“I don’t think so. We’ll cross over somewhere along the Rhine,” Harry said, glancing at Colette. “Do you know a place?”
“Kehl. It’s across the river from Strasbourg.”
“Never been to France,” Cordell said.
“Listen, I appreciate everything you’ve done. But you don’t have to come with us to Nice. If I was you I’d take a train to Paris and catch a plane back to Detroit.”
“I got nothin’ to go home to. You don’t mind, I’ll hang with y’all for a while longer. You never know, you may need some help.”
“We don’t even know if we are going to find Hess,” Colette said. “And if we do, who is he going to have with him? No offense, Harry, I think we need Cordell.”
Harry wasn’t trying to get rid of him. “All right, come with us.”
Harry stopped for gas on the way to Ettlingen, bought a cup of coffee and a map of Baden-Württemburg, opened it at a table in the cafe and drew a circle around Kehl. The guy who worked in the gas station thought it was about 160 kilometers.
When he went back to the car Cordell was asleep in the front seat, and Colette was stretched out in back, snoring. Cordell opened his eyes one time and said, “Yo, Harry, where we at?”
“Just passed Rastatt.”
“Oh yeah? Rastatt, huh?” Then his eyes closed and he was snoring in cadence with Colette, Harry thinking they were a lot of fun to travel with.
He arrived in Kehl a little before 2:00 a.m., drove south through town and west toward the river. He could see the lights of Strasbourg in the distance. Getting a hotel would attract too much attention, so Harry parked in a municipal lot near the Rhinepromenade, turned off the car, rolled the seat back and closed his eyes.
In daylight Strasbourg looked enormous spread out across the river. Harry could see the spire of a church rising above medieval buildings. He woke up Colette and Cordell and drove through Kehl. Approaching the bridge to Alsace-Lorraine, Harry saw German police stopping cars, checking IDs and pulled over. “Got any ideas?” he said to Colette.
“Go back to the docks,” Colette said. “We’ll take a sightseeing cruise into Strasbourg. The ship stops in the old town and you have a couple of hours to see the city.”
Harry bought three tickets for the Kehl-Strasbourg Scenic Cruise. They were on the top deck, sitting in chairs — every seat taken — getting ready to leave when Harry saw the police car creeping through the parking lot past rows of cars, stopping behind his Mercedes rental. He felt a vibration as the engines started. Two cops got out and looked inside his car. One of them said something to the other and pointed at the boat. Deck stewards released the mooring lines.
“Harry, they’re coming this way,” Colette said.
“Stay calm and stay down.” Saying it as much to himself as Colette and Cordell. What happened from here was out of their control.
The cops were moving through the parking lot almost to the dock when the ship started to move, engines laboring then picking up speed, chugging up river.
They cruised north past Strasbourg, passing ships and barges and spectacular views on both sides of the river. Thirty minutes later they crossed over to the French side and came back, taking a canal into the city, docking in the old town. Harry, Colette and Cordell got off the ship with the other passengers and showed their passports to immigration officials.
Harry rented a Peugeot sedan at Hertz, got in behind the wheel and unfolded a map of France, tracing a line with his finger straight down from Strasbourg to Nice. They’d have to go through Switzerland and the western edge of Italy. Harry didn’t like it. He wanted to stay in France, avoid any more foreign borders.
He plotted a course that took them through Mulhouse, Besançon, and Lyons straight south to Avignon, Aix-en-Provence, and then east along the Côte d’Azur. Harry drove eight hours to Aix. Colette directed him to Les Deux Garmons, a brasserie on the Cours Mirabeau. It felt good to get out of the car.
They crossed the street and went in the restaurant. Harry ordered sole meunière; Colette, fruits de mer, and Cordell, fillet of beef. They drank a bottle of Côtes du Rhône and ate without saying much, had profiteroles and coffee for dessert, and got back in the car.
Cordell took it the rest of the way, found a radio station in Marseille that played Motown, singing along with Stevie Wonder and the Temptations.
“Harry, check this out,” Cordell excited as they passed through Cannes, the city lit up and alive on one side of the car, the Mediterranean on the other — pleasure yachts outlined in lights, anchored in the harbor. “I might like this better than Palm Beach and there ain’t no Colombians tryin’ to blow my head off.”
“Just Germans.”
Traffic was heavy in Nice, people on the street partying, Cordell taking it all in, eyes lit up again. “Might like it here even better.”
Harry directed Cordell to the Hôtel Negresco on the promenade des Anglais, woke Colette up, gave the Peugeot to the valet and checked in, getting a two-bedroom suite at 12:20 p.m., three people and no luggage.
Thirty-five
In the morning, Hess went to a men’s shop and tried on clothes. He purchased three white dress shirts, grey trousers, a tweed sport jacket and a black overcoat, the salesman looking at him quizzically. “I’ve waited on you before, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I have never been in your shop, but I can assure you I will return.”
Even in the electrician’s uniform, the salesman thought he knew him.
Hess also purchased socks, underwear, shoes, a belt and a fedora, paid in cash and walked out carrying the new clothes in a shopping bag. He signaled a passing taxi. He noticed a newspaper on the front passenger seat as he opened the door and sat in the back and told the driver take him to his daughter Katya’s school in Oberschleissheim, arriving at 2:53, cars lining the street on both sides, mothers standing in groups in front of the building.
“Here you are,” the driver said.
“I am waiting for someone.”
The driver seemed annoyed. Hess, in the rear seat, could see the man’s eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. He put the window down and smoked a cigarette, seeing schoolgirls in their plaid skirts and blazers coming out of the building. He saw Katya, his only child and the only person he loved, with two friends, laughing, enjoying themselves. Katya was a lot like him, she had the same sense of humor, and the same intolerance for fools. Hess was sorry he had to leave her, regretted that he wouldn’t see her grow up. But he knew that like him, she was self-sufficient. When Katya put her mind to something she did it. This was his last opportunity to see her for a long time, maybe ever.
Hess removed the cap, rubbed his forehead and noticed the driver looking at him again, eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Take me to the railway station.”
“You look familiar. Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.”
On the way to the station, Hess saw the man glance at the passenger seat, reach over and unfold the newspaper. The driver looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me, I have to stop and make a phone call. I’ll deduct it from the fare.”
They were driving through the village of Schleissheim. He pulled over to the curb next to a small park with a fountain in the center and a bench occupied by an elderly couple in hats, gloves and overcoats. There was a phone booth at the entrance to the park. “I have a train to catch.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
Hess drew the silenced Walther and shot the driver twice through the seatback, the man falling against the steering wheel. He reached between the seats and grabbed the newspaper and saw his face on the front page. He pulled the man away from the wheel, tilting his body sideways across the seats. The train station was at the far end of town. He got out, glanced at the couple on the bench and started walking.