Eisler smiled although there was no humour in his eyes. “We did. It’s all been by the book, the cameras, the removal of the computers, everything. No mistakes.”
Burke considered a couple of obstacles in the scenario he was envisioning. “But these people didn’t get to where they are in the company by being stupid and careless. They did their utmost to keep their dirty little secret away from everyone else. They never told anyone, including their families, and they cleared the history on their computers. That’s why you had those cameras installed. When someone went onto a child porn site, your tech person could take a screen shot. And instantly you’ve got what you want.”
Eisler leaned back, almost like he was relaxing. “I’ll add to your education, Herr Burke, by saying that many people might clear their history, believing it to be gone forever, but there are technicians who can still capture that history. It might take a while, but they’ll get it. And ours are doing that right now.”
“So, you’ve got them on child pornography charges. I don’t know what the sentence is for possession of child porn, but … .”
“Not just possession,” Eisler interjected.
“Distribution of child porn? Maybe sponsoring or even producing?”
“The charges are much more serious when those actions occur.”
Burke knew about kiddie-porn addicts getting years in prison for sharing such images. It was a nasty business and courts in many countries were getting harsher with their sentencing, especially with those who shared. As for individuals who produced child porn, they were looking at long prisoner terms, the kind that turned middle-aged men into old ones.
Burke still had questions, not for any blog although he’d be writing one soon for François Lemaire. He wanted to know for himself. “You separated Eric Chapman from the others. What’s he got to do with all this? Has he been charged with anything?”
“He hasn’t.”
“So why did he get his own special police escort?”
No response.
Burke had a thought. “Has he been working undercover for you?”
“No, he hasn’t,” Eisler said, volunteering nothing more.
Burke recalled how the police had treated Chapman back in the Prater parking lot ̶ not like a criminal but not like a colleague either. So who was Chapman? Whatever he was up to, the police seemed confident about what he’d been doing. Burke was puzzled. He hadn’t seen much connection between Chapman and any of the inner circle except for cycling and wine. Chapman had been an outsider, some kind of computer guy who didn’t fit with the others and who had come along on the tour as part of a family holiday.
“Now, Herr Burke, let’s go through the last two days one more time,” Eisler said.
Chapter 60
Burke was walking into the dining room when he felt someone grab his elbow.
It was Claude, frowning. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. It’s been bedlam in here.”
“The flics just finished interviewing me again.”
Burke looked around the room. Most of the Sunna’s passengers were standing in lines that ended with uniformed police recording information on laptops. Everyone looked miserable or angry. Burke turned back to his friend. “Claude, when did the police show up?”
“They were waiting for us on the dock when we sailed in. As soon as the gangplank was down, a dozen of them, maybe more, charged up and took control. They’ve been hauling away computers and talking to passengers ever since. No one has been permitted to leave.”
“What about the crew? What have they been doing?”
“I think they were expecting it because none of them looked surprised. I saw Captain Keller talking to the flics coming aboard. He didn’t look distressed at all. Since they showed up, the ship’s crew has been going about their business like today was just another day.”
That fit with what Burke knew.
“So, Paul, what’s happened with you and your group of cyclists? I heard not everyone came back to the ship.”
Burke told him what had occurred as soon as the group had reached the day’s destination at the Prater. Then he related what had happened during his interview with Eisler and Plaschke.
“Tiny spy cameras, child porn, murder – what kind of bloody trip have we been on?” Claude said, shaking his head in disbelief.
A moment later, Hélène came over and hugged Burke. She asked what had been happening with him and Burke gave her an abridged version of what he had told Claude. At the end of his tale, she just shook her head and held his hand.
“Let’s sit down,” Claude said. “The kitchen right now is off limits to everyone, according to the police. I have no clue why. Maybe they’re searching for clues among the seasoning.”
They joined a table with a few other passengers. Most swapped anecdotes from the day’s activities. Burke had the sense the others expected him to provide background about what was happening, but he opted to keep his thoughts to himself.
While the others chatted, Burke looked out at what was happening on the dock. It was even busier. More police vehicles were showing up and there was a steady flow, back and forth, of officers, all of them being directed by the older man in the grey suit. The scene had also attracted more journalists plus at least 200 curious bystanders.
An hour later, an officer came over and returned Burke’s smartphone and told him his laptop was back in his cabin.
“What did they want with your phone?” someone asked after the flic had left on his next delivery.
Burke explained that he, Renata Hable and all the team-building participants had been forced to provide their phones to police.
“What’s next?” Claude said.
Before he could consider an answer, Burke saw he had texts from François Lemaire who was asking for updates. His tone sounded urgent. Obviously, the news about the Sunna being in police control had quickly spread.
Burke fired back a note to Lemaire telling him about the inner circle being detained by police and a number of computers being confiscated by the authorities. He said the Sunna was in lockdown which, in turn, was attracting considerable attention at the foot of the city’s most famous bridge. He didn’t provide names, but said police were looking at several individuals being involved in a criminal activity. He didn’t know if that would be libelous if printed. Using it would be Lemaire’s call.
“I’ll rewrite that into a blog,” Lemaire replied. “Give me a follow-up blog in another four hours. And tell me something I won’t get from the news services. The story is getting hot with lots of attention on the Riviera.”
Burke wasn’t surprised about Lemaire’s last comment since the tour organizer was based out of Nice. There was a lot at risk for the company.
A few minutes later, Burke saw Alex Eisler walk into the dining room, a uniformed officer close behind. Almost immediately, the two men were swarmed by a score of people, most of them related to the Sunna passengers being held in custody. Although the group was in the far corner of the room, Burke could hear their voices as they demanded information.
Eisler held up his hands to get them to calm down and explained that the men in custody were being detained as part of the ongoing investigation involving Bennett Blake. He stayed calm and so did the uniformed officer. No one else did, though. The voices increased in intensity and the questions became more pointed. It even reached the point where Burke thought someone might push Eisler or the uniformed cop.
Then Burke saw Karl Plaschke enter the room from another passageway. The Krems sergeant saw the commotion and stopped. For whatever reason, he was leaving the chaos for Eisler to handle.
Burke wanted to talk to Plaschke alone and so he quickly went over. He hoped no one would notice or care. “The Chief Inspector is getting a rough time.”
Plaschke, who was watching Eisler and the uniformed officer try to deal with the upset passengers, nodded. “He can handle it.”
“You know Inspe
ctor Eisler well?”
“I met him for the first time only a day ago.”
Burke wanted to know how the two flics were connected, but he pushed that question aside. Instead, he asked Plaschke if Wilson Talbot’s computer was one of the ones in police custody.
“We took control of it the day he died,” said Plaschke, still watching the scrum around Eisler.
“Did you find anything?”
“Do you really think we’re going to tell you if we discovered anything on his computer?”
Burke shrugged. “Fair enough, but can you tell me if your tech experts are in the process of expanding their search?”
Plaschke faced Burke. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t believe that what happened to Wilson Talbot was an accident. I also think you might be considering that his death could be related to the child-porn ring and Bennett Blake’s murder.”
“Since you think Niklaus Gast is the one who killed Blake, do you also believe he murdered Talbot?”
Burke was convinced Gast had murdered Bennett Blake, but he doubted Gast had killed Blake’s assistant. There was no motive. “I’m not suggesting that. But I think you’ll find Talbot had something buried away on his machine that links him to Blake and maybe the child-porn ring.”
Plaschke nodded, mostly to himself, Burke thought. He was thinking about something, but what?
“When is Talbot’s funeral going to be held? You must know that,” Burke said.
“No date has been set yet.”
“What’s the status of the investigation into Talbot’s death? Is it closed or is it ongoing?”
“No comment.”
“Really? OK, forget Talbot. Can you tell me if the men in custody have been charged yet and, if they have, with what?”
“They are being detained. I can’t comment on any possible charges.”
“And Gast? Are you looking at him for murder?”
“He’s in custody with the others. I can’t comment on any possible charges.”
Burke was getting the official position and he couldn’t blame Plaschke. Why should the flic give an unofficial update to some nosy blogger? If he did and one of his superiors learned about it, he could face serious reprimand or worse.
“But I’ll tell you something if you guarantee it won’t appear in your blog,” Plascke said, surprising Burke.
Burke recalled Lemaire telling him once to avoid “going off the record” with anyone, adding most people who request such an arrangement have a strong urge to disclose the information and will ultimately do so regardless of no off-the-record deal. The newsman had suggested Burke take a long pause and wait. More often than not, the person will talk.
“So, off the record or not?” Plaschke said. “I haven’t got all day. And if you’re thinking I might let you have the information without that guarantee, you’re mistaken. My bosses would have my balls if they learned I leaked something I shouldn’t.”
Burke ignored Lemaire’s advice – after all, he was just a blogger, not a journalist – and said he wouldn’t tell anyone.
“Not even your friend Claude Brière?”
“Not a soul, not even my partner Hélène.”
Plaschke nodded and looked around. No one was close enough to hear and no one was watching. “It’s not about Wilson Talbot. It’s about the Blake murder. We found the remnants of some clothing. You were right when you suggested the clothes would be in some kind of place no one would look and where no one would see whatever was left of the clothes, if anything.”
“Where were they?”
“We found them in a building worksite about 250 metres from where the Sunna docked in Krems. A local hotel is getting an extension and the ground is being prepared for the cement to be poured. There’s a fair-sized hole there, at least there was when the Sunna was in town. It was the only site within a kilometre that fit the requirements that you and I talked about.”
“When did the work begin on the hotel extension?”
“The extension was announced almost a year ago and work began about four months ago. There was coverage in the Krems media and a couple of notices on the town website. The hotel was promoting the expansion by posting weekly photos on its website.”
“So, Gast would have known about the construction schedule long before the Sunna sailed into Krems.”
“He would. In fact, our technicians have already discovered he started making regular visits to the hotel website as early as four months before the tour began.”
“You found some clothing?”
“Not much, just a few shreds. I expect he poured acid or bleach on his clothing, watched it start to disintegrate and then was interrupted by someone approaching. He knew he shouldn’t be seen, so he left, hoping the acid or bleach would finish the job and that, if there was anything left, the cement would be poured over it without anyone noticing.”
“Any results from the clothing?”
Plaschke shook his head and said it was too early to know. The clothing had been seriously damaged, almost to the point of being unrecognizable, and there was no guarantee DNA would be discovered. “But we have good people looking into it.”
“When will you know?”
“At best, in another 24 to 36 hours. At worst, they won’t be able to get any DNA and the bits of clothing are so damaged that no one will really know what it’s supposed to look like.”
“I have one more question. Have you or your technicians discovered anything unusual involving Hoshiko Kimura?”
“Are we still talking off the record?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not definite yet, but it seems she’s some kind of industrial spy.”
“What?”
“Her phone indicates a number of phone calls and texts to a competitor of Worldwide Events Consulting.”
“How do you know that? Your people just took her phone a couple of hours ago.”
Plaschke said nothing, remaining impassive. He glanced at Eisler who seemed to be having some success at quieting the people around him and then he looked back at Burke for a moment. “Time to go,” he said and left.
Burke stood there alone, wondering how the flics had discovered Kimura’s secret.
Chapter 61
Lemaire was angry.
“You’ve told me in your latest blog what everyone already knows,” Lemaire said on the phone. “You’re right there in the middle of everything, Paul, so surely you must have some insight that the regular media don’t.”
Burke reiterated what he’d put in his blog, adding that the police on board the Sunna were keeping passengers from doing much. “And they’re not telling us anything, either.”
Lemaire said nothing, his displeasure obvious. Burke kept silent as well.
“All right, give me another blog by 9 tonight,” the newsman finally said. “Tell me what’s happening aboard the ship, what the flics are doing on board, how the passengers are reacting and how the crew is doing. Try to give me something the regular media won’t be able to. Our readers – and your followers – are expecting it.”
He hung up.
Burke opened the curtains to his cabin window and looked outside at the Danube. A couple of heavily laden barges riding low on the water were struggling west while a cruise ship was going east, probably to Bratislava, 80 kilometres away. He could hear traffic from the nearby Reichsbücke bridge and the occasional seagull squawk. Business as usual, at least on the river.
But aboard the Sunna, it was hardly the normal routine. The ship wasn’t going anywhere, police were wandering around and passengers were frightened. As holidays went, it had become a disaster.
Since Hélène and Claude were busy in the kitchen preparing supper after the police had given permission for staff to work again, Burke decided to avoid any curious fellow passengers in the dining area and stay in his cabin. He stretched out on his bed, trying to organize his thoughts but g
etting nowhere. Without trying, he nodded off.
A half hour later, Burke’s phone rang, startling him. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and looked to see who it was. François Lemaire.
“Have you checked social media recently?” the editor began.
“For what?”
“You need to be more alert, Paul. A number of sources have posted that the Swiss, Niklaus Gast, has been charged with the murder of Bennett Blake. It was just announced. He’s also facing child porn charges. Can you get to the police station in Vienna? It would be useful to have you produce something specifically for us. And the sooner, the better.”
“The last I saw, no one was permitted to leave the ship, but I’ll try as soon as I’m off the phone.”
“By the way, the five others have been charged with soliciting, distributing and sponsoring child pornography.”
“Who?”
“Kendall Young, Roger Langford, Gert Vanderkamp, Dietrich Beck and David Fraser,” Lemaire said, clearly reading.
“No mention of Eric Chapman?”
“Nothing. Who’s he?”
“I’ll explain later. By the way, did any of the posts mention who was the lead investigator?”
“Chief Inspector Alex Eisler of the Austrian federal police. He was the one who handled the news conference. One more point about the investigation – Interpol is involved. Apparently, all the men named are part of a large international ring specializing in child pornography.”
Burke was surprised enough at that information that he didn’t reply for several seconds. He had never figured the inner-circle members could be part of a massive operation which, on reflection, had been naïve of him. Child pornography was known to be an ugly business attracting countless people around the globe.
“Paul, are you still there?” Lemaire said.
“Sorry, that last bit of information caught me by surprise. I’ll do whatever I can and get back to you within two hours.”
Deception On the Danube Page 21
