Emerald

by Garner Scott Odell

  “Sir, Mr. Brunstein will have just a few minutes to see you now. If you would take the elevator over there to the second floor, Mr. Brunstein’s secretary will be waiting for you.”

  The heavy-set man looked up from his ornate desk, put his glasses down and said, “Herr Dohring, I presume. Won’t you please to sit down? How may I help you?”

  “I am a collector of fine jewels, a hobby and an investment, I might add. I have just been told by fräulein Muller, of Christies, that there is to be an auction soon of a rather well known Emerald that I have had my eye on for some time now. I was wondering if you could tell me when this emerald is to go up for auction, and if I might see this gem in person, just to make sure you understand that it is the stone I am interested in.”

  “And which emerald is it you are interested in, Herr Dohring?”

  “It has been known as the Wittelsbach Emerald ever since the 17th century when Philip IV of Spain gave it to Margareta Teresa as part of her dowry when she married Leopold I of Austria. I have loved this magnificent gem ever since I first saw it and not that it may be on the auction block - - - well, I would move heaven and earth to have it in my collection.”

  “I understand your desire to purchase this emerald for your collection, but Sir, we have a problem. It has been brought to my attention by the authorities that the owners of this gem have tragedy died, and so the courts must determine if there are any heirs for their estate. Until these legal matters have been decided this Wittelsbach emerald will have to remain in our custody until it is released by the courts. I hope you understand?”

  Trying to reign in his anger, Hans said sharply, “This is a severe personal blow to me, however I completely understand. Do you have any information as to the length of this delay?”

  “Not really Herr Dohring. It could be a few weeks or a few months, but if you would be so kind as to give me your address, I will certainly inform you of the results.”

  Quickly standing, Hans said, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll deal directly with Christies from now on.” Without another word he left the astonished banker.

  After speaking to a monsieur Brunstein at the bank where Christie’s auction jewels were kept, what infuriated Hans the most was learning that killing the Klein’s might actually keep him from getting the emerald. How could he have known? It was insane, but true. Brunstein told him that the stone was waiting a disclosure on its disposition while lawyers looked for a will and searched for heirs of the couple. Hans knew, despite his skill, that robbing a major bank vault was out of the question. In addition, he knew of none of his friends in Berlin had such abilities either. All his Nazi friends were into the more bloody pursuits. They did not take on that type of highly thought-out scheme. Now he must wait to avenge his father and reclaim his inheritance. How long, he had no idea. And the bank had no idea either. His fury flared again just thinking about this frustrating development.

  CHAPTER 7

  Tel Aviv - - - Geneva

  “Good work, you two,” Levi said on Wednesday when he met with David and Miriam again, “Thanks for getting this material to me before the weekend. I had time to go over it and it looks like we now have what we need to begin to search for this killer in Geneva. I don’t know how you did it, but this computer-aged photo will scare the crap out of our man, if he’s the one. How did you get it?” Miriam responded, “Malcolm found an old photo of Hans Huber’s son that was taken during the Eichmann capture in the 60’s, and with help of a computer whiz downstairs age-enhanced it, viola - - - there it is. It’s not perfect, but should greatly help us with our search.”

  “I just hope the newspapers don’t get hold of it and print it to scare our man off. It will be a great help. Now go home and pack your bags because you’re flying to Geneva tomorrow.”

  Levi handed David two El AL packets of tickets.

  “There should be enough Swiss francs there also in there, that is unless you really think you’re on a vacation. The flight leaves at 3:05 p.m. Let’s us see how this works out for all of us.”

  David looked at Levi and enquired, “I hate to seem dumb, but how are we supposed to find one person in a city as big as Geneva?”

  “You’re not dumb at all and I’m glad you asked. One, you’ve got that photo and two, you should check in right away with Inspector Piet Servette of the Geneva Police. Piet and I are old fiends. I have already told him that you are on your way and he will give you all the assistance you need.” And with a sly smile, Levi said, “Oh, by the way, you have flight and hotel reservations under the name of Mr. and Mrs. David Cohen. That should be you starting point. Check in with an Inspector Servette of the Geneva Police as soon as you can and it would be a good idea to keep me informed also,” Levi remarked as he ushered the duo toward the door.

  In the parking garage, just before they turned to their own cars Miriam commented, “Bossy and precise, isn’t he?”

  David looked at Miriam and said, “We lucked out, Miriam. He leaves us our freedom to get the job done. Want to go to dinner tonight?” He said over his shoulder as he walked towards his Jeep.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” She laughed and responded. “I have fourteen suitcases to pack before we fly to Switzerland, in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “Yeah, Right! And who is going to carry all those bags for you?”

  “Aren’t you, my dear?”

  “See you at the airport, Miriam,” David said sarcastically as he unlocked the door to the Jeep.

  David had slept on and off for most of the long flight, but Miriam was too keyed-up to sleep and began to read Joseph Finder’s novel, The Moscow Club she had picked up in the Tel Aviv airport. Just before closing his eyes, David had commented that he wondered if after reading Finder’s book she might not need him at all, and she had poked him in the ribs. David smiled.

  The El Al 747 dipped a wing over Lake Nuechatel and settled into its final approach to Geneva’s Cointrin Airport.

  “I guess we’re here,” David said as he watched the city rise up to meet them, have you ever been here before?”

  “No, I traveled to Europe with my father once but we didn’t get into Switzerland, only Germany and Italy, and that was several years ago. Let me read what this guidebook says about Geneva. Welcome to Geneva! Situated along the banks of Lake Geneva at the foot of the Alps, Geneva sparkles as one of Europe’s most beautiful cities. Home to the European headquarters of the United Nations, Geneva has a long history of diversity and tolerance dating back to the Protestant Reformation. Today, the city of Geneva is a cultural center second to none featuring world class entertainment, top rated restaurants and unlimited opportunities for recreation.”

  “Don’t think we’ll get much chance for that entertainment and recreation, and I’m sure the expense account Levi gave us probably won’t get us in to any top rated restaurants. Think you’d better put that fantasy book away and buckle up, we’re almost on the tarmac.”

  “Ok, grumpy.”

  After going through customs and collecting their bags they climbed into cab and watched Geneva whiz by on the drive to the Metropole Hotel.

  David and Miriam asked the officer standing behind the front counter at the central Geneva police station to direct them to Inspector Servette. “Tell him his guests from “the Office” are here to see him,” David told him.

  “Guests from the Office?”

  “That’s right. He’ll understand,” Miriam added.

  With a puzzled look, the officer told them to have a seat and then picked up the telephone. David couldn’t make out what he said on the phone, because his back was toward them. After a terse conversation, he turned back and said, “The Inspector says he’ll be right down.” Miriam took note of how much the young officer’s attitude had changed.

  Suddenly a door burst open and a tall, dark-haired gentleman dressed in a fashionable business suit walked quickly down the stairs toward them, saying, “I am Inspector Servette. Follow me, if you please.”

  He
turned quickly and was halfway up the stairs before David and Miriam had even risen to follow. Miriam thought, does his human being always rushed around at this speed and expect everyone else to keep up? At the top of the stairs, they caught a glimpse of Servette as he disappeared into the office at the end of the corridor, and by the time they entered his office, he was ensconced behind a desk completely covered with file folders. What a contrast between the totally cluttered desk and the suave European police officer sitting behind the confusion, with a small carnation in the buttonhole of his expensive suit, Miriam thought.

  “Close the door, and have a seat. Was your flight a pleasant one? Is your hotel satisfactory? Have you a good map of our city? How can I help my friends from the Office?” The Inspector’s speech pattern was like staccato bursts from a machine gun.

  “Everything is fine, thank you very much,” David responded, trying not to talk in the same speech pattern. “Levi sends his greetings and wishes you the happiest of birthdays.”

  “Oh”, he remembered. “A couple of years ago, he and I celebrated my birthday in a most pleasant and unexpected way. I shan’t go into those details with you. I don’t think Levi would be too pleased.”

  David glanced over at Miriam and raised his eyebrows. Now that’s something we’ll have to find out about when we return home, David thought, and winked at Miriam.

  “Now, let’s get down to business,” the inspector continued. “I have a copy of the most recent Interpol report here somewhere - - -ah, here it is.” He pulled a buff folder out of the middle of one of the piles on his desk.

  “How did you…”

  “How did I find that particular file in the midst of all this mess?”

  “Well, I…”

  “It’s all right. My desk has looked like this for over fifteen years now, and I have never lost a single file. A gift from God, I think.” Servette chuckled. “In fact my officers have had a standing bet for about ten years now that one of them will ask me for a file that I won’t be able to find, and I haven’t lost yet.” He laughed and then immediately continued.

  “There were two ghastly murders committed in Switzerland near Lake Constance, in the north-west section of our country several days ago. It was one of the most gruesome, senseless acts I’ve ever seen. Done by some deranged - - - I hesitate to call him - - - human being. It would have been just a tragic double murder except for some of the details that I think should interest you. Most notably, the murderer left some weird cuts on the upper right arm of each victim.”

  Miriam looked at David. “I know what you’re thinking Miriam, and I agree,” David responded. “It looks like the Dagger has been at it again. When did the murders take place, Inspector?”

  “Four days ago, but the bodies weren’t discovered until yesterday morning. Forensics didn’t discover a thing that is helpful. Obvious this abominable act was committed by a deranged person, yet highly professional. Why don’t I give you the file and you two can go over what details we have at the moment, yourselves, then you can telephone me with any questions. Better still; come to my home for dinner tonight. We can discuss these murders and your other business in Geneva, but I still won’t tell you about that infamous birthday party. Still, I assure you it will be a dinner you won’t soon forget.”

  “That would be wonderful, Inspector, and thank you for your help!” David said gratefully.

  “Splendid. I’ll have my driver pick you up at your hotel at seven.”

  David and Miriam rose and shook hands saying in unison, “until seven then, and thank you so much for your hospitality.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Geneva

  Walking up the rough cobblestone street in the old part of the city past Cathédrale St-Pierre, where Calvin preached reform, Hans paused outside a small floral shop and picked out a single red rose from the dozens in the basket on the sidewalk. Entering the shop, he handed the rose to the shopkeeper and watched as it was gently wrapped in green paper accompanied by a sprig of white baby’s breath. Handing the floral package back to the elderly man in front of him, the wizened shopkeeper whispered, “I hope you and the lady have a pleasant evening, monsieur.” He winked.

  “You can be sure I’ll enjoy this evening,” Hans answered as he left the shop.

  In the next block he stood in front of a building with a large, black and yellow wrought-iron sign hanging over the building’s entrance announcing that this was Christie’s, 1766. Hans paused for a moment and then sighed deeply. He turned the heavy brass door knob and entered. Holding the rose behind his back, he approached the middle-aged woman working in the corner. She looked up at the opening of the door.

  “Klaus, how nice to see you again!”

  “And you as well, kind Emily.” Hans offered her the rose.

  Emily held the rose and asked quietly, blushing, “Oh, Klaus, its exquisite, but why?”

  “It is just a small thank you for your kindness to a stranger in your city. If you would please permit me to buy you a drink and dinner, my time in Geneva would be complete.”

  “I couldn’t, really. I don’t even know you.”

  “True, lovely lady, but I assure you I’m quite harmless, and I’ve been captivated by your charm and helpfulness.”

  “Well,” Emily said hesitantly, glancing at the clock and seeing it was after five, “Maybe just a glass of wine. Let me tell my boss, Dr. Franz, I’m leaving for the day. I’ll get my sweater.”

  Hans sighed after she left. This might be a long, long night.

  It was almost ten o’clock when Hans and Emily left the restaurant hand in hand and started to walk in the night stillness.

  “That was very nice, Klaus. Thank you for a lovely evening.” After a few minutes she continued hesitantly, “Would you care to come up to my apartment for a brandy?”

  Not wanting to seem too eager, Hans responded, “I would like that very much.”

  Emily returned from her small kitchen area with two large snifters. Hans reached out for both of them and put the drinks down on the table near where he was standing. He reached out and gently pulled Emily toward him and enfolded her in his arms. He kissed her lightly and noticing the initial tension in her body soon relaxed. Slowly she returned his kisses soon matching each thrust of his tongue with one of her own. He half-carried her over to the sofa, and they fell onto it, feverishly kissing. Hans was almost lying on top of Emily. He rose up on his elbow and slowly began unbuttoning her sweater, slipping his hand inside and cupping one of her breasts. Emily let out a small gasp.

  “Let’s go into your bedroom,” he whispered.

  Scrambling to her feet, Emily took his hand and led him across the living room through the door opposite the kitchenette. Hans smiled as she turned on a small light at the head of the bed. Its opalescence glow showed a bed covered with small stuffed animals.

  As she quickly undressed, he felt nothing but revulsion for her. Her bulging stomach and flabby breasts almost made him sick. He had to force himself to make love to her. He wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. He thought her hunger would never be satisfied.

  After the ordeal, exhausted, he rolled over beside her in the bed. She had a smile on her face. How stupid you can be, he thought.

  It was three-twenty in the morning when Hans awoke. He was surprised he’d fallen asleep, as he hated sleeping in someone else’s bed.

  She was lying with her arm across his chest. He slowly removed it and gently rolled off the bed so as not to wake her. As he stood beside the bed, he looked down at Emily sleeping half-covered by the tangled sheets. He kicked a stuffed animal under the bed and went into the bathroom.

  Hans scrubbed his face clean of the night’s passion and dressed quickly. If she wakes, I’ll have to kill her, he thought. Quietly he walked across the room and let himself out of the apartment. He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the dark and fresh night air.

  Later in the week Hans chose this bar carefully. He thought it was ironic that it was touted as One Ni
ght of Passion in the gaudy, red, neon letters above the door. He entered the large, dark room that smelled like every other cheap bar in the world. Smoke swirled in eddies below the yellowing fluorescent lights. From somewhere in the grim interior, he heard a brief outburst of laughter, and the click of pool balls, the only acknowledgment there was another person here. Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, pants and watch cap, he could have been be mistaken for any worker escaping from a dull evening at home.

  His well-developed sense of self-preservation had served him well over the years. His actions were carefully rehearsed; his disguises impeccable. His goal: never to be remembered anywhere he went.

  Choosing a booth along the rear wall between the restrooms and a door leading, he found out, through a dirty kitchen into a back alley, he sat with his back against the wall. He always tried to sit where he had at least two escape routes or he just found another establishment.

  As he sat, pain stabbed through his being as he thought about that night, three years ago when he first returned from Argentina. He had been half drunk celebrating his return, with friends from the Baader-Meinhof, and had wandered into that out-of-the-way bar in Berlin to finish off the night. They had only been there a short time when he noticed the other patrons moving away from them one by one. Paranoia flared; bells went off. He slipped into the men’s room quietly. While he was prying open the window to the alley, staccato blasts of Uzi fire ripped through the night. He dove head first out the window, landing in a pile of garbage and ran off, escaping into the protection of the anonymous night.

  He learned a few hours later that all seven of his companions had been murdered by the police in that raid. But for his sense of danger, his paranoia, he would be resting beside his friends in a Berlin cemetery this very minute. No more companions ever again. They just get killed, or worse. He was sure it was a friend that had betrayed them that night. With a maniacal vengeance he pursued all who might have been involved. But he couldn’t isolate the exact origin of that betrayal even with his special brand of torture. He was never certain if he had found the person responsible. No more friends. Friends only cause pain.