Emerald (12 page)

The tall Sudanese gave Piet the card: the next course was identified as curly endive salad with honey poppy-seed dressing.

Max picked up the chilled fork from the frosted salad plate, telling Josef as he left the room, “Thank you, Josef.” To the guests at the table he said, “This is my favorite salad. Josef serves it every time I come here for dinner.”

Piet replied, “I was going to save any professional talk for after dinner, but since we have already begun, let me say everything will be at your service here as you attempt to solve these cases. If you need any additional people to assist you, all you have to do is ask. However, I can assure you Max knows everyone worth knowing here in Geneva on both sides of the law. He has his pulse on everything special that goes on in this wonderful city, and Joseph will always be there somewhere in the shadows.”

“Thank you Piet. You exaggerate only slightly,” replied Max. A ripple of laughter circled the table. “But seriously, I am at you beck and call. You have only to call me. I’ll give you my private cell phone number before you leave tonight. What I don’t know, Josef will be able to find out in short order.”

Almost on the cue, Josef reappeared to remove the empty salad plates and handed Piet another card. “This time Josef has prepared apple cider sherbet.”

The conversation slowed as they savored the tart-sweet dessert. “Mm … the perfect finale to the most wonderful meal I have ever been served,” responded Miriam who continued looking at Josef. “Josef, you are a jewel. You wouldn’t like to move to Israel, would you?”

Josef’s scared mahogany face broke into a lopsided grin. He looked at Piet, shrugged his shoulders and left the room.

A few minutes later, David noticed that Josef was standing with his back to the wall near the kitchen door. David had been completely unaware of his presence at first, as the dark man moved so stealthily as to appear to simply materialize.

“Inspector… Piet, I mean. I swear I never hear Josef approaching. I almost didn’t see him either.”

“That’s just one of his gifts, David. When he is working with you out in the field, you will never see or hear him, but he will always be there. He has saved my skin on numerous occasions.”

As they rose and left the dining room, Miriam went over to Josef and said to him, “Thank you for your superb dinner, Josef. You are truly a gift.” She stretched on her toes and kissed him lightly on his scared cheek as he bent over. Josef, obviously embarrassed, bowed deeply from the waist and quickly left the room. Miriam then noticed that one of the reasons for Josef’s silent movements was that he was barefoot.

Over coffee and brandy, they discussed details of the two recent murders of the Jewish couple.

David said, “Of course, at this point, we really don’t even know if these murders were committed by the man we’re looking for, but the cuts on their arms makes it seem likely, but why this old couple?”

Miriam asked, “Was this a burglary?”

“Not as far as the authorities could determine. In fact no motive has been uncovered at all, and seems to be just senseless killings. There was one interesting detail of the investigation that I wonder about. One of the investigators picked up a letter addressed to the Klein’s from Christies International, here in Geneva. It was all wadded up near the front door of the house. The letter mentioned that an emerald belonging to the Klein’s would be going to auction soon and they would be notified of the specific date by Christies. The investigator thought it strange that letter was wadded up that way, almost as though it was crushed in anger and thrown away. Don’t know it that has anything to do with anything, but it seems strange.”

David said, “I don’t know either, but the most interesting thing is that the investigator thought it important enough to put it in his report.”

At ten minutes past midnight, Max excused himself and David asked Piet if his driver could return them to their hotel.

The appropriate goodbyes were exchanged, and they were driven off into the star-filled Geneva night.

“I
nspector Servette, do you have a minute?”

“Yes, Boris, come in. What is it?”

“One of our officers spotted a man at the border that made his alarms go off, but he’s not sure. He’s on the phone.”

“You talk with him and get the information for me.”

A young female uniformed officer entered the office, “Inspector Servette?”

“Yes, Ruth?”

“We have a rented vehicle crossing the border. Shall I follow up on it?”

“Yes, please, Ruth, and make sure every border post has a copy of that photo”

“Right away, sir.”

The phone rang and he grabbed it quickly, “Servette here.” He listened for several minutes, waving at a man who appeared at his opened office door to hold off.

Back in their hotel room Miriam turned on her computer, waited for it to power up and saw displayed rows and rows of jumbled letters. She pressed the encryption program’s key and a plain text message scrolled across the monitor from Malcolm. After reading it she erased the message and waited for David to return from the front desk to see if he could get connecting rooms.
Being Mr. and Mrs. David Cohen was bad enough, but having to share a room with that egotistical chauvinist was more than she could stand, at least at the moment. He was quite handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Hope the excuse of his loud snoring and my request of a separate room would do the trick, after all a woman does need her freedom and space
.

There was two knocks on the room door, followed by two more and David came in carrying a large Fed X box.

“It’s all set, Mrs. Cohen. Just happens the room next door will be vacated soon and after they have time to clean it, you’ll be free of my “loud snoring.”

“Brought presents,” David laughed, “There from Levi.”

“Oh good, our capability kit.”

He opened the package and began to lay the contents on the bed. “Looks like he sent you one of the brand new Jericho B semi-automatics, and me my old Polymer 941, hello, old friend.”

Digging around in the bubble wrap, he added, “Guess what? He’s sent a couple of Colt Mustang PocketLite’s for backup. No, wait there’s more. A shoulder holster and I guess a fanny pack holster for you, and two ankle holsters, must be for the PocketLites.

“Let see what else I can find in here. Ah, yes, we’ve now got some Swiss currency, a couple of sterile SIM cards, new cell phones, my lock-picking tools, and a small night vision monocular. It’s almost like Hanukkah. Wait, there’s a note from Levi. He says that Inspector Servette will be able to get the ammunition we want. That’s all he says, no best wishes, or I miss you, or anything.”

“David, wait with the gifts, please, Malcolm sent us an email with some more background on this Hans character that we may be after. Evidently Malcolm contacted one of our Sayanims in Buenos Aires who told him that the person who is our possible target is a very wealthy man. He is known as Huber Heinrich, using his great grandfather’s name by just switching the first and last names. In the thirty or so years since we captured Eichmann and killed his father, he has become a multi-millionaire in chemicals, construction and commercial properties. He’s a champion of the arts, even done quite a bit of amateur acting in Buenos Aires, on the board of a number of charities and has even been awarded a honorary Doctorate by the University of Buenos Aires, the largest university in Argentina. And believe it or not, no one down there seems to have any knowledge of his seemingly double life.”

“Well, that certainly makes me wonder whether we’re looking for the right man. Why don’t you email Malcolm and ask our contact to see if he can find out about what might motivate these killings. That might help us determine if we are after the right guy.”

Hans, disguised again as Klaus, headed up the street on his way to Christies to see if there was any news about the auction where he could finally get his inheritance. Pausing at the corner, waiting for the light to change, he glanced at newspapers displayed on the news stand. He was startled by the headline in the
Swiss News
that said there was a serial killer on the loose. He picked up one of the papers, paid the news man, tucked it under his arm and walked quickly back to where he had parked his car. Inside, it was not the article that panicked him it was the photo that he knew was him. The photo was grainy and looked like an enhancement of an old photo, but the image made him shudder with anger. Evidently, because of the jagged slashes on the murder victims coupled with his own mysterious disappearance from Argentina he was a person of interest. The article went on and connected him with his father, a former SS trooper who had killed in a similar manner many years ago, during the Second World War. Now, he was wanted for questioning. Evidently Interpol had made the father/son connection.

He looked again at the somewhat accurate photo.
How did they get that picture
, he wondered, staring at it, transfixed. It did not look like a recent photograph, but the close likeness sent a shiver down his back. He could never go out without disguises now. He sat in his car transfixed. What to do now? It was definitely time to leave town. He started the car and drove to his chalet to begin packing to return to Munich. There were many friends and better places there to hide as he plotted for his emerald.

Hans stared at his reflection in the mirror. Was his nose too large? He moved the putty around to change the shape a little. That’s better. He put on the brown tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches he’d stolen from an American at the last hotel he’d stayed in. Then he fitted the auburn wig over his short, sandy hair. Putting on a tan, baseball cap, he looked at himself again, studying the effect. Did he really look like a university professor? Something was missing, but he couldn’t decide what. He switched the baseball cap for a corduroy newsboy flat-cap, finally a pair of black rimmed glasses. Now he was satisfied.

He went down with the suitcase to his rented, black Volvo and put his theatre case in the trunk beside the larger one that held his clothes then returned, got his briefcase and checked the passport he would be using to cross the border into Germany, as Ralph Stoner, a teacher in an American High School in Munich. He was ready to leave. He locked up the isolated chalet. He could return here as he had paid a year’s rent. He could afford it and being gone would not be noticed. He’d keep it for use when he returned for the auction of his emerald.

The car started quickly and he rolled slowly out onto the road toward the highway that led to the border. He always kept to the speed limit wherever he went, cautiously obeying all regulations so not to bring attention to himself. After all his early years in Argentina, he had grown to be a much disciplined man with a keen intellect and sharp eyes. The environment was in his mind at all times. The border would be challenging now that they were looking for a serial killer. The Swiss police would be on the scene, but maybe that newspaper photo wouldn’t have reached the border crossing yet.

He had studied the techniques Interpol used, reading everything he could find and had come to the conclusion that Interpol was really not that threatening. They were after all, just police that kept in contact across national borders, sharing their information. If the Swiss don’t actually have any information to share, why get alarmed? He most certainly did not look like that photo they had in the newspaper, and that’s all they’ve had to go on, he assured himself, as he drove along the winding mountain road.