Where the Bones are Buried (18 page)

After a lengthy battle with stupidity, Dinah Pelerin was splattered across the walls of The Happy Hunting Ground art gallery by what might have been a WWII grenade, which she had nicked out of the owner's pocket during the course of a break-in.

Farber's voice dropped to a less furious pitch. She willed herself to concentrate. She was alive. The critical question was how to stay that way. As her brain rebooted, she recalled that grenades had pins and the pin had to be pulled before the world went kaboom. This particular grenade had a metal tail that ran the length of it and a ring. Her fingers curled around the grenade under that tail. So long as she didn't mess with it, or with the ring, she would probably remain in one piece. She was also beginning to think that Farber and friend weren't going to look behind this statue. Their tour seemed to be winding down. If they left, she could squeeze out of this cranny and escape. If they stayed, she'd have to decide whether to show herself and brave the consequences, or wait them out. She didn't think she could stand in this cramped and rigid posture much longer.

She squirmed and wiggled her left hand up to her nose to stop a sneeze. The dirt smell wasn't helping. She tilted her head back for air. Just above eye level was a label. MALAWI NATIONAL MUSEUM, Minya, Egypt. That museum had been in the news just a few days ago. Over a thousand artifacts had been looted. Did Farber deal in stolen art from other parts of the world? It made sense. An unscrupulous art dealer might specialize, but he wouldn't turn up his nose if loot from a different source became available.

The phlegmatic voice said in perfect English, “I'll take care of it,” and somebody doused the lights.

They were leaving. Dinah let out the breath it seemed she'd been holding forever. She counted slowly to five hundred after she heard the back door close before she sucked in her stomach and squiggled out into the open. With her left hand, she took out her flashlight and with her right, as carefully as if she were replacing a baby bird in its nest, she replaced the grenade in the parka pocket. First thing tomorrow morning, she would call Lohendorf and tell him about her discovery. If he arrested her for burglary, so be it. She could point to stone cold evidence that Florian Farber was an art thief, and to circumstantial evidence that the owner of the jacket hanging behind Farber's desk had tried to kill Margaret. Taken together, the facts should give the police ample cause to question both Farber and Viktor again regarding Pohl's murder.

If only she could have gotten to her phone and recorded the voices to play back to Margaret. She had a strong feeling that the phlegmatic voice belonged to Reiner Hess.

Chapter Twenty-six

Dinah dragged in the door dead-tired. She turned on a lamp, peeled off her damp coat, and hung it on the peg on the back of the door. It was almost three a.m. Soon the caged cuckoo would be moaning. It was ridiculous to feel pity for a mechanical bird, but after what she'd been through in the last few hours, she decided to let the pest fly free as soon as the sun came up, regardless of the racket. He might not be as raucous as he had been. The clock hadn't been wound in a week. Thor was the only one who knew how.

Jack was asleep on the sofa, apparently none the worse for her neglect. She picked up the blanket he had kicked onto the floor and covered him. How weird would it be to have a child? To be on duty full-time? To always be conscious that someone was counting on you to do the right thing, looking up to you as a role model and making life choices based on your advice and example? Responsibility like that would petrify her.

Thor hadn't been petrified. Why not? He couldn't look after Jack all the time during those six-month visits. His job demanded that he be available on a moment's notice. Did he have a live-in nanny?

Jennifer probably had a career, too, but from what Dinah could tell, she'd done a terrific job with Jack. When she left him in Berlin, she obviously trusted that Thor had paired up with a conscientious girlfriend. If she'd thought for a minute that this girlfriend would leave her son in the care of a dipsomaniac while she went out to burgle a local business, she would be petrified.

The bedroom door was closed, but she could hear Margaret sawing logs on the other side. She wondered if she'd left any gin in the bottle. After that close call with the grenade, she could use a tranquilizer. She plodded into the kitchen. A half-full bottle of Monkey 47, Schwarzwald Dry Gin, sat on the table and next to it, a packet of little green pills. Bionorica Sinupret extract. Must be some sort of sinus remedy. In her terror, she had almost forgotten her sore throat. It was probably some kind of allergy. To stress, most likely. But an ounce of prevention couldn't hurt. She grabbed a glass, poured herself a jigger of the Monkey, swallowed two pills, and chased them down with a sip that scalded. It tasted like a mixture of Pine-Sol, kaffir lime, cardamom, and something perfumey. Honeysuckle? Whatever it was, it was fantastic. Being alive and in one piece was fantastic. She savored another sip, closed her eyes, and heaved an enormous sigh.

“Hard day?”

Her eyes flew open. Thor stood in the doorway, one shoulder leaned against the jamb. He was barefoot and shirtless and his drawstring pants hung low around his hips. Her first impulse was to jump up and throw her arms around him, but he stayed put, arms folded across his chest. The air between them had changed. They weren't the same people they'd been four days ago, not to each other. She stoppered the bottle and feigned a blasé expression. “When did you get home?”

“Around eleven. Margaret said I'd just missed you. She's quite a character, by the way. She tells some interesting stories.”

“I wouldn't put too much stock in them.” She gave a careless little wave. “Come in and have a drink of the very aptly named Monkey.”

He picked up a chair, twirled it around, and sat down with his chin resting on the back. “If I were to ask you for a rundown of the last few days, what would you tell me?”

“Rain, lies, houseguests, murder. That about sums it up.”

“That's pretty thin. You've left out some important details, haven't you?”

“You're the expert in leaving out details.”

“Okay, Dinah. You've been handed a surprise, for which I'm sorry. Don't generalize about my trustworthiness in every other way.”

“All right, I won't. You've proven yourself to be an absolute puritan when dealing with professional matters. But that kind of selective trustworthiness is not what I need. You'll just take anything I say and repeat it to your friend Lohendorf.”

“You know I wouldn't do that.”

“I thought I knew what you wouldn't do.”

“Is it that you don't trust me to know the facts, or you don't trust me to know the truth?”

“What's the difference?”

“Facts can change, not truth.”

“Oh, give me a break. I held a grenade in my hand tonight, Thor, and thought about death. Don't come in here with your pants at half-mast looking like a
Playgirl
centerfold and try to, to mousetrap me with philosophy.”

“A grenade! Are you serious?”

“As a lit fuse.”

“Jesus, Dinah. Where? What happened? I swear to you, it won't go any farther if you don't want it to.”

She took another sip of gin and told him about her night at the gallery, making no apologies for the break-in. “It's clear that Farber is crooked and the man who was with him was probably Hess. I wouldn't be surprised if Hess is hiding Farber's money for him in a secret account in Cyprus, and Farber is hiding Hess from the police while he's in Berlin. Anyway, you don't have to worry about me holding out on the police. I plan to call your pal Lohendorf as soon as his office opens and sing like a canary.”

“He could arrest you, you know.”

“I don't think Farber will report the burglary. I don't know how he had rigged his security system, but it wasn't designed to bring in the police. The last thing he wants is for people to start poking around and asking about the provenance of his inventory. Anyhow, I didn't take anything. Maybe he thinks it was vandals or kids looking to score drugs. Somebody, probably Viktor, spends a lot of time with his Aunt Mary Jane. The coat with the grenade stunk to high heaven.”

“Tell me what the grenade looked like.”

“A pound or pound-and-a-half, olive drab with indentations or grooves. It had a curved lever like a tail, and a ring.”

“Sounds old, and American made. The Germans used stick grenades, no ring.”

She shivered and took another sip of gin. “In the dark, I didn't know what I'd grabbed. I felt that ring and like an idiot, thought it was for keys. I could have been blown to bits, along with one of Egypt's pharaonic treasures.”

He reached out a hand and stroked her hair. “I just thank God that the Egyptian patrimony was saved.”

She looked into his eyes and laughed. “Yeah. If I'd pulled the pin, I'd have landed in Egyptian hell, tormented by demons and damned to swim in my own blood for eternity.” The laughter was cathartic, but his touch sparked side effects that disrupted her defenses. She got up from the table and stood next to the counter. “What I can't figure out is why Farber, or Viktor, or Hess would try to kill Margaret. It's possible that she knows where Hess is hiding out, but it would be a lot easier for him to move than to kill her and call down the wrath of the entire Berlin police force on his head.”

“What makes you think that Hess was the other man in the gallery tonight?”

“I don't know. His voice sounded so commanding, like he was the honcho and Farber had better do what he said or else. Hess was with Margaret at the lake on the night of the murder and I think he's into a lot shadier schemes than hiding his money in Cyprus.”

“Cyprus is the go-to spot for tax evaders these days. The richest man in Norway lives on Cyprus as a tax exile. Norwegians call him the ‘big wolf.'” He unstopped the Monkey 47, poured another jigger into her glass, and tasted. “Potent stuff.”

“Dynamite. I think I'll keep a bottle on hand as a restorative in the event I have any more near-death experiences.”

“Look, Dinah, I won't interfere if you don't want me to, but say the word and I'll go with you tomorrow to talk with Jens. I can vouch for your detective's intuition.” He grinned. “And I can post bail in case he jails you.”

“Thanks, Thor. I mean it. Thank you for your advice and your moral support, and for that pile of household cash you left in case the furnace blew and I needed a repairman. I spent it all on the lawyer's retainer. And thanks for passing on Lohendorf's warning. That wasn't strictly by the book for either of you. But you should know that Mom is going to correct her statement to the police and admit that she went to meet Pohl, but found him dead. After the grenade attack on Margaret and what I saw at Farber's gallery, I think Lohendorf will realize that the DNA he found was the result of accidental contact with the body. I think he'll refocus his investigation on Farber and we can all stop worrying.”

“You don't have to thank me for anything, Dinah. If one of us is in trouble, the other is. That's what it means to be a ‘household,' isn't it?”

She felt a rush of warmth and pent-up guilt and self-reproach. Maybe it was the resurgence of conscience or the fleeting courage of the Monkey 47. Almost as an out-of-body experience, she heard herself say, “I have two million dollars in an offshore account in Panama. I inherited the proceeds from an illegal drug operation four years ago.”

He stared, a look of amazement drawing his forehead into tight ridges. “
Uff da
.”

“Whatever that means, I'm sure I deserve it. But I don't want you to be in trouble just because I am. I was stupid, but I'm not going to stick around and let you be tarred with the same brush. I don't think Lohendorf will find out, at least not immediately, but I'll clear out before your connection to me can tarnish your career. I'll take K.D. and Margaret and move into the hotel with my mother tomorrow.”

He continued to stare.

“Aren't you going to say something? Anything?”

The cuckoo moaned.

With each mournful caw, her self-esteem shriveled. His face was a study. “Well, say something for crying out loud.”

“You should have told me you didn't like the clock.”

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The way her throat felt, it was hard to tell.

He got up and took her hand. “It's three o'clock in the morning. Come to bed with me. We'll talk about it when we're fresh and thinking straight.”

She shook her head. “I'd love nothing better than to jump into bed with you, Thor. How's that for honesty, coming from one of the world's leading specialists in detours and denials? But we can't just pick up where we left off. I'm not who you thought I was and vice versa. Jack is no small vice versa. I'm not parenting material, not even part-time, and if you can turn a blind eye to my criminal carryings-on—a stash of dirty drug money, for heaven sakes—then you're not the man I thought you were. We don't know each other. And besides, there
is
no bed. Margaret's in the bedroom and K.D. has dibs on your sleeping bag when she gets home.”

“We know each other, Dinah. The facts are still coming in, but we know the important things. The core truth.” He gave her hand a tug. “Come on. I've set up an air mattress in the office.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Loud noises roused Dinah from sleep. She rolled over and reached for Thor, but he was gone. She heard him speaking German in the other room. He sounded pretty damned boisterous for—she looked at her watch—eight o'clock in the morning. What was he doing, roughhousing with Jack? No, Jack didn't speak German.

Something heavy clunked on the floor and Geert cut loose with a rush of excited German. What was Geert doing here? Had something happened to K.D.? Had he brought her home falling-down drunk?

She sat up, rocked on her butt a few times, and sprang to her feet. Something would have to be done about the sleeping arrangements. Being forced to spend the night on an air mattress in her own apartment was above and beyond the call of Southern hospitality. She yanked on her clothes and raked her fingers through her hair. What were the odds that the bathroom would be free? She shambled into the living room. Lena Bischoff hung limp as a noodle between Thor and Geert and they were dragging her toward the bedroom.

“See who we brought you?” gloated K.D. “As soon as she wakes up, Lena's going to give us the skinny on her dorky husband Viktor. She and I totally bonded at the club last night.”

“Thor, wait.” Dinah was still struggling to wake up and she wasn't receptive to the idea of yet another new roommate. “You can't put her in the bedroom. Margaret's in there. Why can't Lena sleep it off in your apartment, Geert?”

“I don't want her,” said Geert. “She is wild. The witch clawed me.” He showed her red marks on the side of his face.

“You brought her here against her will?”

“She totally wanted to come,” said K.D., opening the bedroom door.

“Shh!” Dinah pointed to Margaret, who was still out, flat on her back, eyes covered with the airline eye mask, and snoring like a Mac truck.

K.D.'s whisper wasn't much softer than her normal speaking voice. “Lena got a little high and mistook Geert for Viktor, that's all. She'll only be here for a few hours and you're definitely gonna want to hear what she has to say. Margaret can share.”

Aphrodite nestled on the pillow next to Margaret's head. She switched her tail and hissed as the invaders closed in. The Mac truck made an abrupt gargling noise as if downshifting and the cat bolted out the door. Margaret didn't stir. Thor eased Lena down next to her and K.D. straightened Lena's legs and took off her shoes.

“Jerusalem.” Dinah didn't wait to be briefed. She needed the bathroom and she needed coffee. Her first need was blocked by a locked door. As the only one missing from the scene was Jack, she could only hope that he didn't waste a lot of time on hygiene. She went to the kitchen and put on the coffee.

From the kitchen window, she could see the front of the
Gasthaus
, its entry boarded up and a few red and white striped traffic cones on the sidewalk in front. She wondered if Margaret's neatly packed suitcase had survived the blast. If it had, surely Lohendorf could have no objection to returning it. If she had a change of clothes, Margaret could move out to another hotel.

After a few minutes, Thor sauntered into the kitchen and put his arms around her. “Feels good to be home,” he murmured in her ear and kissed the back of her neck.

She wasn't sure what last night's lovemaking had meant, but the concept of home left a lot to be negotiated. Her throat still didn't feel right. “It'll feel less good if you caught whatever germ I've got.”

“My daily spoonful of cod liver oil makes me bulletproof.”

“Don't say that. Touch wood.” She rapped a knuckle against the wooden windowsill and gazed at the gray, rain-slick street below. “Is Jack out of the bathroom?”

“Yes. I think K.D.'s gone in now. Jack just asked me if I knew who had murdered Alwin Pohl. Have you been talking to him about the situation?”

“Not exactly.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. It hadn't taken long for her negligence in the matter of child rearing to come to the fore. “Jack's an inquisitive kid. He may have overheard an adult conversation. It's not my fault if he arrived in the middle of this chaos.”

“I wasn't accusing you, Dinah. I don't want him to grow up in an ivory tower. His knowing about the murder surprised me is all I meant.”

“Well. Surprise seems to be the order of the day around here, doesn't it?” She took one sip of coffee and fumed off to the bathroom. “K.D., there are other people in this apartment. Do the necessary and save the beauty treatments for another time.”

The door opened and K.D. came out, eyes blazing. “After all I've done for you, you could show a little gratitude.”

Dinah didn't regard Lena as a gift deserving of gratitude. She do-si-doed around K.D. and locked herself in the bathroom. She wished she could hide out in here all day. Maybe she had late onset bipolar disorder. Her mood had plummeted since the three a.m. high and she had a premonition that some god-awful “other shoe” was about to drop.

A hot shower helped clear her sinuses and restore a sense of resolve. She psyched herself up for the conversation with Lohendorf. When she walked out of the bathroom, she felt ready to parry any questions he might ask.

Margaret waited outside the door, cocooned in a white blanket from neck to knees. Her skin was ashen, her mouth downturned, and her hair hung around her face and shoulders like loose straw. “You need a second john.”

“So it seems.”

“Who's the blonde I woke up with?”

“Her name's Lena Bischoff. She may have information about Pohl's murder.”

Margaret snorted. “Dressed like a hooker. I wouldn't believe anything she says.”

She disappeared into the bathroom and Dinah went back to the kitchen for more coffee. Jack was on all fours, head pushed against the wall, strengthening his neck muscles. Thor was talking on his cell.

“Yes, he's fine. Settling in, no problems. Right. I'll make sure he does.” He smiled at Dinah. “Dinah got him a new car, which he's pretty excited about. A Ferrari GTO. Right. Don't I know it. Uh-huh. How's your dad?”

Dinah took her coffee and headed for the office. She passed K.D., dossed down on the sofa with earbuds in her ears. Not once since she arrived had K.D.'s mother called to see if she was safe. For all she knew, the kid could have been sold into slavery. Small wonder K.D. waged war against everyone over the age of thirty. Dinah wanted to ask her what Lena had said last night. There was no reason to believe that Lena would tell the same story when she woke up sober. But there was no rush and both she and K.D. would be more agreeable after a couple of hours sleep. Anyway, there were other leads to follow.

She started into the office when out of the corner of her eye she noticed the clock. She glanced at her watch and, setting her jaw, she ripped the duct tape off the cuckoo's door. She waited a minute and at the stroke of nine, the bird popped out and began its obnoxious two-toned whistle. “Don't hold back, bird. Here on the Niederwallstrasse, we're all about sharing.”

Still on the phone to Jen, Thor came to the kitchen door and grinned. She made a face and closed herself in the office. She meant to give Lohendorf plenty of ammunition about Farber's art thefts and initiated a computer search for news of the Malawi Museum robbery. Located on the Nile a hundred and fifty miles south of Cairo, the museum had almost no security. The looters broke in during a protest by supporters of the deposed President Morsi, murdered the ticket agent, and ransacked the place. The scale of the devastation shown in the pictures sickened her. What the looters hadn't hauled away, they had trashed. Antique glass display cases had been splintered and brightly painted coffins battered to kindling. Stolen items included amulets, necklaces, funerary masks, votive statues, animal mummies, and even jars containing the two-thousand-year-old preserved organs of Egyptian dead. Some larger statues had also been removed, including one from the Tomb of Amenemhet.

Egypt wasn't the only country whose heritage was endangered by political unrest and civil strife. There were numerous articles citing the loss and destruction of other national museums and World Heritage sites. Looters had pillaged the National Museum of Iraq during the U.S. invasion, and scavengers used bulldozers to dig up archaeological relics from the ancient Hellenic city of Apamea during the Syrian uprising. The smuggling and selling of stolen antiquities had become a booming business with global reach. With so many Crusader castles and mosques and churches being pulverized by rebels and militias, Dinah wondered if ordinary thieves might be doing posterity a dubious favor. At least, they aimed to profit from their loot, not pulverize it.

Somebody knocked. She was about to say “go away,” but Thor stuck his head in. “Ready for that call to Lohendorf?”

“Yes. I think that statue in Farber's gallery came from the Tomb of Amenemhet. I can do a search of the museum's collection before the robbery and find a picture.”

“I'm not sure what he can do about looted Egyptian art. Germany still has no law that addresses the restitution of art the Nazis stole from its Jewish citizens. Everything proceeds on a case-by-case basis.”

“That's terrible. But they must have laws against theft and smuggling. There has to be a law that applies to this sort of wanton plunder.”

“Let's start with an up-front admission that you broke into the gallery last night. If you're right that Farber didn't report the burglary, that'll be persuasive. I'm sure Jens will pass on your concern about Amenemhet's tomb to the proper authorities. But he'll be more interested in that grenade. Grenades are banned under the German Weapons Act.”

He dialed the number and Dinah felt a weight lift. Regardless of nationality or specialty or beat, cops related to other cops. They respected one another, trusted in hunches, and cut each other slack. And Thor was her cop, advocating for her.

It took a few minutes to get through to Lohendorf and the weight began to build again. What if she'd gotten it all wrong? What if the Malawi Museum had sold Farber that statue or given it to him on consignment? What if he
had
reported the burglary? What if he had installed electronic cameras that K.D. hadn't seen? It wouldn't be just Dinah that Lohendorf arrested. It would be K.D., too.

“Jens. It's Thor. I'm back in Berlin and Dinah and I have some news to report in connection with the Pohl case.” He listened for a long time without speaking. “Yes, Dinah told me her mother had retained counsel. That's good. Right, right. At least you're not wasting time on a red herring.”

He listened some more and his eyes augured bad news. “When? How?”

She held her breath.

“No. Not the sort of thing I'd chalk up to coincidence. How soon will your medical examiner be able to give you a cause of death?”

“Who?” she mouthed.

Thor held up a hand. “I understand. Can you come to our apartment this morning? Eleven's fine, and bring your sergeant. We have Lena Bischoff here.”

He disconnected and she almost screamed. “Who's dead?”

“Viktor Bischoff. There was a house fire early this morning. He was pronounced dead on the scene. It could be a suicide. Jens has his doubts.”