Where the Bones are Buried

by Jeanne Matthews

  “I assume the two of you have discussed Pohl’s murder. Who does he think killed him?”

  “He doesn’t know. He was shocked.”

  “And I’m the Queen of Romania. Listen up, Margaret. The German police may not care if you leave Berlin, but I will regard your departure as a personal betrayal. If you know how to get ahold of Hess, you tell him to call me immediately. I want to meet this rara avis. Even if he didn’t kill Pohl, he probably knows who did.”

  “If he agrees to meet you, will you promise you won’t bring in the police?”

  “Yes, I promise. You have my word on it.”

  There were no Truthful Whitefeet in Berlin.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  To get to the Adlon Hotel from the Strasse des 17 Juni, you have to walk through the Brandenburg Gate. It is the only gate that survives from the original wall that encircled the old Prussian city. During the Cold War, the gate stood crumbling to ruin behind the hated Wall that divided East from West. No one could get through from the West and the GDR erected a parallel wall on the eastern side of the gate to make doubly sure that no one could get through from the East. Those caught in the no-man’s land between the walls were shot. The Brandenburg Gate became a symbol of bitter division, and when the Wall fell in 1989, it became the symbol of reunification. As Dinah passed under the central archway, Swan’s remark about the wall between them echoed in her mind. She tuned it out. She couldn’t let herself be carried away by symbolism or wishful thinking.

  The cobblestoned Pariser Platz on the east side of the Gate is a pedestrian square and always crowded. In front of the American Embassy, a mini-demonstration had drawn a ragtag group of young people. One waved a sign “STOP WATCHING US,” a reference to Germany’s outrage over the U.S. tapping of Chancellor Angela Merkel’s cellphone. Another held up a picture of Edward Snowden, the American who leaked this bombshell, with a big “THANK YOU,” and others wielded a banner “NO MORE SURVEILLANCE STATE.” Nearby, a clown on a unicycle tossed candy to a flock of squealing children.

  Dinah dodged around the commotion and proceeded toward the eastern end of the square, which was dominated by the Adlon. She walked through the door and the opulence made her immediately self-conscious. She doffed her trench coat, smoothed her sweater over her hips, and spiffed her hair. The convivial drone of conversation filled the lobby and, in the background, the mellow sounds of a piano. She sidled past a large urn of aromatic lilies and a pagoda fountain encircled by protruding elephant heads. Swan sat alone at the far end of the lounge, away from the music and the chatter.

  Dinah was relieved to see a cup and saucer on the table in front of her instead of a bourbon glass.

  “How’s the coffee?”

  “It’s five-star, like everything else in this place.”

  Dinah hung her coat over the back of a chair and sat down. “If you were short of funds, why did you choose the most expensive hotel in the city?”

  “Polly Wolly recommended it, and I didn’t want him to think I was short of funds.”

  “Your choice of the Adlon wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Stefan Amsel runs the place, would it?”

  “No. I didn’t know he was one of Florian’s bunch until I checked in. Stefan is comping me the room as a guest of the club. Or that was the plan. I haven’t spoken with him since before poor Polly got himself killed. It’s funny how everybody slithers off into the tall grass at the first sign of trouble.” She patted Dinah’s hand. “Everybody except you.”

  Dinah didn’t like to admit how longingly she had eyed the tall grass. “You didn’t know him from Georgia?”

  “No. I never heard of him ’til I checked in on the morning of the powwow. He came to the front desk to personally welcome me. He showed me up to the room like I was royalty and introduced himself as a Navajo, which tickled me to death because he’s white as grits.”

  “If he knew who you were at the time you checked in, he must have been expecting you. I thought Pohl was the only one you’d told about the Adlon.”

  “He was so pleasant and cordial, I didn’t ask. My package was waiting for me in the room, along with a bowl of fruit and a complimentary bottle of champagne and the loveliest soap and shampoo in this world. Five stars aren’t half enough for this place.”

  “Apart from the not-so-lovely fact that somebody filched your ‘package,’” said Dinah. “Did it look as if anyone had tampered with it? Unwrapped it maybe?”

  “It seemed to be intact, with the legal form typed and stamped and taped to the box. I took out the gun, a little twenty-two revolver, and put it in my handbag.”

  “Unloaded?”

  “I already told you that it was. I left and took a taxi to visit Reiner’s daughter Elke. I still thought he might could talk Polly out of his meanness, if he would. But he wasn’t there and I came back to the Adlon. Polly called and told me when and where to meet him, then I went back to the Wunderbar and changed my clothes. I caught a train way yonder-and-gone to Müggelsee. Polly had given me instructions and a schedule. When I got off the ferry, Margaret was laying in wait for me at the dock, hoppin’ mad. She asked me who it was I’d come to meet ’cause she knew it wasn’t Reiner.”

  “Are you sure she was alone?”

  “I think so. Who would be with her way out there? We’re the only people she knows in Berlin.”

  “What did she say exactly?”

  “Oh, that I was deranged, selfish, promiscuous, and on like that. With all her cussing, there wasn’t much I could say except ‘try to make the best of it.’ She left mad as a hornet and I followed the trail up to the tower. I snuck through the woods and kept out of sight of the clearing where I saw them setting up the powwow.”

  “With the unloaded gun.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why did you have it if you didn’t mean to use it?”

  Her eyes skittered away. “I don’t know. For protection in case he got rough, or if he didn’t give me the tape.” Her eyes came back from their wandering and she took a defiant tone. “His voice is on that tape, too, unless he erased it.”

  A server in a bright red dress refilled Swan’s coffee and placed a napkin in front of Dinah. “Was sie haben, Frau?”

  “I’ll just have coffee,” said Dinah. “Schwarzer.”

  “Ja, black.” She smiled and moved on.

  “When you found Pohl dead, why didn’t you walk back down the hill to the powwow and get help?”

  “I don’t know, Dinah. I saw a sign to Rahmsy-majigger…”

  “Rahnsdorf.”

  “Yes, yes, and I just kept going, away from the blood and the trouble. I waved down a taxi and came back to the Adlon. I was scared and shook up. I took the gun out of my bag, put it in the chest-of-drawers and went down to the bar to have myself a bourbon. After a while, I went back to the Wunderbar. I wanted to tell Margaret, try and explain the strain I’d been under and why I’d fooled her. It’s all so complicated. You know, really, I think I wanted her to come with me because she’s so gutsy and independent. I didn’t know how to travel on my own without a man. But Margaret was cold as the moon and after Sergeant Wegener came and told us there’d been a murder, Margaret wouldn’t speak to me at all.”

  The server brought Dinah’s coffee and she sipped for a minute and contemplated. If Amsel knew that Swan was a guest at the Adlon, it stood to reason that the whole club knew. Had one of them made off her gun? The only reason to steal it would be to further implicate her. If the police didn’t find the murder weapon and someone stepped forward and reported that Swan had a gun, caliber unknown, shipped to her hotel, that would put the frosting on the case against her. Had Pohl been shot with a .22? Any gun was capable of killing someone, but Pohl was a big man and a .22 didn’t have a lot of stopping power. Dinah needed to find out what the ballistics report said, but unless Inspector Lohendorf was willing to bend the
rules still more, the only person who could get her the information was Thor.

  Swan said, “You look kind of woebegone, baby, like you’ve come to deliver the writ of execution.”

  “They found your DNA on Pohl’s body, Mom. They’re probably going to arrest you.”

  She winced. “‘Barnaby Bowwow grew old and gray, condemned by the parson and hanged for a stray.’”

  “It’s too early to think about hanging. I made an appointment for you to see an attorney this afternoon at five. His name is Winheller. Promise me you’ll stick to the truth and tell him everything you know about Hess and your movements on the day of the murder.”

  “Should I tell Mr. Winheller that Pohl was blackmailing me?”

  “Yes, absolutely. He’s your attorney. You don’t want him to be blindsided. And tell him about the gun, too. The police will learn about it soon enough. I’ll be back at four to take you to Winheller’s office.” Swan’s eyes skirred away to the fountain and Dinah tried to imagine what the German lawyer would make of his new client and her litany of complications. As she got up to leave, she thought about Swan’s natural inclination to smile and equivocate. “Tell Mr. Winheller everything, Mom. If ever there was a time when you don’t want other people to think only what suits them, this is it.”

  ***

  Stefan Amsel’s office was located in the Adlon Residenz, the newer wing behind the Adlon Palais on Behrenstrasse. He shook her hand with lukewarm propriety and gestured her into a chair. His hectic manner made it plain that he was a busy man with weightier things to do than waste time answering her questions. He sat down behind his desk and adjusted his wireless bifocals with both hands. Pudgy, with a doughy complexion and thinning ginger hair, he was nothing like the rambunctious Navajo with the porcupine roach who’d drunk too much schnapps and pounded his chest. Today he spoke not in short, staccato bursts, but in run-on sentences.

  “When I saw her name, Mrs. William Calms of Georgia, on our reservations list, I knew immediately who she was because Florian had boasted that we would soon meet a Seminole woman from Georgia, although I do not say ‘boast’ to criticize, as Florian has invited many Native Americans to come to Berlin as guests of der Indianer club. We have had visits from a member of the Flathead Tribe of Montana, a member of the Shawnee from Oklahoma, a Cree from Canada, and an Arizona Navajo who gave me the name Doba, which means No War. I am opposed to all wars and I hope that you Americans will grow weary of starting them and flooding the E.U. with refugees.”

  “My mother…”

  “Mrs. Calms, yes. Prior to her, we had never met a member of a Southeastern tribe. Although as matters stand, I believe I am the only one actually to have met her. I’ve heard a rumor that she was present at Müggelsee on the night of the powwow, but did not make herself known to us.”

  “She did not kill Alwin Pohl,” interjected Dinah.

  “No.” He adjusted his glasses again. “Terrible what happened to Alwin and now the police must give us all den dritten Grad, the third degree as you Americans call it.” A light on his telephone blinked red and he paused as if deliberating whether to pick up.

  “Did all of der Indianer club know that my mother would be staying here at the Adlon?”

  “I don’t know. She made the reservation, herself. Ordinarily, if the Adlon has a vacancy, I offer it to the club’s First Nations guests, but I had the impression from Florian that Mrs. Calms would be residing with her daughter. When I noticed her name, about a week ago I think it was, yes, when a package arrived for her, I held a room in the Palais wing.”

  “Did anyone open that package?”

  He eyed her with contempt. “This is the Adlon.”

  “Meaning no?”

  “Definitely no.”

  “Did Herr Pohl or any of the other members of the club visit her or come to the hotel? Viktor or Lena Bischoff, perhaps?”

  “If they did, they would have announced themselves to the front desk, not to me.”

  She trotted out a mollifying smile. “I don’t mean to be rude, Herr Amsel. As you said, the police are giving everyone the third degree and I’m trying to help my mother through the maze, help her understand the German system and avoid cultural blunders.”

  “Yes, it is hard in a foreign capital. I always feel unsure of myself in Istanbul in spite of the fact that Berlin has the largest population of Turks outside of Turkey. Attitudes about tea—”

  “How well did you know Herr Pohl?” she asked.

  “Not well. He was new to the club, although I believe that Reiner had known him in years past. There was a rumor, I don’t say that Florian was the source although it may have come from him, that Alwin had been charged with, how do you say, Totschlag, and left for America because he did not wish to stand trial.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I believe you say manslaughter in English. But I may have that wrong. Slaughter is too strong a word when there is no intention, only carelessness.” The red light on his phone blinked again and he raised a hand to answer.

  Dinah rushed to get in another question. “What can you tell me about Reiner Hess?”

  His hand froze in mid-air. “He is wanted by the police for tax fraud.”

  “Have you seen him recently?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know how I might contact him?”

  “It is rumored that he went to Switzerland. Or was it Liechtenstein?” He chortled. “To be with his money.”

  “I thought he’d gone to Cyprus,” she said.

  “That may be. We are not, how do you say, in touch.”

  “Do any of your fellow club members stay in touch with him?”

  The office door opened and a woman with slanted black eyebrows and a frantic demeanor poked her head in and spouted a stream of German.

  Amsel jumped up, obviously relieved by the interruption. “My secretary needs me. I must terminate this meeting. If there is anything further, please call and schedule an appointment.”

  Dinah wanted to press him for an answer to her last question, but he was jabbering away in German to his secretary and waving her out the door.

  She mumbled her thanks and left with at least one new nugget of information to mull. Alwin Pohl had been charged with manslaughter before he left Germany. That would have been more than a decade ago. Presumably, the German statute of limitations had expired or Pohl didn’t expect to remain in Germany long enough for the authorities to notice he was back and reopen the case.

  As she walked out into Behrenstrasse, the sun was making a feeble effort to burn off the fog. She wondered what repository of the German bureaucracy maintained records of Totschlag. That was a question for Mr. Winheller. In the meantime, she could do some research on her own. She headed toward Unter den Linden and the nearest branch of the Berlin State Library.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  After two hours of searching through the digitalized archives of the International Herald Tribune, Dinah knew more than she ever wanted to know about the German crackdown on business moguls and banking bigwigs who sheltered their money in the tiny tax haven of Liechtenstein; and about the new international standards that forced Swiss banks to ask their clients if they had declared their assets on deposit; and about the harsh penalties imposed by both the U.S. and German governments on individuals who ignored reporting requirements. The afternoon’s reading magnified her fears about the account in Panama, but she remained none the wiser regarding the personal history or local connections of Reiner Hess.

  Her phone detonated inside her purse. Feeling the heat of a dozen withering stares, she silenced the plinking and fled, answering only after she had reached the exit.

  “This had better be important, K.D.”

  “There’s been an explosion.”

  “Jerusalem! Where? Are you okay? Jack?”

  “We’re fine, but somebody tri
ed to blow up Margaret’s hotel. I’m looking out our bedroom window at a fire truck and a row of cop cars.”

  “Can you see if anyone’s injured?”

  “There’s a crowd in the street. I’m getting ready to go down and see what I can see.”

  “No! No, K.D. Lock the door and stay with Jack. I’m on my way.”

  She charged across Unter den Linden, inciting a cacophony of horns and angry shouts. Traffic had started to build and there were no taxis in sight. It was a straight shot back to the Gendarmenmarkt and she was a fast runner, but her Italian boots weren’t designed for racing. Her heart beat against her chest as if it were trying to break out and run on ahead.

  What conceivable reason would anyone have to blow up a little pension called Wunderbar? Maybe it was an accident—an unexploded World War II bomb unearthed by new construction. The country was peppered with buried ordnance. But there were no current excavations on Niederwallstrasse and the Wunderbar was at least twenty years old. Was it possible that the person who forced the Golf off the road and shot at them that first night was not Pohl? Did somebody else have a reason, not just to scare, but to kill?

  Her lungs burned and she could feel the beginnings of a blister on her left heel. When she reached Französische Strasse, she stopped for breath and looked around for a taxi. No such luck. She pulled off the boots and cut across the square behind the Konzerthaus.

  With Pohl dead, the only person who knew that Swan and Margaret were in Berlin was Hess. Was he afraid they’d lead the police to him? Swan had showed up at his daughter’s house asking for him, and Margaret might have phoned him this morning after Dinah confronted her and demanded to meet with him.

  She could smell the fire now. She ran through Hausvogteipl Platz and when she rounded the corner, she saw the fire truck. Black smoke wisped out of the second story—Margaret’s window—and a helmeted fireman wearing a face mask and oxygen tank toted a fire hose into the building. Her chest tightened at the sight of Inspector Jens Lohendorf standing at the back of the truck. He was talking to the receptionist, who was crying. The other evacuees stood around drinking bottled water and looking dazed. Margaret wasn’t there.