A jangling of keys was followed by the groan of a heavy door opening then closing again. I propped my forearms on the shallow platform and peered through the tightly woven screen. On the other side was a barren room, its walls shiny with a fresh coat of gray paint. I heard the scraping of a wooden chair. A navy blue jumpsuit flashed across the mesh.
“So-ooo, it is you,” the Countess said, settling into her chair, making eye contact through the screen.
The window framed her head and shoulders. She sat forward, her elbows resting on the ledge opposite mine. Our faces were very close. Though softened by the mesh, her appearance was ghastly. She had not looked all that well before, but now dark circles ringed her eyes and her unhealthy pallor had taken yet another ashen turn. Her singular attempt at grooming, a haphazardly applied coat of flagrant red lipstick, looked cheap against her gray-white skin. On my last visit, her hairdo, although flattened, had retained some semblance of the upsweep style Billie had fashioned. This morning, the swept-up arrangement had been reduced to a crushed honeycomb of tangled locks, several oily tendrils drooping against the sides of her face.
“My idea for featuring you in my Women in War Work series was squelched,” I said directly. “I’m sorry.”
Her monotone reply was so low and heavy that the words ran together like one long groan. “Then there will be no visit from my fiancé…I am lost…no one can help me now.”
“I tried. I’m truly sorry.”
Seconds of silence passed. She sighed. “Sorry? No, you have been right all along. I should have listened to you sooner.”
“Why’s that?”
“I wanted revenge. I wanted my name exonerated. I wanted my freedom. You suggested I see things realistically. I am a foreigner, accused of espionage. I am incarcerated, I have no influence. ‘Cooperate. Plead guilty, if they insist. Do these things and you will be with your fiancé sooner,’ you advised.”
I shifted against my unforgiving chair. I hadn’t expected her mood to be so submissive. I also did not recall being so expansive in counseling her. Nor so wise.
“You’re reconciled to serving time then?”
She turned and lit a cigarette. The diamond solitaire on her earlobe glimmered with the movement. “Miracles are possible, but I am better off not to count on them I think.”
The FBI’s ex-counteragent no longer sounded bitter. Resigned, was more like it.
“Last time I was here we talked about Kiki Barclay-Bly, the woman who invited you to speak at the Cosmos Club. You said you had information about her and her sister, Dee.”
She dragged on her cigarette, letting the smoke drain lazily from her mouth. “Ahh-nd why pray tell are you so interested in the Barclay-Bly sisters? More specifically, how will what I know about them help my pitiful situation?”
“Well…I’m still going forward with the series and have plans to cover the Book Faire. If there was an interesting angle about them, say having to do with politics or loyalties…” I let my words trail off.
The Countess held her cigarette holder, staring at the smoldering reed of tobacco on its end, acting completely bored. “Yesterday I knew from your curiosity that any information I might have about them could be a useful bargaining chip.”
“You mean as a get-out-of-jail card?”
“But of course.”
“And now?”
“Now nothing. I am resigned to serving a prison sentence. What possible advantage could there be for sharing?”
I thought fast. “A goodwill offering. My boss’ contact, the one that got me into your private cellblock twice, will take it as a sign that you’re willing to cooperate. In return, they may be willing to leave Mr. Butler and his good name alone.”
She took a slow drag off the cigarette and exhaled with a long sigh. “All right. But my proviso is this. What I will tell you is off the record. It is not for your newspaper, but for the ears of the Special Agent in charge of my case exclusively. Will you agree?”
I nodded. “Yes. And you’ve made a wise choice.”
Her eyes narrowed. “My choices are limited. My true love has promised a little nest will be waiting for me to fly home to, once I am free. But what funds would he have should the men of the FBI decide to play rough with him?”
I restrained a smile. Of course! Why had I been worried? She had her own good reason for wanting to be open with me. “I think you’ve zeroed in on what’s truly important.”
“I am afraid I missed what was truly important when it was right in front of my nose.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It was only after you asked the questions about the sisters, that the possibility occurred to me.”
My heart pounded. “What possibility?”
On the other side of the barrier wall, she stubbed out her cigarette. An acrid stream of tobacco-infused air seeped through the mesh opening. “In thinking about the sisters, I remembered the night of Dee and Philip’s engagement party. There was a brief period when Anastase tried to monopolize me. I rejected what I thought were his advances, especially when he began confiding details about his relationship with Kiki. I assumed he was trying to win my sympathy. Such an o-o-ld ploy that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know—” She placed a hand over her heart and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Poor me. My wife has been unfaithful. I have worked hard to provide for her so that she might have everything she wants. Yet, how does she show her appreciation? By being unfaithful! Then, according to the over worn scenario—” she patted her heart in a speeded up rhythm, imitating a quickened heartbeat—“he expects you, the beguiled woman, the one to whom he is telling his sob story, the one he hopes to win as his mistress, to fawn all over him with the love and affection he so rightly deserves.”
Her lips stretched into a tight smile. “What is the man thinking, I have always wondered. Does he truly believe a wife who has whatever she needs and wants would then rush into another man’s arms? Does he not realize that he may have played some small part in the woman’s dissatisfaction?”
The former charm consultant’s understanding of the ways of men ran miles beyond mine. “You’re saying V-V, er, Anastase, made a pass at you?”
“Yes…I mean no. I thought that was his intention. Now I have come to understand he was trying to signal me. Let me know who he was.”
I scooted my chair closer, its wooden legs scraping the cement floor noisily. “Who?”
“My contact.”
I gasped softly. “And he was trying to tell you this by flirting with you?”
“No,” she replied impatiently. “By telling me his wealthy wife was having an affair.”
There it was. Confirmation. Kiki and Philip.
Her theory, the Countess continued, was that in engaging her in the brief conversation about his wife, her wealth, her cheating heart, V-V was somehow testing her, seeing if she would pick up on his intent.
“Intent?”
“Yes.” She squared her shoulders and thrust her chin out in a show of dignity. “If I had been paying closer attention, it would have been obvious, what he was saying. He was planning to use the situation to convince her to divert funds to the fascist cause.”
I gripped the narrow ledge. “You’re saying he intended to use the affair with Philip as a means for blackmailing his wife?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
“Blackmail.” I sank back in my chair. “But why would Kiki go along?”
The Countess lifted an eyebrow. “She loves him. She loves her sister. She’s afraid of him.”
I thought of Kiki’s crescent-shaped burn and nodded. “Dee was already emotionally overwrought. If she discovered her sister’s betrayal, she’d go right off the deep end. But how could he do it? Pit one sister against another?”
The Countess scoffed. “How? Unwavering devotion to the cause are prerequisites for those of us privileged to be selected for secret service. In Anastase’s case, the characteristics were imprinted early on.�
��
She talked about V-V’s formative years, repeating what I’d already gleaned from Liberty concerning the impact of being born into a nation troubled by ethnic strife and political repression. She also served up something new. V-V had experienced severe trauma as a child. When he was very young, his mother died under mysterious circumstances. His father, a mean drunk, was rarely around afterwards, leaving V-V and his two older brothers to fend for themselves.
“How do you know all this?”
“Sari told me.”
Botheration! Sari deHajek again. Sari was the woman who had befriended the Countess in Hungary and helped care for her father in his final days. It was also Sari who later recruited the Countess, even escorting her to Berlin for espionage training.
She continued. “When I was still in Hungary, and Sari was grooming me for my U.S. lecture tour, she alerted me to a former freedom fighter turned devout Nazi who was to be my main contact after I arrived here.” Her shoulders heaved. “It was only after my conversation with you yesterday that I realized Sari had been referring to Anastase Andreyevich Volodymyr Vivikovsky.”
I whistled. First, because I was impressed with her smooth delivery of the difficult name; second, because I was still more than a little bit flabbergasted by the news. What about his alliance with Liberty? And, equally vital, whose side were they actually on?
“What about the book of names Sari gave you? Why wasn’t his name in there?”
“He was a mole too important and buried too deep to be logged in a book.” She lit a cigarette and exhaled noisily. “Besides, an agent of his renown goes through identities as often and as effortlessly as a chameleon changes colors. Even Sari was uninformed about the name the contact currently calling himself Anastase would be using.”
Behind the mesh, the Countess grew visibly melancholic. “To think, while Anastase was feeding me bait about his unfaithful wife, her sister and their wealth, my head was in the clouds. If only I had been alert, if only I had followed what I learned in training, how different things might have been. If only…” Tears welled up in her eyes.
The poor Countess, her chance to help the fascist cause had sailed right by her. But I hardly felt sorry for her. I was thrilled. I had extracted valuable intelligence, and I could hardly wait to share it.
Chapter Twenty-five
The bark at the base of the giant pine penetrated both layers of the sleeve of my sweater-set, prickling my skin. It was as if the tree with its rough texture was urging me away from the safety of its cover. Instead, I huddled closer. I was on stakeout, directly across the road from the massive wrought-iron gate, and needed to stay put until help could arrive.
Following my session with the Countess, I had tried to telephone Dante before leaving the jail, only to learn that one of the women arrested with the Countess had agreed to enter her plea. Dante and Connelly were in court, involved in the proceedings.
“Renner’s skipped,” their secretary, Miss Tempest, told me. “Sometime this morning he gave the agents tailing him the slip.”
“Not possible!” I was aghast and unable to hide it. I took a deep breath. “Now what?”
“There’s an intensive search on for him.”
A shiver danced across my shoulders. Hadn’t Clara said that when her husband stormed out of their house he might be heading for a showdown with V-V? Was he holed up inside V-V’s estate with him? The Countess had said V-V was a sleeper spy. If true, who knew what might be going on there.
My breath caught. For an instant the blood stood still in my veins. Had V-V duped Liberty? Placed her in jeopardy in some kind of triple cross? Gotten her kidnapped—I swallowed—or killed, to keep her quiet?
“Let Agent Dante know that I’ll be going to LaVue Rouge,” I said. “Tell him it’s urgent that he meet me there. I’ll be waiting for him. He should look for my Ford. It’ll be parked near the front gate. But tell him to look carefully. I’ll be hiding it.”
I had left the jail and returned to the Club, stopping just long enough to check messages and to strap on Gran Skjold’s derringer. Personality Unlimited begged for a final perusal. Something about the volume was different from the one the Countess had lent me. Yes, it contained secret writing, but something else.
I flipped it like a pancake, examining the leather cover’s front and back. That’s it! The copy in my hand had been personalized.
I turned to the inside front cover and stared at the gold-embossed rectangular-shaped bookplate depicting a detailed Renaissance scene of a scholar writing at a desk beside an open window.
…OKPLATE! The missing piece in the phantom ink message: BOOKPLATE! Perhaps: SEE BOOKPLATE?
My razor-tool made quick work of the paste applied in tiny dabs to the rectangle’s corners. On the plate’s front, an inscription below the Renaissance scene read To Kiki, From Your Loving Mother. On the back side, lines of small, neat handwriting, applied with a fine-tipped fountain pen, covered the surface. I’d seen a fountain pen on Kiki’s desk in the master bedroom at LaVue Rouge, its tall peach-colored feather curving majestically up and away from a white marble base. The balled-up note paper I’d snatched from that very desk was now neatly folded and squirreled away in my pocket. I dug it out. But matching the script on the stationery to the printing on the bookplate was not helpful. Complicating things further, the four-paragraph message was in code. The first letters, Y-Y, suggested it was same elementary cipher substitution code I’d come across earlier, on the memo hidden inside Kiki’s desk drawer.
I found a scrap of paper and went to work on the opening paragraph.
KHOS! Y-Y’V KDWUHG IRU VWDOLQ GULYHV KLP. KRUURUV! PB PRQHB JRHV WR QDCL FDXVH. EODFNPDLO. NQRZV EULEHG SKLOOLS OHDYH WRZQ
deciphered became:
Help! V-V completely mad. Hatred for Stalin drives him. Horrors! My money goes to aid the Nazi cause. Blackmail. Knows bribed Philip leave town.
This definitely was from Kiki! Heart racing, I unraveled the remaining three cryptic paragraphs.
Coerced Renner. Conducts terrorist training here. Plans sabotage. Have evidence!
Fear for my life. My sister. Truth must come out. D must know I acted out of love; did not betray her.
P=Don Juan. Everyone knew, but D. Tried seducing me, his lowest betrayal. Repulsed; P more determined. Sent gift: pink pearl earrings & necklace! Enraged. With V-V, confront P. Cad demands deposit to consider options. Timed his exit to reap the best sum.
The cancelled checks in Kiki’s drawer, I thought, squinting to read the final incomplete line. Morning of the wedding…
She didn’t explain, but somehow the pearl jewelry had found its way to Dee. And V-V, perhaps using the love poem written by Philip, had found a way to leverage the situation into a means for gouging money from his wife.
Reading the note had heightened my apprehension about what might be going on at LaVue Rouge. I left the Club, raced to the estate, and settled into my current stakeout spot beneath the mammoth pine. Unsure of when Dante might arrive, I was biding my time, keeping an eye out for the G-men he’d assured me were covering the place. They wouldn’t be conspicuous, I knew; and it was more likely they’d be watching the mansion instead of covering the estate’s perimeter. Still, I needed something to keep me calm, while awaiting reinforcements.
Beyond the gate, a funnel of dust swirled down the lane, coming toward me from the house. I pressed my back deeper into the prickly bark and waited until the noise of the engine grew loud enough for me to be reasonably certain the vehicle had reached the gate. Leaning forward, I glimpsed a champagne-colored sedan slowing to round the stone pillar. Tires bit asphalt, and the driver, a tough-looking thug with buzz-cut hair and the neck and shoulders of a weightlifter, peeled off in the direction of downtown Detroit.
The property line was enclosed by a spiked ornamental fence extending from the curlicued gate. I scooted across the narrow lane, aware that I would have a better view of the occupants of any additional cars barreling in or out of the estate if I were
inside the cove of shrubs bordering the fence.
Moments later, a man appeared, walking a horse in the woods beyond. The horse had a white coat stained with large blotches of chocolate, an Appaloosa. The Appaloosa was not saddled and one of its legs was swathed in white tape. I guessed the horse had injured its leg and the man leading him was a trainer, exercising the animal as part of the healing process. The trainer, a Negro, wore denim overalls and a white collarless shirt, his sleeves rolled up. A newsboy cap partially covered his fuzzy salt-and-pepper hair.
The man and horse were following a bridle path coming from the Rouge River that defined the property to my left. Leafy fall-colored trees, muted by a gloomy sky, formed a backdrop. When they were about fifty yards away from me, the trainer stopped and glanced around. He vaulted onto the horse’s back, and I recognized the wide nose and white stubble along the man’s chin. The trainer was no trainer. It was Leo! My pulse quickened as I remembered that Leo sometimes assisted the Bureau. Could he be part of the team surveilling the estate?
I wanted to call out but before I could, he kicked the Appaloosa’s flanks. The horse clearly was not injured; he galloped off with Leo riding bareback.
When I had driven through the grounds the night before I’d thought the horse stable was located near where Leo appeared to be racing. I checked my watch. One or both of the men in the house, V-V and Renner, knew something about Liberty’s whereabouts, I felt sure of it. And while I waited for backup, she as well as Kiki and Irina could be in grave danger.
Seeing Leo on the grounds infused me with confidence and bolstered my resolve. Back across the road at the Ford I left a note on the dash, amending my earlier instructions to Dante. I’ve seen Leo. I’m following him to the stable. I’ll wait for you there.
Lipstick and Lies Page 28
