“Cyprus is the go-to spot for tax evaders these days. The richest man in Norway lives on Cyprus as a tax exile. Norwegians call him the ‘big wolf.’” He unstopped the Monkey 47, poured another jigger into her glass, and tasted. “Potent stuff.”
“Dynamite. I think I’ll keep a bottle on hand as a restorative in the event I have any more near-death experiences.”
“Look, Dinah, I won’t interfere if you don’t want me to, but say the word and I’ll go with you tomorrow to talk with Jens. I can vouch for your detective’s intuition.” He grinned. “And I can post bail in case he jails you.”
“Thanks, Thor. I mean it. Thank you for your advice and your moral support, and for that pile of household cash you left in case the furnace blew and I needed a repairman. I spent it all on the lawyer’s retainer. And thanks for passing on Lohendorf’s warning. That wasn’t strictly by the book for either of you. But you should know that Mom is going to correct her statement to the police and admit that she went to meet Pohl, but found him dead. After the grenade attack on Margaret and what I saw at Farber’s gallery, I think Lohendorf will realize that the DNA he found was the result of accidental contact with the body. I think he’ll refocus his investigation on Farber and we can all stop worrying.”
“You don’t have to thank me for anything, Dinah. If one of us is in trouble, the other is. That’s what it means to be a ‘household,’ isn’t it?”
She felt a rush of warmth and pent-up guilt and self-reproach. Maybe it was the resurgence of conscience or the fleeting courage of the Monkey 47. Almost as an out-of-body experience, she heard herself say, “I have two million dollars in an offshore account in Panama. I inherited the proceeds from an illegal drug operation four years ago.”
He stared, a look of amazement drawing his forehead into tight ridges. “Uff da.”
“Whatever that means, I’m sure I deserve it. But I don’t want you to be in trouble just because I am. I was stupid, but I’m not going to stick around and let you be tarred with the same brush. I don’t think Lohendorf will find out, at least not immediately, but I’ll clear out before your connection to me can tarnish your career. I’ll take K.D. and Margaret and move into the hotel with my mother tomorrow.”
He continued to stare.
“Aren’t you going to say something? Anything?”
The cuckoo moaned.
With each mournful caw, her self-esteem shriveled. His face was a study. “Well, say something for crying out loud.”
“You should have told me you didn’t like the clock.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The way her throat felt, it was hard to tell.
He got up and took her hand. “It’s three o’clock in the morning. Come to bed with me. We’ll talk about it when we’re fresh and thinking straight.”
She shook her head. “I’d love nothing better than to jump into bed with you, Thor. How’s that for honesty, coming from one of the world’s leading specialists in detours and denials? But we can’t just pick up where we left off. I’m not who you thought I was and vice versa. Jack is no small vice versa. I’m not parenting material, not even part-time, and if you can turn a blind eye to my criminal carryings-on—a stash of dirty drug money, for heaven sakes—then you’re not the man I thought you were. We don’t know each other. And besides, there is no bed. Margaret’s in the bedroom and K.D. has dibs on your sleeping bag when she gets home.”
“We know each other, Dinah. The facts are still coming in, but we know the important things. The core truth.” He gave her hand a tug. “Come on. I’ve set up an air mattress in the office.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Loud noises roused Dinah from sleep. She rolled over and reached for Thor, but he was gone. She heard him speaking German in the other room. He sounded pretty damned boisterous for—she looked at her watch—eight o’clock in the morning. What was he doing, roughhousing with Jack? No, Jack didn’t speak German.
Something heavy clunked on the floor and Geert cut loose with a rush of excited German. What was Geert doing here? Had something happened to K.D.? Had he brought her home falling-down drunk?
She sat up, rocked on her butt a few times, and sprang to her feet. Something would have to be done about the sleeping arrangements. Being forced to spend the night on an air mattress in her own apartment was above and beyond the call of Southern hospitality. She yanked on her clothes and raked her fingers through her hair. What were the odds that the bathroom would be free? She shambled into the living room. Lena Bischoff hung limp as a noodle between Thor and Geert and they were dragging her toward the bedroom.
“See who we brought you?” gloated K.D. “As soon as she wakes up, Lena’s going to give us the skinny on her dorky husband Viktor. She and I totally bonded at the club last night.”
“Thor, wait.” Dinah was still struggling to wake up and she wasn’t receptive to the idea of yet another new roommate. “You can’t put her in the bedroom. Margaret’s in there. Why can’t Lena sleep it off in your apartment, Geert?”
“I don’t want her,” said Geert. “She is wild. The witch clawed me.” He showed her red marks on the side of his face.
“You brought her here against her will?”
“She totally wanted to come,” said K.D., opening the bedroom door.
“Shh!” Dinah pointed to Margaret, who was still out, flat on her back, eyes covered with the airline eye mask, and snoring like a Mac truck.
K.D.’s whisper wasn’t much softer than her normal speaking voice. “Lena got a little high and mistook Geert for Viktor, that’s all. She’ll only be here for a few hours and you’re definitely gonna want to hear what she has to say. Margaret can share.”
Aphrodite nestled on the pillow next to Margaret’s head. She switched her tail and hissed as the invaders closed in. The Mac truck made an abrupt gargling noise as if downshifting and the cat bolted out the door. Margaret didn’t stir. Thor eased Lena down next to her and K.D. straightened Lena’s legs and took off her shoes.
“Jerusalem.” Dinah didn’t wait to be briefed. She needed the bathroom and she needed coffee. Her first need was blocked by a locked door. As the only one missing from the scene was Jack, she could only hope that he didn’t waste a lot of time on hygiene. She went to the kitchen and put on the coffee.
From the kitchen window, she could see the front of the Gasthaus, its entry boarded up and a few red and white striped traffic cones on the sidewalk in front. She wondered if Margaret’s neatly packed suitcase had survived the blast. If it had, surely Lohendorf could have no objection to returning it. If she had a change of clothes, Margaret could move out to another hotel.
After a few minutes, Thor sauntered into the kitchen and put his arms around her. “Feels good to be home,” he murmured in her ear and kissed the back of her neck.
She wasn’t sure what last night’s lovemaking had meant, but the concept of home left a lot to be negotiated. Her throat still didn’t feel right. “It’ll feel less good if you caught whatever germ I’ve got.”
“My daily spoonful of cod liver oil makes me bulletproof.”
“Don’t say that. Touch wood.” She rapped a knuckle against the wooden windowsill and gazed at the gray, rain-slick street below. “Is Jack out of the bathroom?”
“Yes. I think K.D.’s gone in now. Jack just asked me if I knew who had murdered Alwin Pohl. Have you been talking to him about the situation?”
“Not exactly.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. It hadn’t taken long for her negligence in the matter of child rearing to come to the fore. “Jack’s an inquisitive kid. He may have overheard an adult conversation. It’s not my fault if he arrived in the middle of this chaos.”
“I wasn’t accusing you, Dinah. I don’t want him to grow up in an ivory tower. His knowing about the murder surprised me is all I meant.”
“Well. Surprise seems to be the order of th
e day around here, doesn’t it?” She took one sip of coffee and fumed off to the bathroom. “K.D., there are other people in this apartment. Do the necessary and save the beauty treatments for another time.”
The door opened and K.D. came out, eyes blazing. “After all I’ve done for you, you could show a little gratitude.”
Dinah didn’t regard Lena as a gift deserving of gratitude. She do-si-doed around K.D. and locked herself in the bathroom. She wished she could hide out in here all day. Maybe she had late onset bipolar disorder. Her mood had plummeted since the three a.m. high and she had a premonition that some god-awful “other shoe” was about to drop.
A hot shower helped clear her sinuses and restore a sense of resolve. She psyched herself up for the conversation with Lohendorf. When she walked out of the bathroom, she felt ready to parry any questions he might ask.
Margaret waited outside the door, cocooned in a white blanket from neck to knees. Her skin was ashen, her mouth downturned, and her hair hung around her face and shoulders like loose straw. “You need a second john.”
“So it seems.”
“Who’s the blonde I woke up with?”
“Her name’s Lena Bischoff. She may have information about Pohl’s murder.”
Margaret snorted. “Dressed like a hooker. I wouldn’t believe anything she says.”
She disappeared into the bathroom and Dinah went back to the kitchen for more coffee. Jack was on all fours, head pushed against the wall, strengthening his neck muscles. Thor was talking on his cell.
“Yes, he’s fine. Settling in, no problems. Right. I’ll make sure he does.” He smiled at Dinah. “Dinah got him a new car, which he’s pretty excited about. A Ferrari GTO. Right. Don’t I know it. Uh-huh. How’s your dad?”
Dinah took her coffee and headed for the office. She passed K.D., dossed down on the sofa with earbuds in her ears. Not once since she arrived had K.D.’s mother called to see if she was safe. For all she knew, the kid could have been sold into slavery. Small wonder K.D. waged war against everyone over the age of thirty. Dinah wanted to ask her what Lena had said last night. There was no reason to believe that Lena would tell the same story when she woke up sober. But there was no rush and both she and K.D. would be more agreeable after a couple of hours sleep. Anyway, there were other leads to follow.
She started into the office when out of the corner of her eye she noticed the clock. She glanced at her watch and, setting her jaw, she ripped the duct tape off the cuckoo’s door. She waited a minute and at the stroke of nine, the bird popped out and began its obnoxious two-toned whistle. “Don’t hold back, bird. Here on the Niederwallstrasse, we’re all about sharing.”
Still on the phone to Jen, Thor came to the kitchen door and grinned. She made a face and closed herself in the office. She meant to give Lohendorf plenty of ammunition about Farber’s art thefts and initiated a computer search for news of the Malawi Museum robbery. Located on the Nile a hundred and fifty miles south of Cairo, the museum had almost no security. The looters broke in during a protest by supporters of the deposed President Morsi, murdered the ticket agent, and ransacked the place. The scale of the devastation shown in the pictures sickened her. What the looters hadn’t hauled away, they had trashed. Antique glass display cases had been splintered and brightly painted coffins battered to kindling. Stolen items included amulets, necklaces, funerary masks, votive statues, animal mummies, and even jars containing the two-thousand-year-old preserved organs of Egyptian dead. Some larger statues had also been removed, including one from the Tomb of Amenemhet.
Egypt wasn’t the only country whose heritage was endangered by political unrest and civil strife. There were numerous articles citing the loss and destruction of other national museums and World Heritage sites. Looters had pillaged the National Museum of Iraq during the U.S. invasion, and scavengers used bulldozers to dig up archaeological relics from the ancient Hellenic city of Apamea during the Syrian uprising. The smuggling and selling of stolen antiquities had become a booming business with global reach. With so many Crusader castles and mosques and churches being pulverized by rebels and militias, Dinah wondered if ordinary thieves might be doing posterity a dubious favor. At least, they aimed to profit from their loot, not pulverize it.
Somebody knocked. She was about to say “go away,” but Thor stuck his head in. “Ready for that call to Lohendorf?”
“Yes. I think that statue in Farber’s gallery came from the Tomb of Amenemhet. I can do a search of the museum’s collection before the robbery and find a picture.”
“I’m not sure what he can do about looted Egyptian art. Germany still has no law that addresses the restitution of art the Nazis stole from its Jewish citizens. Everything proceeds on a case-by-case basis.”
“That’s terrible. But they must have laws against theft and smuggling. There has to be a law that applies to this sort of wanton plunder.”
“Let’s start with an up-front admission that you broke into the gallery last night. If you’re right that Farber didn’t report the burglary, that’ll be persuasive. I’m sure Jens will pass on your concern about Amenemhet’s tomb to the proper authorities. But he’ll be more interested in that grenade. Grenades are banned under the German Weapons Act.”
He dialed the number and Dinah felt a weight lift. Regardless of nationality or specialty or beat, cops related to other cops. They respected one another, trusted in hunches, and cut each other slack. And Thor was her cop, advocating for her.
It took a few minutes to get through to Lohendorf and the weight began to build again. What if she’d gotten it all wrong? What if the Malawi Museum had sold Farber that statue or given it to him on consignment? What if he had reported the burglary? What if he had installed electronic cameras that K.D. hadn’t seen? It wouldn’t be just Dinah that Lohendorf arrested. It would be K.D., too.
“Jens. It’s Thor. I’m back in Berlin and Dinah and I have some news to report in connection with the Pohl case.” He listened for a long time without speaking. “Yes, Dinah told me her mother had retained counsel. That’s good. Right, right. At least you’re not wasting time on a red herring.”
He listened some more and his eyes augured bad news. “When? How?”
She held her breath.
“No. Not the sort of thing I’d chalk up to coincidence. How soon will your medical examiner be able to give you a cause of death?”
“Who?” she mouthed.
Thor held up a hand. “I understand. Can you come to our apartment this morning? Eleven’s fine, and bring your sergeant. We have Lena Bischoff here.”
He disconnected and she almost screamed. “Who’s dead?”
“Viktor Bischoff. There was a house fire early this morning. He was pronounced dead on the scene. It could be a suicide. Jens has his doubts.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Lena showed up at the club around two,” said K.D., basking in the attention. She sat at the kitchen table with Sergeant Wegener, who took notes, and Dinah, who couldn’t stop thinking about Viktor. Would he be alive today if she’d called the police the night she was there? If she’d reported that his carelessness with fire posed a danger to the neighborhood and himself? One more thing to feel guilty about.
Unaware that Viktor was dead or that Lena might be a suspect, K.D. didn’t stint on the details of her night at the club. “They play acid techno on the weekends, only it’s way hardcore and they spell it tekkno. So I was dancing with this German dude and it was like being in the center of this whirlwind of sound. We were totally into it, but it gets really hot with the lights and all those bodies jumping around. After a while, I needed a break and we go to a table at the far end of the dance floor near the door. Geert brought us a beer and we’re chilling when in walks Lena.”
Lohendorf and Thor were questioning Lena in the living room now. Dinah wished she could be in two places at once.
“Did Mrs. Bi
schoff join you at your table?” Wegener asked K.D.
“No. I waved and called her name. She looked at me, but I don’t think she recognized me. She was pretty damaged.”
“Damaged how?” asked Wegener.
“Buzzed. On the way to being crunked.”
Dinah said, “Stick to standard English, K.D. Sergeant Wegener isn’t here for a seminar on American slang.”
K.D. tossed her hair. “She was high, okay? Glassy-eyed and unsteady on her feet. But she goes straight onto the dance floor. She looks like she’s about to fall on her face, so I go up to her and say, ‘Come sit with me, Lena.’ And I sweet-talk her to my table.”
“Was she lucid?” asked Dinah.
“The music was real loud and you sort of had to fill in the blanks, but yeah. She talked about her poor dead schatzie, Alwin, and how he liked to dance and drive fast and spend his money on clothes and travel. He knew how to have a good time. Not like Viktor and his boring old Indian pots.”
Lena had been ruthless in breaking up their household, but was she capable of burning the house down around Viktor’s head? Recalling the knife she’d plunged into Viktor’s drum, Dinah thought she just might be.
Wegener folded over a page in her notebook. “Did she speak of the night Alwin was killed?”
K.D. toyed with her hair and flicked a questioning look at Dinah.
“It’s all right. Tell the Sergeant the truth.”
“She said he had a date to meet Swan in the woods before the powwow. I was asking her if he had any other meetings that night when this dude struts up to the table like he owns her and tells me to abhauen. He totally snarls the word and jerks his thumb. No big braintwister what he meant. I had lost sight of Geert, who was supposed to be looking out for me, so I scrammed.”
“Can you describe this man?” asked Wegener.
“He looked like he could be her father, but if he was, she didn’t get the ugly gene. He was a real double-bagger.” She rolled her eyes at Dinah. “Meaning like not a handsome specimen. Ratty hair, thinning. Kind of a schlub.”
Where the Bones are Buried Page 19
