothel as the powerful men of Berlin cavorted in rooms above her head. It reeked to high heaven. She felt a rising anger towards the Minister, his stalker, her captain, and even her fiancé for not being here.
“Good, then we’re finished. We’ll see you tomorrow night.” Madame Denouve exited the drawing room, regal as a queen.
Salome turned to Mahler. “I’ll have the files for you shortly. Can I offer you a drink while you wait?” She stepped closer.
Birgitta held up her hand. “No, thank you. I’ll just wait with Herr Oppel.”
“Herr Oppel is otherwise occupied at the moment, but you’re welcome to stay here. I won’t be long.” Salome smiled.
“He’s occupied? As in...” Mahler’s words trailed off.
“Yes. He is upstairs fucking Ekaterine.”
To Mahler, it seemed as if Salome chose her words with purpose. The glint in the woman’s dark eyes confirmed this. A telling hint of amusement.
“I see.” Birgitta’s discomfort rose.
Salome stepped closer still, her long legs now directly in front of where Birgitta sat offering her a full view of their length. “Is there anything I can interest you in...while you wait?” She bent down, placing one hand on the armrest of Mahler’s chair while locking eyes. The woman’s breasts nearly fell out of their silken confines.
“Nein! I mean, no thank you. I’m good.” Good Lord, what is going on? If Joseph were here, he wouldn’t believe this. Or maybe he would. Probably would blush bright red in embarrassment, just like he did the first time he saw me naked. For sure, Elsa would get a laugh out of it.
Salome remained positioned provocatively a moment longer, and then slowly stood up. “You have only to ask. I’ll be right back.” She sauntered from the room, swaying her hips more than necessary.
When she was gone, Mahler let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. It was followed by the laugh she’d smothered earlier. She stood and pulled her mobile out of her pocket. Walking toward the window, she began texting, ‘You won’t believe this, darling...’ As she finished typing the details of her encounter, she prepared to hit SEND, but stopped. Her eyes caught movement out front. Looking up, she saw a man in a suit exit the front door, and get into his Mercedes, which had been brought around by a valet. She knew that car, and she knew the man getting in. It was Lukas Trommler.
What the hell is he doing here? Mahler’s jaw dropped. Her brain raced ninety miles a minute trying to come up with one good reason why her maid of honor�
��s boyfriend would be leaving a brothel, and she couldn’t come up with one. If she asked Salome about him, no doubt the woman would refuse to answer. Discretion was the key to the success of businesses such as this one, and with it already successfully serving some of the richest, most powerful men in Berlin, she knew she’d get no information. Now, she was faced with a dilemma. Tell Elsa she’d seen Lukas leaving the brothel or keep her mouth shut.
Chapter Twelve
TWO HOURS AFTER THE sun went down, Heinz found himself back at the gilded home in the upscale neighborhood where he’d last seen the produce truck. The temperature dropped. He could see his own breath every time he exhaled, and if it kept dropping, the moisture in the air would turn once again to snow. This would not be good. He couldn’t cover his tracks in the snow, and he planned to get as close to the house as he could without being caught. He hoped to find his way discreetly inside, but that might be asking the powers that be for too much. However it played out; he knew he wanted to find some concrete answers.
Heinz stood under a thick copse of trees in the alleyway at the back of the house watching. There were lights shining from the floor to ceiling windows of a large room on the right. He could see several people milling about with drinks in hand. It appeared for all the world to be a simple but glamorous cocktail party, but he knew better. On the second floor, softer lights glowed from smaller windows, at least eight single rooms. Now and again he could see the shadows of people passing by, and in one, a couple embracing. He wondered how old the woman was, and then, he wondered if somewhere, inside this home, he would find Marlessa Schubert. He shook himself. Heinz knew it was a longshot. The number of years that had already passed since she was abducted made that probability very small. But he still hoped.
Rubbing his hands together, he looked around noting that a guard had already walked around the inner perimeter of the house twice. He glanced at his watch. Eight minutes. Every eight minutes so far. He waited, clocking the time to make sure. Exactly eight minutes later, the guard, carrying a semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder by a strap, marched by again.
The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set Page 54