The Death Mask Murders

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Ah, that concert in Bogota with the glass coffin.’

  ‘Which helped us smuggle Jack’s mother out of the country.’

  ‘You’re right, we’ve been through a lot,’ said Isis, becoming emotional. ‘But you know what? I wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world. In a way, your friendship and being included in these adventures have helped me cope with …’

  Lola stood up and walked over to Isis. ‘Would you like another cup?’ she said, holding out her hand. She saw that Isis was drifting into a dark space, and tried to change the subject.

  Isis looked at her and smiled.

  ‘I was going to say mortality, and no longer being able to perform, which to a flamboyant exhibitionist like me who craves the limelight, is actually worse than death. Yes, thank you, Lola, I’ll have another cup.’

  Wow! That was honest, thought Tristan. ‘I’ll have one too, if I may,’ he said. He let go if Isis’s hand and then looked at Lola. ‘You and Isis are two of my closest friends. You and Jack are part of my family. You are my family. We have a special bond and all of us here believe in destiny. I believe what we are facing here, right now, is a moment of destiny, just like last night when we discovered that name on the headstone in Berchtesgaden—’

  ‘Berghofer?’ interjected Samartini.

  ‘Yes. These are Jack’s breadcrumbs he always talks about. The Monet auction in 2012, the discovery of Brother Francis’s diary in the cemetery that showed us the way to the Imperial Crypt in Vienna, are all good examples. All we have to do now is listen and we’ll find those breadcrumbs that will lead us to Jack. I’m convinced of it. Jack needs us. Right now. Without our help he’ll die.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Cesaria.

  ‘I’m sure because we are dealing here with something I’ve never come across before. Something I’ve never felt before. Not in connection with Macbeth nor Malenkova. Not with that crooked Russian billionaire Sokolov, nor all the Mafiosi in Florence with their hired assassins. Not even Anielka, who almost killed Jack in Russia, comes close, neither does Lorenza’s assassination that was meant for me,’ added Tristan, the sadness in his voice palpable.

  ‘Can you explain?’ said Isis.

  ‘The reason Jack’s in such great danger is because we are dealing with something profoundly frightening – terrifying. Something without any moral compass whatsoever.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Cesaria.

  ‘True evil.’

  ‘You obviously have something in mind,’ said Isis, changing direction.

  ‘Yes, and it involves all of us here.’

  ‘Are you going to tell us?’

  ‘Yes. Our most pressing problem is time. We have to act very quickly. I believe the last two words Jack uttered hold the key here.’

  ‘Berchtesgaden and salt?’ said Cesaria.

  ‘Yes. And let’s not forget that name on the headstone.’

  ‘Berghofer? Why?’ asked Isis.

  ‘Because it could show us the way.’

  ‘The way to where?’ asked Cesaria.

  ‘To Jack.’

  ‘How exactly?’

  Tristan held up his hand. ‘One crumb at a time. Salzburg is the closest airport.’

  ‘Closest to ...?’ asked Lola.

  ‘Berchtesgaden. Could we use Pegasus?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Isis. She pointed to Lola, a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Get the plane ready.’

  Lola stood up. ‘Just like the good old days on tour, eh? I’ll call the airport.’

  Cesaria shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t perhaps be interested in joining the Squadra Mobile, would you?’

  ‘We are strictly freelance, sorry,’ said Tristan, smiling. ‘And besides, as you can see, our methods aren’t exactly by the book.’

  ‘All right, Tristan,’ said Isis. ‘Show us the way, but first I need a hot shower and my hair done! Come, Lola. Let’s get ready.’

  55

  Berchtesgaden: 9 November

  Dr Gruber watched the sleek jet taxi along the runway and then turn into a designated spot reserved for visiting private aircraft. Gruber turned to the mayor of Berchtesgaden standing next to him.

  ‘Isis was the mystery buyer of that painting we found in the Imperial Crypt in Vienna a few years ago, which made headlines around the world, remember? She paid millions for it and Professor Krakowski, the owner of the painting, donated all of it to charity. You do know who Isis is, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course. The billionaire celebrity rock star.’

  ‘Exactly. It is vital that we provide every possible assistance we can, regardless of what it is.’

  ‘I understand. I have one of our best local historians standing by. She will meet us at the cemetery as you requested.’

  If the mayor thought that the entire matter was weird and over the top, he certainly didn’t show it. When someone as influential as Oberregierungsrat Dr Otto Gruber from Vienna asked for a favour, you obliged. Careers depended on it.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Gruber, pleased. ‘Here they come now.’

  ‘That’s him over there,’ said Tristan and waved. ‘The little man with the hat and the overcoat.’

  ‘You go first and make the introductions,’ said Cesaria and took a deep breath of the bracing but invigorating mountain air.

  Oozing Austrian charm, Gruber shook hands with everyone and then introduced the mayor.

  ‘I have arranged transportation,’ said the mayor, oozing cooperation. ‘Our maxi taxi with driver we use for council outings is at your disposal. We can go straight to the cemetery just as you requested, Mr Te Papatahi. It isn’t far.’

  ‘Excellent, we are indebted to you, Herr Gruber. Just like last time in Vienna. Thank you for acting so quickly and bringing the local mayor along. This really is a matter of great importance and urgency. I will explain everything on the way.’

  Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of the Franziskaner Kirche in the centre of Berchtesgaden.

  ‘The cemetery in question is next to the church over there,’ said the mayor. ‘Ah, there is Frau Reiter, our local historian.’

  Everyone got out of the car and followed the mayor into the cemetery.

  Frau Reiter, a portly woman in her fifties wearing a Bavarian hat that had seen better days – her ruddy face almost hidden behind a thick woollen scarf – was waiting at the gates leading into the small, picturesque walled cemetery.

  Tristan pulled a copy of the Brother Francis letter with the cemetery map on the back out of his pocket and showed it to Frau Reiter. ‘Do you think you could find this grave?’

  ‘Sure. It’s just over there; come.’

  So this was where Jack had found the diary on Christmas Eve in 2008, thought Tristan as he read the name Johann Berghofer on the headstone.

  ‘This is definitely it, no doubt about it,’ he said, a strange feeling washing over him.

  ‘What would you like to know?’ asked Frau Reiter. ‘I’ve brought the cemetery records with me.’

  ‘What can you tell me about the Berghofer family? I see Johann here died in 1932.’

  ‘Well, the Berghofers have been prominent local bauern – how do you say? – farmers, for generations here in the Berchtesgadener Land. Dairy cows mainly. They had substantial landholdings on the Obersalzberg not far from here.’

  ‘You say had? What about now?’

  ‘The war had a devastating impact on many families around here. Almost a whole generation was wiped out. Look around you. You’ll see many graves in here of young soldiers killed during the war. Johann Berghofer had two sons. Both went to war and didn’t return. Thankfully, he didn’t know that. As you can see, he died in 1932. His wife, however, lived to a ripe old age. She died in her nineties.’

  Frau Reiter pointed to a grave in the next row. ‘She’s buried just over there with her parents. May I ask what your interest is in this?’

  ‘It’s complicated. For now, I would like to know if any of their landholdings are st
ill in the family.’

  ‘I can help with this,’ said the mayor. ‘The farm on the Obersalzberg stayed in the family until just before Elfriede Berghofer died. She lived in a nursing home in Bad Reichenhall by then. That was in the 1990s.’

  ‘What happened to the property?’

  ‘It was sold.’

  ‘To whom, do you know?’

  ‘A security company from Munich called Adler bought it. They use it for some kind of training purposes. A distant relative, I believe ...’

  Tristan shot Cesaria a meaningful look. ‘Do we have a name?’

  The mayor shook his head. ‘I could find out.’

  ‘You said earlier, Frau Reiter, that the property wasn’t far. Could we go and have a look?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  Paris Police Headquarters: 11:30 am

  Dupree was waiting in Lapointe’s office for an answer. He was nervously pacing up and down, and kept looking at his watch. After having spoken at length to Cesaria earlier, he was desperately trying to buy time for her as she had requested.

  Lapointe had arranged a meeting with the Prefect to discuss the strange ransom demand that had come in to Lapointe’s personal email account earlier that morning. It was apparent that things were moving very quickly and the pressure for a breakthrough, especially regarding the two murdered police officers, was enormous.

  The expression on Lapointe’s face gave nothing away when he walked into his office and calmly looked at Dupree.

  ‘Well?’ said Dupree.

  ‘It wasn’t easy. We’ll go along with it, but there are strict conditions.’

  ‘We are? Seriously? Despite the vague and strange handover demands?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And still nothing about Landru?’

  ‘No. This is only about Jack.’

  ‘Weird. How did you manage to persuade the Prefect?’

  Lapointe reached into his pocket, pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch, and began to fill the pipe.

  ‘I told him that it was our best chance to get to the perpetrators. And in some way it is, but we have to play our cards right, or the whole thing will come crashing down and bury us.’

  Lapointe paused to light his pipe.

  ‘Can you imagine what the press would make of this one-sided ransom demand? Handing over a precious artefact in front of that obscene house of horrors in exchange for directions to find a celebrity author abducted on our watch? How would that look, do you think, eh? It’s crazy, and I still can’t believe we are actually contemplating something like this. But if it buys valuable time as you suggest, then who knows, something good could perhaps come out of all this. And besides, it’s all we’ve got at the moment. We are obviously dealing with a madman here.’

  ‘Or an evil genius. Let’s not forget all the Death Mask Murders and that house of horrors, and how Landru’s been framed. And don’t forget the abduction. Anyone who can pull all that off ...’

  ‘You’re right. And this seems to be more of the same; madness! I already gave the necessary instructions. Everyone’s getting ready. You should too. The whole area will be sealed off. Not a mouse will be able to get near the place or leave it without us knowing about it. The Prefect insisted on it despite the exchange conditions. Strictly no police, remember? There isn’t much time. I want you right there when it all happens.’

  ‘Any more conditions?’ asked Dupree.

  ‘Yes. You won’t like them, but I had no choice. It’s all about that mask.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I will.’

  56

  Obersalzberg: 9 November, 11:30 am

  The drive up to the Obersalzberg took less than half an hour.

  ‘What a view,’ said Isis as they approached a cluster of picturesque farmhouses surrounded by lush meadows and towering mountains.

  ‘Look, a high fence, electric I think, and a boom gate at the end of the lane leading to the property. Security? Here, in this isolated place?’ said Cesaria. ‘I wonder why?’

  As they approached the gate, a man dressed in what looked like some kind of uniform appeared and held up his hand. ‘Can I help you?’

  The mayor wound down his window. ‘I am Hans Weindorfer, the mayor of Berchtesgaden. We would like to have a word with the owner.’

  ‘May I ask what about?’ said the man politely.

  ‘It’s about Johann and Elfriede Berghofer, who used to own this place and live here.’

  ‘Please wait a moment,’ said the man in the uniform. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, turned away from the car and made a call. He returned moments later and handed the mayor a business card. ‘I cannot admit you right now. We have manoeuvres. It isn’t safe. Please call this number and make an appointment. You can turn around over there.’

  ‘Did you see the logo on his beret?’ said Cesaria.

  ‘It looked like a lightning bolt,’ said Tristan. ‘Echoes of the SS perhaps?’

  ‘There’s something you should know about this place and Adler Security,’ said the mayor, who had overheard the remark.

  ‘Oh? What?’ asked Tristan.

  ‘We’ve suspected for some time that this place is being used by some neo-Nazi organisation, and that the security firm is merely a cover,’ said the mayor, lowering his voice. ‘I tell you this in confidence, because Europol and our local police are looking into this right now.’

  Cesaria reached for Tristan’s arm and squeezed it. ‘I don’t think we’ll get into that place in a hurry to check it out. So, where to from here?’ she asked.

  ‘I would like to find out a little more about the Berghofers and their neighbours,’ said Tristan. ‘And the history of this place.’

  Gruber turned to the mayor sitting next to him. ‘Could that be done?’

  ‘I know someone who could help,’ offered Frau Reiter.

  ‘Who?’ asked the mayor, annoyed. He had hoped that the whole matter had come to an end, and they would return to Berchtesgaden to have lunch in a cosy Gasthaus where he could play the generous, jovial host showcasing Bavarian hospitality. The neo-Nazi matter was a highly sensitive issue, especially in Berchtesgaden, which he didn’t want to get involved in. He preferred to leave that to the police.

  ‘Leopold Wagner. He knows everything about this place, and the people. Especially the Nazi era,’ said Frau Reiter.

  ‘Good idea. He’s in charge of Dokumentation Obersalzberg,’ said the mayor.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Tristan.

  ‘A museum with an extensive permanent exhibition dedicated to the history of the Obersalzberg,’ said the mayor. ‘There’s even a model of the entire former Nazi complex, complete with secret tunnels and bunkers. It’s all about Nazi Germany and especially Hitler and the time he spent up here in Fortress Obersalzberg. He directed a significant part of the war from the famous Berghof, his alpine residence.’

  ‘Hitler bought the Berghof in 1933,’ said Frau Reiter and pointed out the window. ‘It stood just over there, not far from the museum. There’s a lot of history here, and Wagner knows it all. He’s an expert on the Nazi installations that are still here – underground.’

  ‘Then let’s go and talk to him,’ said Tristan, feeling better.

  He’s following his breadcrumbs, thought Cesaria, who had been watching Tristan carefully. Like a somnambulist. I wonder where they will take us. Amazing.

  * * *

  Standing at the window in his control room, O’Hara watched the car turn around at the gate. He didn’t like unannounced visitors. He liked the reason given for the visit even less. O’Hara didn’t believe in coincidences, only reason and purpose.

  Why now? he thought, feeling uneasy, and sensing danger. At this critical time? Who were the others in the vehicle? What were they doing here? What did they really want?

  O’Hara turned to the monitors on his desk, and like an admiral on an aircraft carrier directing a combat mission, he evaluated what was happening in his own private theatre of war, with several
moving parts interacting with one another within a tight, precise timeframe. These were challenges he thrived on.

  He was campaigning on two fronts, and both involved the lives of his two prisoners he held in his hands and could snuff out at will. This gave O’Hara a tremendous sense of power and satisfaction that was accessible only to a privileged few.

  First, there was Landru. His fate was closely linked to the dark net gambling extravaganza that was in progress at that very moment, with huge amounts being wagered. The first video relating to that had just been posted on the dark net and, judging from the size of the bets coming in, it had been very well received, resulting in a betting frenzy.

  A second video was being prepared to ramp up the excitement, and would be posted shortly. It would record Landru’s dying moments and drive the betting to dizzying heights, netting O’Hara and Alessandro millions. Real death always came with a premium.

  Then there was Jack and the Paris ransom demand. The purpose of that battle was quite different, and more personal. The unique instructions relating to that had been sent out earlier, and O’Hara was waiting for a response from Lapointe.

  O’Hara considered himself to be a master criminal and tactician who used his huge wealth, intellect, and the latest technology to pursue his dark, psychopathic desires, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy had been blurred to an extent where it was no longer possible to tell the two apart. A final video featuring Jack had also been prepared, and would be released if necessary.

  O’Hara was determined to get his hands on the last remaining piece of the Llanganates puzzle that had eluded him for so long, and complete his collection. He also wanted to make the final Death Mask Murder as memorable and exciting as possible. Letting Landru get away, and live, wasn’t an option. It was a matter of pride. Letting Jack go wasn’t an option either. That was a matter of common sense because he knew too much.

  Landru’s whole life, just like the lives of those who had gone before him, was closely intertwined with what was happening in Paris right at that moment. Gamblers who had been following the Death Mask Murders on the dark net for years, were well aware that the game was entering its final stage, with an enormous final prize worth a fortune almost within reach.