by Ranjini Iyer
Max closed her eyes. Quietly, she said, “But he was murdered.”
Schulz shook his head. Max looked at him, realizing that although he was smug, he definitely didn’t show any signs of culpability. “All right, I’ll play along,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”
Schulz looked at her with approval. “I knew Hiram was working on heart disease. I had kept an interest in his work. I even asked him to come work for me, but he declined. My company had too many bad memories associated with it. Of course, I understood. I had no idea about his work on Samuel’s old research. One day, one of his test subjects called me, asking for money.” He looked put out. “I paid him off and managed to get one or two telling memos related to Hiram’s work. I begged Hiram not to publish the work. But he was determined to tell the world our ugly truths.” Schultz looked thoughtful.
“I know about your secret lab,” Max blurted. “The one you shut down after you discovered what the pill had done.”
There was a pitcher of water on the table. Schultz poured himself a glass. “It’s debatable how much harm the pills actually did. But the fact is my company would have been buried under frivolous lawsuits and preposterous claims of diseases we had let spread. As for Hiram, I promised him money. But he refused. He owed it to his father to publish the work, he said. He called me the worst friend anyone could have for abandoning his father. Many other unflattering names, too.” Schultz took a deep breath.
Max was becoming more and more convinced that Schultz truly had no need to kill her father. He had billions of dollars worth of motive, but he was right. He could quash her comparatively small-time father and his work in a matter of days, even hours, with a few phone calls. Without harming him.
“I warned Hiram I’d discredit his work,” Schultz spoke wearily. His eyes grew wide, reenacting his emotions from years ago. “I said I’d even discredit him personally, make him out to be a depressed alcoholic. Once that happened, the journals wouldn’t bother with his work.”
Max bit her lip. What Schultz was saying was despicable, but Papa had resorted to drinking heavily towards the end.
“But Hiram was dogged,” Schultz said. “He rode out his period of disfavor and even managed to regain some friends in the research world. But I was prepared. I made sure he lost friends quicker than he found them. It wasn’t easy or fun, but it had to be done. Soon he started gaining support among some alternative theorists. But before I could worry, I heard about his suicide.” He looked at her as if waiting for her to contradict him. “I might have hated his guts, but I knew Hiram was a brilliant scientist. In my darkest moments, I’m ashamed to say, I was relieved that he was no longer a problem for us.”
Max winced.
Schultz went on. “In my business it’s easy to forget that we are trying to help people.”
Max leaned back and closed her eyes. “Who, then? If not you, then who?” she said softly. “Who had as much to lose?”
Schultz shrugged. “Perhaps the people who have the pills now. Whoever has them probably has the same interests as ours.”
“Whoa,” Max said, sitting up straight. “You don’t have the pills?”
Schultz smiled, as if he was welcoming the challenge of having to fight for them once more. Max wondered why he was looking so pleased if he no longer had the pills. Unless he was lying. “That’s impossible,” She exclaimed. “Your assassin stole them from under my nose with your dirty money.”
Schultz now looked relieved almost. “You know, I could not rid myself of the nagging feeling that you were the one who had masterminded it all. Staging your elaborate game about finding the papers, then arranging to have them stolen from you. Same with the pills in Karachi. I was absolutely amazed. I thought how truly worthy you were of being Samuel’s granddaughter.”
“Sorry, I’m not that smart,” Max said wearily.
“The pills Hans procured were taken from him at the Karachi airport by the same crook he had encountered in London. I would like to know who this very worthy adversary is. So yes, the question puzzling me too is who else has as much to lose as we do?” He smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and stood up.
Max didn’t want him to leave yet. She held out her arm and almost touched his sleeve. “Please. Who could have done it?” She hated begging him, but this man was her last link to knowing what had happened to her father.
Schultz gazed into her eyes. “I can’t believe the competition would resort to killing Hiram either. Too messy and not worth their while. Of course I’m thinking of a competitor in our league with less to lose than, say, a smaller company.”
Was that the best he could do? Max impatiently shook her head. “But why did Lars die? They said heart attack, but isn’t that too convenient?”
Schulz shrugged.
Max felt so deflated. But she wasn’t ready to completely exonerate Schultz. If she kept him talking, he might give something incriminating away. What would she do then? She hadn’t thought that far.
Schultz extended his hand. “Goodbye Maxine,” he said. Max looked up at him. He let out a chuckle. “Ach, look at you with those great big, sad eyes! You do so look like Samuel.” He sat back down. “Had Hiram any enemies?” he said after a while.
Max ran her tongue over her dry lips and shook her head no. It was unimaginable that Papa would have any enemies.
Schultz made a smacking sound of irritation. “There must be some reason. How about love?” His voice grew excited. “A failed love affair. Something mundane like that. Too much love. Too much love breeds evil. My bet is on money, though. If I weren’t as powerful as I am, I might have felt compelled to do something…shall we say, rash?” He gave her a smile that reminded her of a hungry fox.
He looked old and a bit tired. His smile now turned more sincere. “Before you go Maxine, I want you to know that I admired Samuel. And Hiram. And now even you, my dear. This has been most entertaining.”
He held out his hand but Max did not take it. He shrugged. “Let the game continue. You do your best to get this research out. I will do my best to quash it. Guten tag, good day.” The former chairman of Berliner turned around and left.
Max sat still, looking at the glass doors that swung shut behind Schultz.
Her mind went to Julian. He must be preparing to get married to Raquel in some exotic location. A castle in Scotland, perhaps.
Visions of an isolated castle at the end of a pristine lawn floated in front of her eyes. Guests streaming toward it. Pink and white balloons and flowers everywhere.
A torrent of jealous acid flooded her stomach.
Damn him. And damn that Raquel. They could get married on the moon for all she cared.
Like this airport, Max had been left in no-man’s land—a place between places. She could never go back to her old self, where she had managed to find a modicum of stability. Where an acceptance of her past had taken hold with the will to go on and make her life a success. She might never be able to go forward, either. To a place where she could leave behind forever the dreaded questions of who and why.
And yet, here she was. In Berlin. Alone. She had just accused a very powerful man of murder, and although she had felt apprehension, she hadn’t been seized with panic. She had not even thought about fidgeting with her hair, let alone fainting.
Maybe she would find a way out of this no-man’s land.
She walked onto the plane with head held high.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Julian warmed his hands with a cup of coffee and walked over to his living room window. He had landed in Chicago several hours earlier and was settling back in his small one-bedroom apartment on Southport. Raquel hated his place. The street crawled with yuppie drunks on the weekends, she would say. Well, there was a bar downstairs and, yes, young people did have a good time there. But Julian didn’t hate them. He had even become friendly with some of the regulars. But Raquel was critical of everything.
Then there was Max. He sipped his coffee, wishing he had never
met her, never gotten involved with her and her insane problem. And yet all he could think about was her face, now happy, now sad, her lips full and welcoming, her eyes filled with eagerness to make love to him.
Max wasn’t like other women he had been with. She was so confident about some things, so diffident about others. So unsure, so unaware of her own voluptuous beauty. And yet so headstrong and impulsive.
After the Fardoon debacle, Julian had decided to let Max blow off steam. He needed to think, and Max needed to sort things out for herself. Their flight back to Chicago was early the next day. He figured she would calm down by then.
Back at the hotel, Julian had suggested some sightseeing, but Max wasn’t interested. She just wanted to stay in her room, she had said. They had met for lunch but it had been eaten in icy silence. After, she had left him alone. He tried calling her, but she had left a recorded message saying she wanted to take a nap.
He had spent a few hours visiting Karachi’s sights. When he returned, he had knocked on her door. No answer.
Worried, he’d gone to the front desk only to find out that she had checked out. He had imagined all sorts of awful things. She could have been drugged. Or kidnapped! Julian had called Kevin, but he had no idea where Max had gone.
Sick with worry and yet angry with Max for not keeping him informed, he called her cell phone. Voice mail. He tried calling her work number. He knew that Max had forwarded that number to her assistant’s cell.
Kim answered. He started to introduce himself when Kim said, “Julian, hello. Max told me about you. She landed safely not long ago.”
Julian exhaled with relief. “And?” he said hopefully.
“She’s fine, but I’d give her some time.” Kim told him that Max had stopped in Berlin to meet Peter Schultz but hung up before Julian could say anything more.
Julian felt a rush of irritation. Silly, silly Max. He put down his coffee. Why had she felt the need to traipse off to Berlin to confront this Schultz? That was foolish, not to mention dangerous. What if he had done something to her? In the midst of his frustration, he also realized that he felt great remorse for leaving her to go off on her own.
At least she was safe. And she was home.
The lack of sleep from changing time zones began to overwhelm him. In a few hours, he would go to her. Tell her how he really felt about her. And apologize. On his knees.
Then he would lecture her.
For that he needed energy.
Julian awoke with a start. It was 4:00 a.m. He picked up the phone. Might Max be asleep, though? Never mind. He wanted to see her. He called her apartment.
There was no answer. Where was she? He called three more times. Nothing.
He dressed, ran out, and managed to find a cab.
At Max’s building, Julian hurriedly explained to the front desk clerk why he needed to let him in, reminding him who he was. Maxine Rosen’s frequent guest, good friend, even. The man wasn’t convinced. It occurred to Julian that he had only been to her apartment once.
The desk clerk called, but there was no answer. “She isn’t home, sir,” he told Julian.
“Try her mobile,” Julian said. He waited while the man at the desk made the call.
A cleaning woman entered the building. The desk clerk greeted her while he waited for Max to answer. At the same time, he pressed a button and opened the glass doors to let her in. Julian dashed in through them.
“Sir!” the doorman yelled.
But Julian wasn’t listening. He took the elevator to the 35th floor. He could hear the doorman summoning security.
He reached Max’s floor and banged on her door. No answer. She had told him she was a light sleeper. Why wasn’t she answering?
He pulled out his phone and called her again. Still nothing. He checked the time. 5:00 a.m.
Where are you, Maxine Rosen?
He paced in front of her apartment with a growing sense of dread that something was very wrong.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Ernst Frank’s apartment
Chicago
The phone rang. Ernst picked it up slowly. “Hello,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“I read your email,” his grandson said. “Max has managed to decode the research. It’ll be published now, I suppose.”
Alex had developed his mother’s cutting voice ever since he had taken over her company years ago. Ernst bent his head down and listened patiently to his grandson’s ranting. He couldn’t help being amazed at how alert he sounded. Like his mother, Alex must have risen at 4:00 a.m. and done his five-mile run.
“Clients will leave us slowly but surely. Sally Hart Weight Loss will become obsolete.” Alex’s voice became a whine. “There are investors waiting in the wings. They will disappear at the slightest whiff of doubt. Without that cash influx, this company will be finished.”
“Alex,” Ernst said. “Hiram told me this before and I’m telling you now. This will take years to make a dent in the business. Your mother was unstable. She was unable to see that.”
“Maybe,” Alex went on, “but perhaps it’s as good a reason as any to sell the company.”
“Please, no!” Ernst cried. “If you sell the company now, you destroy Sally. She would have died for nothing.”
“Zayde, grandfather, I took over the company because you begged me to. We’ll keep my mother alive this way, you said. The truth is, she is dead. It’s time to move on.”
Ernst was livid. “But…but…that isn’t what we discussed. What about everything I did for you? For Sally?”
“This company isn’t your daughter. Sally Hart is gone.”
Alex’s words were stabs at Ernst’s heart. He wanted to scream. The company was what had kept Sally in one piece. It was what had held her together throughout her unhappy marriage. It had been her support during and after her messy divorce. It had been her solace. Alex was wrong. The company was Sally Hart.
“We cannot let the company go just like that,” Ernst begged.
“Max should have let sleeping dogs lie,” Alex said and hung up.
Ernst felt a rash of anger at the events that had choreographed his actions thus far. The stone hand of defeat was pushing him against a wall, choking the life out of him. It was over. It had all been for nothing.
He had done what he had thought was right. He hadn’t been able to prevent Sally’s death, but he had kept his daughter alive through the triumphs of her company. He had done his part. And now, so easily, Alex was ready to throw it all away. It would all have been for nothing if Sally’s company were sold.
Ernst sat on his couch and watched the lake for a while. A sense of calm descended over him. His decision was made. He got up, steadied himself, and opened his safe. A small bottle containing a deadly poison stared back at him. Samuel had given it to him decades ago to get rid of a mouse.
“We modified the botulinum toxin in the lab by spawning a rapid-acting mutation of the Clostridium botulinum bacteria,” Samuel had said at the time. “They used it in covert Nazi operations to poison quite a few Allied officers. It brings on fatal paralysis in a human in less than ten minutes, but a mouse should be dead in seconds after ingesting this.”
Ernst put the bottle in his pocket along with a small pistol from his safe. Just in case.
He needed some air. He walked to the front door and opened it. To his amazement, he found Max outside, asleep on the floor.
“Darling, I was expecting you for breakfast. What are you doing here so early?” Ernst bent down and helped her up. She fell into his arms and held him tight.
“I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.” He led her in and closed the door.
Ernst went into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and took out a box of chamomile tea bags. He started a kettle and put a hand in his pocket. He took out the bottle of botulinum toxin and held it over one of the teacups. He hesitated for a few seconds before letting several drops fall. He then opened a packet of coconut cream cookies. “What’s that? Did I hear you right? You j
ust got back from Berlin? I thought the plan was to go to Karachi from Hyderabad, and straight back home.”
“Yes,” Max said, “But I…I had to see Peter Schultz, Opa’s old boss.”
Ernst poured hot water into the teacups with shaking hands and placed both cups on the tray.
“He looks quite amazing for his age,” Max was saying. “He just might live forever.”
Ernst stepped into the living room with the tray trembling in his hands, his face twisted in a frown. Max looked at him.
“Should I take that?” she said.
“No, I’ve got it,” Ernst said. What had she learned? How much did she know?
“I accused him of killing Papa.”
Ernst managed to slam the tray on the coffee table. He opened his mouth in surprise but could say nothing. Of course, she would think Berliner had killed Hiram.
“How silly of me,” he said. “I left the cookies in the kitchen.”
He leaned forward and caressed her cheek. She put her hand to his and their fingers met for a second before his hand left her face. Her fingers were cool. Just like they had been as a child. She had clung to him the day Hiram had been found dead in his apartment, face down in his own vomit with a bottle of whiskey beside him. Ernst had consoled her—as well as himself—that in time all would be well.
After that, he had done right by Max. Taken over for Hiram. He had done his duty.
Ernst went into the kitchen and returned with the cookies.
“What’s the matter?” Max said. “You don’t look well.” She stood up, her eyebrows scrunched together, and touched a palm to the side of his neck.
Suddenly Ernst couldn’t bear her touch. “It’s…it’s nothing. I’m worried about you. Drink the tea. That cup. And try a cookie.”
She picked up a cookie and took a bite. He sat beside her on the couch.
“Berliner didn’t kill Papa,” she said.
