Where the Bones are Buried (7 page)

“No.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“An old woman with
der spitzer Haaransatz
.” With her two index fingers, she mimed a widow's peak. “She and the squaw made a big noise with their arguing.”

Dinah didn't have time to retort. She had an ominous feeling, like the smell of ozone before lightning. “Which is the trail to the tower?”

She pointed to a wooden sign saying Müggelturm, and Dinah dashed off like a halfback. She shoved a Sioux warrior out of her way and sideswiped a Hopi woman beating a small water drum. She didn't stop to beg anyone's pardon. The trail was rougher than it had been below and the forest more dense. She aimed her flashlight on the ground to keep from tripping on a rock or a root. Her thoughts churned with fear and misgivings. Margaret had obviously caught up with Swan, but what had they argued about? Did Margaret think Swan was angling to cut her out of the deal?

Her heart beat faster as she climbed and she wasn't sure if the pounding in her ears came from the drums or her pulse. Up ahead, she heard shouts. She began to sprint, feeling for her gun as she ran. She crested the hill and saw the tower, floodlit and surrounded by uniformed police. Two of them were stringing crime scene tape.

She willed herself forward, too filled with dread to pray. Shafts of white light crisscrossed the darkness and delved into the gaps between the trees. What were they shouting? Had someone said the word
mord
?

A uniformed officer stooped and planted a white evidence flag. She edged closer and trained her flashlight on the object next to the flag. What…? Oh. Oh, God, no.

Her thoughts reeled. She turned blindly and collided with Lohendorf. She steadied herself and anchored her gaze on his face. “Is that…hair?”

“Yes.” He took the gun out of her hand and slipped it into his pocket.

The only person that bristly blond mat could belong to was Hess. “Is he alive?”

“No. The body was discovered a half hour ago by a hiker. The Rahnsdorf police are investigating.”

“And my mother?”

“We are searching.” He called out to one of the uniforms. “Please escort Frau Pelerin to a safe area and make her comfortable until I've finished here. I will speak with her shortly.”

Chapter Ten

“This club has been meeting for ten years. Nothing like this has ever happened.” Florian Farber sat at the table previously occupied by the chanters, scrubbing off his war paint with a wet towel. “It's not something a German would do.”

The first part of that assertion had to be the understatement of the decade, thought Dinah. But given Germany's record of war-making, atrocities, and genocide, the second part showed a breathtaking lapse of memory.

Inspector Jens Lohendorf and his sergeant, a dour-faced man with ears that stuck out like satellite dishes, had divided the “Indians” into seemingly random groups of two for questioning. The method struck Dinah as flawed, but she was a stranger in a strange land and the balance of her mind was seriously disturbed. She was still coming to grips with the fact that Reiner Hess had been killed and scalped, and her mother had apparently hightailed it.

Farber and the man with the porcupine roach were the third pair that Lohendorf had summoned for questioning. He had parked Dinah at the end of the table and ordered her to wait for someone named Wegener to show up and drive her home. While she waited, she listened and watched. The colloquy had been in German until Farber sliced in that zinger in English. His insinuation was unmistakable, but not all that shocking given the inspector's frequent allusions to “Frau Calms.”

Little Deer had seen Swan and Margaret together at the ferry landing at five. They had separated and no one had seen either of them leave. Lohendorf was kind enough to tell her that much, or wily enough. He looked at her as if he knew she was withholding information, and if he jollied her along with an occasional translation, she would start to cooperate. She had given him Swan's and Margaret's cell numbers, but they weren't answering. Lohendorf was right to think that leaving the scene was hinky. And if they were alive and not tied to a tree, not answering their phones was hinky in the extreme. Being female and “of a certain age” didn't eliminate the women from consideration as suspects. Dinah would never forget the statue she'd seen in Boscawen, New Hampshire, honoring Hannah Dustin, a colonial woman who, in 1697, took ten Indian scalps single-handed and cashed them in for the bounty.

But what if the reason Swan didn't answer her phone was because she had been killed by the same person or persons who killed Hess? Her body might be lying undiscovered under a pile of rotting leaves.

Dinah hugged her arms and shivered. She couldn't shake the mental picture of that ragged strip of hair tossed in the dirt like garbage. The savagery of the murder seemed calculated to incriminate
der Indianer
, but some things were unthinkable—her mother killing a man and ripping off the top of his head being one. She didn't care how many years this club had gone without a murder, there was no doubt in her mind that this particular murder was as German as apple streudel.

She didn't understand much of the language, but she knew her numbers.
Eins, zwei, drei
, and from the snippets she picked up, the victim had been shot
zweimal
—twice, in
die Brust,
which sounded like “breast.” The porcupine roach man, Herr Amsel, who seemed to have imbibed too much of his own firewater, banged his fist against his chest and gesticulated broadly. He answered Lohendorf's questions in rapid-fire guttural bursts. Was he really that drunk, or was he putting on a show?

She wished she could pose a few questions to the witnesses. Had anyone seen or spoken with Hess? When did he arrive? The time of death would have to be determined by a medical examiner, but Lohendorf would already know the parameters. What time did the earlier ferry arrive with Swan? He should interview Little Deer and the club members who came to build the phony bonfire and set up the bar. Her fingers itched to try Swan's cell again. Where had she gone after arguing with Margaret? Had she set off in the direction of the powwow and gotten lost? Had she gone to the tower to meet Hess four hours early? Or had she hied off back to the hotel?

A brisk woman in uniform appeared at Lohendorf's side and handed him a piece of paper. He read it and folded it in his pocket. “Thank you, Sergeant Wegener. Frau Pelerin, the sergeant will walk you to her car in Rahnsdorf and drive you home. After she has delivered you to your door, she will stop in at the
Gasthaus
where your mother and Frau Dobbs are staying to see if they made it home safely.” He turned to Wegener. “If the ladies are present, please take their statements, Sergeant, and advise them that I wish to interview them first thing in the morning. Nine-thirty.”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes fairly sparkled with zeal.

In a cautioning tone, he added, “Be clear, but don't antagonize.”

“No, sir. I will not add fuel to the fire.” She seemed to know her way around American idioms. Dinah wondered if he had assigned her as chaperone for precisely that reason. “What shall I do if they have not returned to the hotel, sir?”

“Call me and I will notify the BKA and issue an alert.” To Dinah, he said, “I will come to your apartment tomorrow at eleven o'clock. If that is convenient.”

“Certainly.” She took his meaning.
If that is convenient
was entirely rhetorical. He would interrogate her like any other witness, and she would have to decide whether to divulge her mother's plot to blackmail Hess, or lie. She felt weighed down by internal contradictions and the overriding fear for Swan's safety. She said, “I want to go with Sergeant Wegener to check on my mother, Inspector. Please.”

“I regret that I must ask you to wait until tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth to object, but he waved her off.

“Will you at least call me and let me know if my mother is still missing?”

“We will keep you informed.” He removed her gun from his pocket and handed it to her. “Weapons ownership does not entitle you to carry a loaded weapon on public premises in Germany. We will forget your carelessness tonight, but I recommend that you put it away and rely upon the police.” He accorded her a rueful smile. “And will you please remain in your apartment? I don't need any more crises tonight.”

You and me, both, she thought, and trudged off behind the sergeant. As they passed the bonfire, she noticed Little Deer and Drumming Man huddled in conversation. Little Deer appeared agitated. Drumming Man held her by the shoulders, but her arms jerked about like one of those air dancer balloons. Dinah wanted to talk with her at the earliest opportunity to find out if she'd overheard what Margaret and Swan had argued about and who else she might have seen nearby, but she didn't know her real name.

She moved up to walk side-by-side with Wegener. “What is that girl's name?”

“Lena Bischoff.”

“And her husband?”

“Viktor Bischoff.”

Dinah matched her stride with Wegener's and the beams from their flashlights bounced along the path in sync. The sergeant probably wouldn't volunteer much information without the approval of her boss, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“How many people attended the powwow, Sergeant?”

“Twenty-six. The full membership, but one.”

“Who?”

“The dead man.”

“No one saw him arrive?”

“We have not yet completed the interviews.”

“Has the medical examiner stated an opinion as to the time of death?”

“Before you and the Inspector arrived.”

They passed by the tower where the police were still working. Dinah's eyes strayed to the flag where she'd seen Hess' hair. She wasn't Catholic, but she crossed herself anyway and held her breath until the tower was behind them. The moon was still visible, but smudgy and ringed with clouds. Ring around the moon, rain coming soon. She felt the suggestion of a mist already and wished she had worn a warmer jacket. She ached to be with Thor, to take in his warmth and pour out her fears. Her vow to tell him the truth seemed, at one and the same time, more urgent and more difficult.

“Inspector Lohendorf has briefed me,” said Wegener. “Your mother's companion is
die Scharfschütze
.”

“What?”

Wegener made a finger pistol. “A sharpshooter. Like Annie Oakley.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Do you know if she owns a gun?”

“No.”

“Does your mother own a gun?”

“If she does, she keeps it at home in Georgia.” This line of questioning fed Dinah's fears and sharpened her focus. “Have you found the murder weapon?”

Wegener dummied up and Dinah mulled the chronology of events in silence. Hess had obviously skipped the meet-and-greet at the bonfire and gone straight to the tower. Had he gotten in touch with Swan and arranged to meet early? If so, they could have closed their transaction and split up before the murderer arrived, or perhaps Hess had another transaction on his docket. The murderer could easily have sneaked away from the powwow, killed Hess, and rejoined the party without arousing anyone's attention. With all the drumming and chanting, the gunshots wouldn't have been heard.

The woods thinned and they strode out onto a lighted city sidewalk. She followed Wegener to her unmarked car and the sergeant motioned her into the front passenger seat. As they were leaving the outskirts of Rahnsdorf, Wegener became curious again. “Does your mother know anyone in Berlin besides Herr Hess?”

“Florian Farber, but I don't think they've actually met. They met virtually, on Facebook.”

“Anyone else in
der Indianer
club?”

“Not to my knowledge. Look, if you'll let me go with you to their hotel, I can explain things. My mother and Mrs. Dobbs will be more cooperative if you let me speak with them first. They probably don't know there's been a murder and I should be there in case the news upsets them.”

“My orders are to speak to them alone. If they are available.”

Dinah's head began to throb with conditional clauses and questions and the more she stressed, the more headachy and hungry she grew. It was the
Kummerspeck
. She thought about asking Wegener to stop at Konnopke's for an order of currywurst and fries to go, but the sergeant didn't seem like a person who suffered from grief bacon, or would sympathize with one who did.

They turned onto Niederwallstrasse. Dinah had been so lost in thought that she'd blanked out on the drive back through the city.

“Which building is yours?” asked Wegener.

“Past the park, third on the right.”

Wegener parked a few feet from the front entrance.

“Thanks,” said Dinah, and got out of the car.

Wegener got out, too. “I will see you to your door.”

“That's not necessary.”

“To make sure you are safe.” She had the implacable stare of a warden.

“Right.” Dinah punched in her key code. The door buzzed and she pushed it open and stepped inside the entryway. Over Wegener's shoulder, she saw a white and green
polizei
car cruise past. She supposed Lohendorf had ordered a stakeout of her apartment and the
Gasthaus
down the block on the theory that sooner or later, Swan and Margaret would show up at one place or the other. “Am I under house arrest?”

“You are detained temporarily for your protection.”

“What's the difference, Sergeant? You said so yourself. The murder was committed before I got anywhere near the damned powwow. I have an airtight alibi and you have no right to detain me, in my home or anywhere else. I'm an American citizen.” With that, she turned on her heels and stomped up the stairs.

Wegener didn't follow.

On the landing, Dinah glared back at her and dialed her mother's cell. Still no answer. Ditto Margaret's phone. “Hell and damnation!” She jammed her key in the lock, kicked open the door, and steamed into the apartment.

K.D. sprawled on the sofa with Aphrodite curled on her stomach like an orange Slinky.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

The cat flattened her ears, vaulted onto the floor, and vamoosed into the bedroom. K.D. swung her legs off the sofa and sat up. “Whoa. What's got your panties in a wad?”

“Not what, who. I put you on a plane to Atlanta ten days ago. You can't just come skying back like a boomerang.”

“That's kind of cold. I mean, you invited me to live with you.”

“And you chose to go home.”

“I tried, Dinah. Really, I did. I just couldn't bear those dweebs in my high school. They are so-ooh immature.” She stood to her full six feet, flipped her long auburn hair, and unfurled her arms as if laying fresh claim to ceded territory. “I saw you'd moved my bed, but don't worry. I'll crash in Thor's sleeping bag here in the living room until we can set up my room again.”