“Will you turn on the heat? It’s freezing back here.”
Franz started the engine, turned up the heat. Riemenschneider got out and took off after Colette. Franz waited a few minutes then made a U-turn and cruised to the end of the block. He saw the big man standing in the square waving at them. Franz pulled over and rolled down the window.
“She went into a restaurant,” Riemenschneider said.
“We’ll wait.”
Fifteen minutes later Franz saw Colette Rizik approaching, coming toward him through the haze, crossing the deserted square, rain still coming down. When she was right in front of him he said, “Excuse me, do you know the time?”
She was carrying a white plastic carryout bag, stopped, looked at her watch and said, “Eight thirty-eight.”
Franz could see Riemenschneider’s wide bulk in silhouette coming behind her. “I had to get a new tire after what you did. Cost me forty Deutschmarks.”
Colette swung the carryout bag at him and started to run. Riemenschneider, surprisingly quick for his size, had closed in fast, grabbed her in his powerful arms, lifted her off the ground, Colette screaming, and Baumann coming behind Riemenschneider wrapped duct tape over her mouth and around her head, and taped her hands behind her back.
Colette opened her eyes and looked around. She was in a small room with an adjoining bath. They had removed the duct tape, but her wrists were cuffed to a chain that was bolted to the wood plank floor. She got up and looked out the window. The room was on the second floor of a house surrounded by woods. She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, dried herself, went back and sat on the edge of the bed.
Sometime later, the door opened. Colette saw Franz Stigler’s head look in. “She’s awake.”
Ernst Hess came in and stood next to the bed.
“That day I came to your apartment dressed as a postman, I have been wondering, what gave me away?”
“Your shoes.”
“No one noticed but you. But that’s your business, isn’t it? Observing, remembering details.” Hess smiled. “That’s what saved you. If you hadn’t noticed my shoes, you would have been shot, and I’m guessing the article never would have appeared.”
“I mailed the photographs to Berlin after I escaped.”
“My point exactly. Was it fate? Was it luck?”
“I don’t know, but you’re the last person I would have expected. Why would you risk coming back?”
“There was some unfinished business. Now that I have you I can reel in Harry.”
“He’s not going to come back here. He’ll be arrested and you know it.”
“You think that’s going to stop him?”
“I would worry more about myself if I were you. The reward is up to half a million dollars. Somebody is going to recognize you and call the police. Keep an eye on Franz and his buddies. How much do you think an electrician earns in a year? One phone call and he’s rich.”
Hess moved to the door, opened it. “Franz, come in here.” Stigler shuffled in the room, standing at the foot of the bed. He seemed nervous in Hess’ presence.
“Fraulein Rizik thinks you are going to turn me in to the authorities and collect the ransom.”
“I would never do that,” Stigler said, giving Colette a dirty look.
“Franz, how much money do you earn in a year?”
Stigler shrugged. “Forty-five thousand marks.”
“The reward is one million, seven hundred and forty thousand. Maybe Fraulein Rizik is right.”
Hess winked at Colette, and Stigler looked helpless, caught in this hypothetical scenario.
“Herr Hess, I can assure you, I would never…”
Hess grinned, enjoying the game. He liked to make people squirm. “It’s okay, Franz. I am just pulling your leg.”
Stigler seemed to regain his composure.
“But if I hear anything…” Hess let it hang, patting Stigler on the back and grinning again. “Let Fraulein Rizik stretch her legs and have something to eat. I will be back later.”
Hess had seen her come out of the beauty salon and started after her. Leopoldstrasse was crowded with shoppers, women mostly, carrying shopping bags, keeping the Munich economy going. “I am sorry I missed your birthday,” Hess said when he caught up to Anke. She glanced at him, shrugged him off and kept moving. He grabbed her arm. “It’s me.”
Now he saw a glimmer of recognition on her face. “Ernst?” Anke was stunning as always, long blonde hair and plump red lips, long legs in knee-high black boots, long fingers with bright red nails, the smell of her perfume engulfing him.
“Keep walking. Go to your car.” He had followed her from the apartment he had rented for her, paying a year in advance.
“Ernst, what are you doing here? The police are looking for you. It is very dangerous.”
“If you didn’t recognize me no one else will.”
They walked another sixty meters and got in Anke’s Mercedes sedan, Hess’ Christmas present to her the year before. He sat in the front passenger seat and took off the cap. Anke leaned over the console, wrapped her long arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. “I’ve been worried sick about you, Ernst. Why didn’t you call?”
“I assumed the police had tapped your phone.” Hess was conscious of the pedestrians walking past the car and the traffic on Leopoldstrasse.
Anke was nervous, head moving, eyes darting around. “Ernst, where have you been?”
“You don’t seem happy to see me.”
“Yes, of course I am, but I am afraid.” Anke paused. “Where are you staying?”
“With you, I thought.”
“The police could be watching me. You’ll be arrested and I will too.” Anke pulled away from him and sat sideways in the seat.
“Who has been asking about me?”
“First a man with the federal police. That was more than a week ago.”
“Describe him.”
“Tall, six three, long dark hair.”
Hess pictured Zeller. “Who else?”
“Yesterday, the journalist who wrote the article about you was waiting outside my building. Have you seen it?”
Hess nodded.
“I didn’t believe a word.”
“What did she want?”
“She said you stole paintings during the war, and asked if I knew where they were. I told her the only one I knew about was the Durer.”
Hess couldn’t believe it. “Why would you tell her that?”
“You sold a painting. Why does it matter?”
“What else did she ask?”
“Did you own property other than the estate in Schleissheim and the apartment in Munich.”
“And what did you say?”
Anke was nervous now. “I said you had taken me to a villa in France one time, but it wasn’t yours.”
“You didn’t.” Hess could feel himself getting angry. “You told her it was in Nice?”
“But not where. She would have no idea how to find it. I don’t even remember where it is.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Ernst, I’m sorry.”
“Start the car.”
“Where are we going?”
The room was dark. Hess glanced at the clock on the table next to him. It was 5:32 a.m. Anke was on her side of the bed, a bare shoulder sticking out of the covers, Hess recalling their lustful night. After drinking two bottles of champagne, Anke had been her old self again.
He slid out of bed, pulled the heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes apart and saw the dark shape of the Neues Rathaus rising up in the distance. He dressed in Max Hoffman’s worn khakis, long-sleeved plaid shirt, sport coat and baseball cap.