The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set

by Michele E. Gwynn

  This was news. “He takes them all out?”

  Salome smiled. “Nein, only his favorites.”

  “I thought they all were his favorites.” Mahler held steady, allowing the slinky Salome to be drawn further in. As long as she was offering information, she would not be immediately rebuked for her invasion of personal space.

  “Those you interviewed are simply the number of them he’s sampled, but his favorites are the ones he comes back for time and again.”

  “And who are the lucky ones?”

  Salome took one step closer, now merely inches from Mahler. She leaned down bringing her lips close to the detective’s ear. “What will you give me if I tell you?”

  Birgitta felt her spine stiffen. She’d heard those words before, but they’d always come from men. Having a woman speak them seemed very wrong to her, like women shouldn’t be sexually harassing other women. It was like breaking a rule, one where women were supposed to have each other’s backs. She swallowed.

  “What do you want, Salome?” Birgitta kept the discomfort she was feeling out of her voice.

  The answer she expected never came. Instead, the woman replied, “To go home.”

  The three simple words carried a strong note of sadness.

  Mahler looked up. “Home? Isn’t this your home?” She glanced back at the mansion.

  The cat-like slyness previously inhabiting Salome’s eyes was gone. In its place was despair. “Of course not. Would you live here?” She cast a sideways look at the house, and then returned her gaze to Mahler. “I was brought here three years ago under a false promise to model. As you can guess, that is not what happened.”

  Confusion marred Mahler’s brow. “Then why not leave? Can’t you go home?”

  “One cannot travel without a passport.”

  “Who has your passport? Madame Denouve?” Birgitta felt anger rising.

  “No. She’s simply the face of the business.” Salome’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “Then who, Salome?” Mahler leaned in closer.

  “I don’t know who. All I know is that someone else, someone with connections within the ministry owns this house and two others. When I left Kiev, I didn’t have a passport, but one was provided quickly, bypassing the usual application process. Once I got here, I was told I’d be staying in this house, and when jobs came available, someone would come and get me. Those jobs never happened. Instead, I was prostituted out, but only after being trained by Madame.” Tears welled up within Salome’s dark eyes. “I was raised in a good family, Detective. We went to church every Sunday. My parents,” she faltered, sniffing. “My parents would be so ashamed. They probably think I’m dead by now. I haven’t spoken to them since I left. I’m not allowed to call. My activities are always monitored. Please, please help me.” She grabbed Mahler’s hand, holding it tight.

  Birgitta’s heart lurched painfully. Suspecting the truth about these so-called legitimate brothels was one thing, but knowing the dirty truth was another. She knew in that moment she would do all she could to get Salome back home.

  “I will help you, but I need your help as well. First, tell me who these favorites are of the minister’s, and then I have another question.”

  Salome lifted Birgitta’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you! I knew, you know, when I first met you that you were not like the others that have come through the door. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I just needed to make sure what kind of person you are. You understand?”

  Birgitta nodded.

  Salome sighed, then swallowed hard. “His favorites...” she paused, “are Karl, the blond one with the dark eyebrows. You remember?”

  “Yes. He was the third male of four. Okay, and who else?”

  “Marilyn. He adores her. It’s those two that he takes out almost exclusively.”

  “Okay.” Mahler made a mental note. “You said ‘almost exclusively?’ What do you mean?”

  “Oh, well, he only takes those two out on dates outside of the mansion, but they are not exclusive with him.”

  “Well,” Mahler chuckled dryly, “I would imagine not. After all, they work here, so must see other clients.”

  “No, I mean that from time to time, I’ve seen both of them leave with his assistant.”

  This did surprise Mahler. “Herr Oppel? Does he pick up and deliver to the minister as well?”

  Salome shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so. He sees them on the minister’s off nights.”

  Birgitta blinked. “Both of them? At the same time?”

  Salome nodded. “Yes, sometimes. Mostly Marilyn though.”

  “That’s rather...” Mahler searched for a non-offensive term, “quirky?”

  “I suppose, but what’s strange is that you won’t find the appointments listed in Madame’s ledger.”

  “I see.” But Mahler didn’t, not quite, anyhow. Still, it was yet another twist in the mystery.

  “You said you had another question,” Salome reminded her, bringing Birgitta back to the moment.

  “Oh, yes.” Mahler grew serious. “When I was here earlier, I saw a man leaving. Tall, rather good-looking, hazel eyes, drives a Mercedes.”

  Salome smiled. “Herr Trommler?”

  “I suppose, she prevaricated. “Is he a regular?”

  “Why? Are you interested?”

  “What? No,” Mahler sputtered.

  “Hmmn.” The cat-like slyness returned to Salome’s eyes. “Well, I don’t know much about him except that he’s new, and some kind of art buyer.”

  “Does he see anyone in particular?”

  “That sure sounds like interest to me, Detective.”

  “I’m simply curious.”

  A slow smile spread across Salome’s lips. “If you say so. I do know he’s visited with Ekaterine a few times. She’s old. Probably in her forties by now, but the older clients seem to like her.”

  Mahler choked. “Forties are not old, Salome!” She thought about her own age, and Joseph’s. Were they old now? She shook herself. “Didn’t you mention her earlier today? The one that Herr Oppel was with?”

  The woman shrugged. “Yes. Herr Oppel has eclectic tastes. He is a strange little man.”

  It was a lot to take in. It was disturbing enough that Lukas was visiting a brothel, but now she discovered that he was carrying on with an old harlot at that. It didn’t make any sense, and it was only recently he’d begun frequenting the place. Mahler felt like she was on information overload.

  She looked at Salome. “Thank you. I know you’re risking a lot by telling me all of this.” Mahler reached for the door handle. “I’ll need your information.”

  Salome slipped her fingers into the cleavage of her dress and pulled out a folded square of paper. “This is me. My real name, my birthdate, my home address, name of my parents, and their phone number.” She placed the paper in Mahler’s hand. “Thank you, Detective. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  The sincerity in her voice touched Mahler. “Don’t thank me yet. I have to devise a plan to get you out of here first.” She stepped into her car, sliding into the seat. “Oh, and of course this means I’ll have to bust up this brothel and arrest the Madame.” Conviction colored her words.

  “As long as you get me out first, you can burn this damned house to the ground for all I care.”

  Salome stepped back and closed the car door.

  Mahler started the engine and drove slowly out of the winding driveway to the street. By the time she’d arrived at her flat, and tossed her purse onto the hall table, it was past midnight. She couldn’t even remember the ride home, and now, she had to get up in less than five hours to pick up the minister for another fun day of babysitting the bastard. She was tired, irritated, worried, and needed to talk this all out, but the one person in the world with whom she could confide wasn’t here. She couldn’t even call him. It was too late, and he hadn’t even answered her last text, which was unusual. Perhaps that would change in the morning, but for now, she
would have to figure this one out on her own.

  Chapter Sixteen

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON when ‘Gerald Zimmerman’ and ‘his daughter, Greta,’ landed in Saint Petersburg. The bustle of the airport slowed them down at the Customs counter. They eventually made it through the checkpoint, but not without receiving an interrogation of old-school KGB proportions. The gentleman verifying their passports had asked both of them no less than ten times why they were entering the Russian Federation, and who they might know within its borders.

  “Who do you know in Saint Petersburg?” The man’s cold, brown eyes held Faust’s without blinking, an old interrogator’s tactic meant to intimidate. His balding pate was only partially covered by the thin comb-over of his graying brown hair. An equally sparse mustache sat atop his thin lips which remained pinched.

  Faust remained calm, providing the same answer each time. “We know no one here. It’s simply a father-daughter vacation. You see, my wife,” he paused, then tilted his head at Elsa, “her mother, recently passed. My dear Helga always wanted to visit this beautiful city, but we just never found the time, you understand. This is as much for her as it is for us, a time to both grieve, and celebrate her life.”

  Elsa bowed her head, sniffling once.

  The security agent’s face never changed. He kept looking back down at the passports as if something of keen interest suddenly appeared where it had previously been hidden. He asked the same two questions many times, re-ordering the words. Finally, he glanced at Herr Zimmerman and his daughter one last time, and then stamped the appropriate pages on their documents. “Enjoy your stay.” With that, he dismissed them both.

  “I think my ass is sweating,” Elsa muttered.

  “What’s that?” Faust raised one bushy brow.

  Elsa chuckled. “Nothing. Just something I remembered Frau Kluge telling Birgitta and I last week at our dress fitting. She survived the Nazi SS interrogations during the bombing of Berlin.”

  “I see.” He didn’t. “I’ll never understand women no matter how long I live. How do you go in for dress fittings and end up discussing old wars? This is why I never ask Helga about her day. God knows she tells me anyway, but at least I can always say I didn’t ask for it.”

  They stepped outside, searching for a taxi. Elsa laughed. “Well, papa, I’ll remember that when next you ask me for a report.”

  They spotted an available cab and approached quickly. “Don’t you dare give me sass, daughter. When I ask for a report, a report I expect. Pronto! Now, hop in. Time’s wasting.”

  Elsa slid into the leather interior of the vehicle. “And where, exactly do we begin?”

  “At the nearest hotel. We have to settle in, after all.” He addressed the driver. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”

  The man shook his head in the negative.

  “Great,” Faust mumbled before switching to Russian. “Blizhayshaya gostinitsa, pozhaluysta. Prilichnoye odin.” (“The nearest hotel, please. A decent one.”)

  The driver nodded, and put the car into drive, steering out into traffic. Elsa leaned back in the seat; arms crossed over her chest. She was glad she’d worn her leather boots. It felt colder in Russia than in Berlin. She glanced at Faust. “I’m very impressed, papa. I had no idea you had such a command of the Russian language.”

  He settled in, chuckling. “A story for another time, my dear.”

  “And after we get checked in to the hotel, then what?”

  “Then, the real work begins. I have some points of interests we’ll be visiting thanks to my personal guide,” Faust replied carefully. He pulled out a folded guidebook of Saint Petersburg. Flipping it open, a map of the city was revealed with gold stars at all the usual tourist attractions. But it was the red X’s that caught Elsa’s attention. They were hand-written, with notes. Numbers accompanied each large, red X. Longitudes and latitudes.

  “One day, you’ll have to tell me more about this personal guide of yours,” said Elsa.

  “One day.” Faust pointed them out, the two looking for all the world like exactly who they were supposed to be, a father and daughter on vacation. First time tourists. “This point looks closest to the airport.” He handed the booklet to Elsa, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. After searching for the right application, he entered the coordinates. “Yes, the closest to where we are now.” He leaned up to speak to the driver. “Is there a hotel in this area?”

  Faust pointed to the map on his screen. The driver slowed down at a light and glanced over. “Da. The Kseniya is there. It is decent. You wish to go there?”

  “Yes. Take us there.” Faust sat back, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “So, that’s the hotel,” he told Elsa.

  She nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. If they showed up at the hotel and Heinz was there, then she was sure they’d feel quite foolish, but at last check, right before landing, Faust still had not received any updates on her mentor. The inside contact hadn’t checked in at all. It had now been more than thirty-six hours since the last report.

  The ride to the Kseniya took less than twenty minutes. The driver helped to unload their bags from the boot of the cab, and after receiving payment, left them on the front doorstep. Inside, the ambience took a nosedive. The dark interior looked like an old, cold-war memory. The faded wallpaper was peeling off in the corners, and the dark wainscoting had several deep scratches. The Hunter green shag carpeting had lost its shag ages ago and now appeared like the matted coat of a wet, stray dog. It smelled nearly as dirty. Elsa wrinkled her nose.

  “So this is what passes as decent, eh?” She lugged her suitcase to the counter. A gentleman with faded blue eyes and pale blond hair greeted them. Faust stepped forward.

  “We’ll need two rooms, please, for me and my daughter.” He handed over his passport. Elsa did the same.

  “For how many nights?” the man asked.

  “Three, please.”

  The man looked at their documents before making a copy.

  “Oh, and a friend may be staying here as well. An Herr Lintz? Martin Lintz?” Faust asked in a friendly tone.

  The man paused, glancing up at them. “Herr Lintz has already checked out. Just last night.”

  “Oh,” Faust looked at Elsa. “Did he say he was returning home?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I was not the one on duty then.”

  “Might I speak to the person who was? He is a rather dear friend, and we were hoping to meet up.” Faust continued agreeably.

  “The owner is out. I’ll let him know as soon as he returns.” The blond man finished checking them in, and then handed over two keys.

  Elsa took hers, and noticed the man shook his head slightly at someone behind her. She turned and caught sight of a short, round, older woman with dark hair, and a distracting mole before that woman ducked around the corner. She sent a look to Faust who calmly palmed his key and turned to pick up his suitcase. He looked in the direction Elsa faced, but saw nothing. Together, they walked to the lifts. Once inside, Elsa shared what she’d noticed.

  “Something is, indeed, not right. They know something, but for now, we’ll settle in and plan our next move.” Faust chewed the inside of his cheek, an old habit born of nerves and frustration. It helped him think.

  “And what about the owner?” Elsa asked as the floor bell dinged indicating they’d arrived.

  “We will have to tread carefully. If they are already suspicious of us, then we may have to change hotels quickly. We can’t have the local police sniffing around...or worse.”

  “FSB?” She asked, referring to Russian Federation Intelligence as she walked down the hall toward their rooms.

  “Exactly. We can’t afford to tangle with those old KGB bloodhounds. We’re going to have to move fast, Kreiss. No time to waste. Go set your things down, do what needs doing, and meet me here in the hall in fifteen minutes.”

  They parted, each entering their respective rooms which were fortunately side by side.

  Inside
her room, Elsa quickly put away her suitcase on the old-fashioned luggage stand. She didn’t bother to unpack everything. She simply grabbed her toiletries, used the restroom, refreshed herself, and then took a moment to check her mobile. There were no messages from Lukas, but there was one from Birgitta.

  “I need you to go by the bakery and try some samples for the groom’s cake. Joseph likes raspberry filling so anything along those lines is fine. Pick the one you like most. I’m still tied up with the case Levitz pushed into my lap. Thank you, Elsa. I appreciate you. B.”

  Elsa pursed her lips. “Scheisse.” She hadn’t told the bride she would be temporarily out of pocket. Her fingers began texting a message to her brother. “Anno, I need your help...” She explained the situation as best she could without revealing her mission, and finished with, “No excuses. Remember, I own you! Love, your only sister. P.S., Message me after. I need to know the job is done.”

  Grabbing her jacket, Elsa slipped her phone, room key, and wallet into her coat pocket, zipping it shut, before pulling the coat on. She stepped out into the hall, finding Faust already waiting.

  “Typical. Always waiting on a woman,” he said, pushing off from the wall where he leaned. “Let’s go. We can rent a car not far from here, I’m assured. The front desk may be hiding some information, but they are very forthcoming otherwise.”

  Faust led the way, and together, they left the hotel, walking the five blocks east to the car rental agency. There, they checked out a silver Volga Siber with GPS navigation. After figuring out how to change the language to German, Faust instructed Elsa on how to enter the coordinates on the map. “Label them by number and mark that number on the map so we don’t accidentally make two trips to the same spot. Some of these may be nothing of importance.”

  Elsa leaned up and began inputting the various coordinates. When she was finished, she picked the second one on the map and pushed the button to begin.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” it said.

  Faust raised an eyebrow. “Well, now we know Heinz rented a car.” He looked back to the young woman at the counter inside. “Stay here. I’m going back in to see if he returned it.”