by Rick Blechta
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” I answered stiffly, as I got up.
He frowned darkly. “I am Oberstleutnant Müller of the Vienna Gendarmerie.”
“And how do you know who I am?”
Another officer just squeezing into the room smirked as his boss said, “Come, come, Herr Lukesh. We would not be doing our job very well if we did not know all about you. It is a very serious crime that your wife is accused of, and to be frank, right now you are our only connection to discovering where she might be.”
“You’ve had me under surveillance?”
Müller decided not to answer my question. “It has been reported that your room has been broken into. This is a very curious thing. Why do you think someone would do that?”
I sat back down and casually crossed my legs. “You’re the policeman. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to tell me?”
The room became very still as Müller’s face reddened at my insult. It had been a stupid thing to say to someone we expected to help us, but there was something incredibly irritating about this man’s arrogance.
A few moments later, the cramped office became even more so with the addition of a third policeman and the hotel’s Head of Security. Both spoke to Müller and the manager for several minutes, often referring to their notebooks, as Roderick did a rapid-fire translation, the upshot of which was that they’d found Roderick’s room had been given the same re-styling treatment as mine. Crime scene people had been called, as if they actually expected to find telltale fingerprints or something.
At that point, Roderick was asked to accompany the two latecomers up to his room to survey the damage and to see if he could tell them if anything was missing.
As they all trooped out, Müller sat back and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering them around. I was tempted, but had promised Tory and myself that I’d sworn off them for good. Given the state of my nerves, though, it was a close thing.
Nonchalantly flicking his lighter closed, Müller asked, “Now do you have anything to tell me?”
We sat silently glaring at each other for a good fifteen minutes, during which time I was wondering if I should get a lawyer.
Roderick and his two companions eventually returned, along with a surprising fourth person: Ertmann.
It wasn’t hard to spot the poorly concealed look of irritation which passed over Müller’s face. Interesting... Ertmann made a slight bow to his colleague and moved silently over to the far corner of the room, signalling his presence as merely that of an observer.
The policeman who had accompanied Roderick reported in. Nothing missing from the room, although everything had been comprehensively destroyed.
Roderick looked disgusted, telling me, “They even ruined my best set of tails. Cost me seven hundred quid, too!”
“What do you know to be missing from your room, Herr Lukesh?” Müller asked.
Even though I had spent only about four or five minutes wandering around the wreck of my room, it was pretty obvious that the only thing gone was the laptop, a heavy loss considering what it contained. Whoever had it now might be able to hack into it and find out that Tory had contacted me and what she had said about the murder, but thankfully shouldn’t be able to trace the original source of her email since she’d sent it using her own email account back in Canada. The thieves would also know about the missing concerto everyone seemed to be chasing around after—unless they already knew about it and had been searching my room to discover its whereabouts.
I didn’t even consider telling Müller the truth. “Nothing as far as I could see, but it’s hard to be certain since almost everything’s been smashed or torn to shreds. I think someone was trying to let us know that we aren’t welcome in your country.”
Müller glowered. “The only logical reason why someone would enter your room at this time is that they must have been searching for something. What is it?”
“I brought almost nothing with me from home, barely the clothes on my back, to be honest. My wife’s clothes were still there, though. The cost of her gowns will be in the thousands,” I finished, glancing over at the manager who was sweating more profusely.
“I have looked at your room before I came in here, Herr Lukesh,” Müller said obstinately, “and I am certain they were not just ‘trashed’ as you Americans say. The destruction was made to hide the fact of the search.”
Despite the fact that I knew he was right, I was in no mood to tell him. “How do I know that it wasn’t your men searching for clues as to where my wife might be hiding?”
The effect on everyone in the room was immediate: the sort of silent gasp people make in the presence of a huge social gaffe or when someone is deliberately insulting. I was guilty of both. Even Ertmann’s usual poker face registered shock. I thought Müller would explode or hit me. Judging by the light in his eye, he actually considered it for a moment—the hitting, that is.
Ertmann, from his corner, slipped neatly into the opening I’d made, even though I’d expected Roderick to do it. That gave me cause to think, too. How much did this man know, and how did he find out about what had happened so quickly? Judith had told me he was connected to what amounted to the Austrian Secret Police. He might just be present simply to make sure that his bosses knew what was going on with what could prove to be a very ticklish international situation, or he might be part of this. I’d have to be more careful with him.
“Come, come, Müller,” Ertmann said jovially. “Either Herr Lukesh is trying out some of that famous American wit, or he did not mean what he said.” He turned to me with a questioning look.
I refused to give in.
Müller first looked at Ertmann, then glared at me. “My officers will be looking into this very serious matter, Herr Lukesh,” but whether he meant the break-in or whatever he believed I was up to wasn’t clear. “And please be aware that I will personally have my eye on you, henceforth. You had better watch your step. If I find that you have withheld information, I will make certain that the full weight of our laws will come crashing down on your head. You will wait here until we say that you can go.”
The cops filed out, followed by the manager and his security chief, leaving Roderick, Ertmann and me. I found I was sweating, and it wasn’t just from the heat of all those closely-packed bodies.
Ertmann stayed only a moment longer, too. “You have made a very bad enemy, my friend,” he said looking at me piercingly. “Guten Tag, gentlemen,” he said with a small bow, the merest nodding of his head, a very Viennese gesture as I was discovering.
As soon as the door shut, Roderick was on his feet. “What was that outburst all about? I can’t think of anything more bloody stupid to say—”
I felt suddenly incredibly tired. “Müller was getting too close to asking some questions which I didn’t want to answer. Things are on a knife-edge right now. There’s the matter of a million bucks I have to come up with” —I consulted my watch— “in less than six hours, God help me! Not only that, if I had lied to Müller and he’d found out, I’d get us both chucked in jail. I was only trying to get Müller so pissed he’d shut up and leave, and it actually worked, thank heavens! Still, there’s one thing that really bothers me about the whole exchange.”
Roderick, having noticed that the room was full of smoke, had raised his eyebrows quizzically, knowing that I usually don’t like being around smokers. I’d shrugged, and he’d pulled out his pack, but stopped in the middle of lighting up. “What’s that, old man?”
“Why did Ertmann show up? And did you catch the look Müller gave him when he walked in?”
My companion’s gold lighter clicked shut, and he answered through a cloud of fresh smoke, “Interesting, that.”
I shook my head. “Too much is going on, and we don’t have a handle on any of it.”
“I think we have to keep focussed on this offer from the maid.”
“Right! I have to get on the phone and call the bank back in Montreal, or I’m going to blow the cha
nce I’ve been given to get Tory out of this mess.”
“If it really is a chance. Keep that in mind.”
“Gee, thanks for that cheery bit of news.”
The manager eventually returned with the announcement that he had only one room he could give us, and that we would have to be satisfied with twin beds for the night. From his smirk, I got the feeling that Müller and he might be getting a small spot of revenge against the unpleasant American.
Wait until he got the bill for those gowns.
"Few can escape the long arm of the law for any amount of time in this day and age, especially one whose face is known world-wide. Someone is sheltering Victoria Morgan; that is certain. But who? And where? That is what we are going to attempt to discover this evening on our show.”
—Introduction for a broadcast of Tabloid Copy devoted to “The Hunt For Victoria Morgan”
Chapter 15
TORY
By the time four o’clock rolled around that afternoon, I was way past frantic.
Elen had gone out hours earlier to reconnoitre the place where I was supposed to meet Thekla later that evening and hadn’t returned. I felt horribly alone and desperately afraid that something had happened to her. Not only was I worried about her safety, but without her, I was really out on a limb.
The past four days felt more like four years. I was afraid to sleep, unable to play, and faced with a murder charge I couldn’t defend myself against. If it hadn’t been for the steadfastness of Elen, I don’t know what I would have done.
Now I also had to come up with a quarter of a million dollars if I wanted that damned manuscript to be safe. Outside of getting in touch with Rocky (too dangerous for him) or the guy at my bank, I could think of only one person who might be able to help: Marty. Trouble was, I didn’t know how far I could trust him.
In the end, the decision was taken out of my hands. As the hour hand on the wall clock above the kitchen sink passed four, with shaking fingers I finally dialled Marty’s private number—and didn’t get him.
Some woman whose voice I failed to recognize answered the phone. “Bennison Worldwide Artists.”
“Isn’t this Marty’s private line?”
“Mr. Bennison isn’t taking any direct calls. I’m sure you understand under the circumstances.”
“But I need to speak to him.”
“I can take a message.”
“No, you don’t understand. I have to talk to Marty now!”
The woman’s tone became frosty. “Madam, you’re the third person to call this morning who has asked to speak with Mr. Bennison now.” She imitated my tone perfectly. “That’s why he’s no longer answering his personal line. Now what message would you care to leave?”
“You tell him that... Tell Marty that Nature Girl is on the line; he will want to speak to me.”
Nature Girl was the nickname Marty had given me when that goddamn nude photo had come out. I’d found the moniker cute at the time. Now the idea left me nauseous, but using it would at least alert him instantly to who was calling.
The line clicked, and the dial tone resumed. Just great. If Marty did somehow get the message, he’d hand the stupid cow her head— but it would be too late. I took the setback as an omen that I wasn’t meant to have the money and would have to go with plan B.
I continued to have nothing to do but worry about Elen. I should never have even allowed myself the weakness of calling Elen for help from Trieste. I’d spent the entire afternoon in a flurry of should haves/could haves, and the only thing I had to show for it was a sore mental butt from all the times I’d kicked myself for being so selfish. Matched my sore physical butt, I guess.
Shortly after six, I was curled up under a blanket on the sofa, when there finally came sounds of someone unlocking the door. At that point, I didn’t care if it was the entire Austrian army with fixed bayonets.
Elen came in, looking exhausted.
“Where have you been?” I asked. “I’ve been worried sick. What happened?”
“The address is a typical old apartment building in that part of town—a down-at-the-heels neighbourhood—nothing horrible, but nothing to write home about, either. I watched for almost three hours without seeing anything that made my antennae twitch. Incidentally, the name of the tenant for apartment 6 was Hilda Braubach.”
“Did you see Thekla?”
“I believe so. About three, a young woman emerged, dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket, but she certainly didn’t look anything like my idea of an Austrian upstairs maid. Otherwise, she fit your description pretty well, though, so I kept my eye on her from the opposite side of the street. It was easy to tell that she was rather uneasy by the way she kept looking around.
“We walked several blocks until we got to a street called Pilgrimgasse. At an Internet café there, she went in, ordered coffee and sat at a computer, typing furiously. I waited outside until I got too cold then went in myself. I thought she might be waiting for someone, but eventually she must have received an answer to the email she’d sent, because she smiled broadly, then got up and left. After that, she walked around the fifth and sixth districts for several hours.” Elen sat down, and with a huge sigh of relief, took off her boots and socks, wiggling her toes on the carpet. “She finally got on the U-Bahn at Kettenbrückengasse and I’m afraid I lost her in the rush hour crush.”
Elen headed for the kitchen to make something hot and returned shortly with two steaming mugs of soup.
Sipping carefully, Elen asked, “Are you still intent on going through with this meeting?”
“Yes. If I don’t do something positive, like getting hold of that manuscript, I think I’ll go mad.”
“Did you arrange to get the money Thekla wants?”
“No,” I said, sighing heavily, and told her about my aborted call to Marty. “What could I have done? Say who it actually was and have this cow on the phone go screaming to the cops?”
“I guess you didn’t have much choice.”
“Look, Elen, you’ve gone way beyond friendship in the past few days, and the last thing I’m going to allow to happen is for you to get in trouble with the police. Tonight, I’m leaving, regardless of what happens with Thekla. I’m going to try to convince her to give me the manuscript, and I’ll get Rocky to arrange to get whatever money she asks for. Whether I’m successful or not, my next stop will be the nearest police station.”
Elen looked at me steadily, but didn’t respond, making it clear that she agreed with my plan.
“How long will it take to walk there?” I asked.
“Probably about an hour and a half.”
I looked up and managed a smile. “Sounds like quite a hike. I guess we’d better eat something more substantial than soup.”
ROCKY
After the day I’d been having, it’s understandable that paranoia would begin showing its ugly kisser. That explained why I was using the pay phone just off the deserted hotel swimming pool shortly after noon. Müller had as much as admitted that I had been “under surveillance” or was now, and that would probably include a tap on my phone. So from that point on, I’d decided not to trust saying anything “sensitive” in my room.
“Steve?” I said softly as soon as my call was answered, “It’s Rocky Lukesh.”
Steve Long was the manager of the bank Tory and I had moved our accounts to in Montreal, and due to the six-hour time difference, it was just after 7:30 a.m. there. With the relatively small size of the branch and the large size of the Morgan accounts, we were on a cordial, first name basis, and he’d turned out to be a terrific financial advisor. Knowing he was a notoriously early riser (not to mention the urgency of the situation), I had decided to call him at his home in Beaconsfield to get things rolling as soon as possible. Sadly, his very sleepy wife answered and then had to drag Steve out of the shower.
“Rocky! How the hell are you?” he boomed. “I’m so sorry to hear about the problems Tory’s been having. I’m sure that it’s all just a
huge misunderstanding that you’ll soon have straightened out.”
“I’m in Vienna trying to do just that, and something has come up. Are you sitting down?”
He laughed. “Should I be?”
“Might be a good idea. Basically, I need to you to free up one million dollars U.S. for me, quickest way possible.”
“Did you say what I think you just said?”
“Yes, and please don’t ask questions. I’m not at liberty to tell you anything. The long and short of it is I need that much money if I’m going to dig Tory out of the hole she’s in.”
Steve was silent for a moment. “Okay, it’s none of my business anyway, but is the money secured?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you just don’t want to hand someone a million bucks without being pretty damn sure you’re going to get exactly what you want. Fortunately, I was reviewing your accounts just the other day. A big transfer of royalties from her record company was made by Tory’s manager. The accounts are all pretty healthy, but the penalties you’ll have to pay are absolutely crippling, and there isn’t anywhere near that much liquid at the moment. Financially, you’re going to take a bath. Are you really sure you want to go through with this? Have you spoken to your lawyer about it?”
Steve plainly thought I was in way over my head. That was one thing which attracted Tory and me to Steve: he cared about our money more than we did.
“Steve, believe me, I’m not about to throw around that kind of dough without the proper assurances. When I get back to Canada, I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Okay. You’re the boss,” he sighed. “First, we need to discuss some specifics. I’m assuming we don’t have to do this in cash like they always do in the movies?”
