“Perhaps,” said Nuri.
“Of course a professional committed the crime,” said Frau Gerste. “But why? Helmut Dalitz did have some enemies, but hiring someone to murder him?”
“You don’t buy the mafia connection?” said Nuri.
She made a face. “Revenge for a heart attack? Would you commit murder for a heart attack?”
“Well, I wouldn’t commit murder,” said Nuri.
“If you were the mafia, would you hire another killer?”
“If they owed me money or a favor,” said Nuri.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Frau Gerste preferred a more local motive — a jilted lover, perhaps, though the investigation had not produced one. There were rumors that the victim saw prostitutes and had a gay lover.
Gregor nodded vigorously as Frau Gerste proffered the theories — none of which had any firm evidence to back them up. But they would be more acceptable to a German, thought Nuri; they were signs of personal disorder, which would explain the external disorder of murder.
“Could the murderer have been working with someone on the inside?” asked Gregor.
“The inside?”
“Someone who was part of his business. Who would know where the video cameras were and the security arrangements. His daughter? I heard he was with his daughter and her boyfriend.”
“The daughter was there. The boyfriend is no longer a boyfriend. We did check that possibility,” said Frau Gerste, nodding approvingly. “That is something we continue to explore. Jealousy from the boyfriend. Perhaps he wanted a fortune.”
The look in Frau Gerste’s eyes — approval — would have melted Nuri on the spot had it been directed at him. It had a distinctly sexual tinge to it.
Aimed at Gregor, it seemed almost immoral, even sacrilegious. Nuri felt his stomach turning, just a little.
“Of course, with a little bit of planning, then it would be possible to compute the lines of sight at the square,” said Frau Gerste. “No sources would be necessary.”
“Maybe he is on the tape from a few days before,” suggested Nuri, finally finding his tongue.
“We have thought of that. The tapes are kept for only forty-eight hours. There was nothing overly suspicious in that time.”
Nuri found himself staring at Frau Gerste’s profile. She wore her blond hair in a bob. Ordinarily not a perfect choice, he thought, though in this case she pulled it off.
And her breasts…
She turned suddenly to him.
“So why are two Bureau of Investigations agents interested?” asked Frau Gerste.
She gave him the look. It wasn’t really approval. It was… something more basic. Nuri, blood thumping in his temples, was temporarily tongue-tied.
“He’s not with the Bureau,” said Gregor.
“No?”
“I’m a liaison with State,” said Nuri, preferring not to use the words Central Intelligence Agency if at all possible. “We — there may be a national security connection.”
“National security? Because of the Wolves? Ah. So you believe that?”
He had Frau Gerste’s interest. Maybe he should admit to being with the CIA. Some women liked the excitement it implied.
“These things have to be checked,” said Nuri apologetically. “But we do have a lot of resources. Perhaps they can be of help.”
“What sort of resources?”
“DNA sampling. If you have something from the scene—”
“Nothing. We have our own labs. But we found nothing.”
“Well, if we had access to billing done in the area, we might be able to find a pattern,” offered Nuri.
“Billing?”
“Credit card payments, that sort of thing. Restaurants. See if the place was under surveillance. The person or persons might have bought something in the area. It’d be a long shot.”
“German law makes that difficult to obtain,” said Frau Gerste. Indeed it did, which was why he had to ask; the credit card companies would not simply part with the information, even to their American counterparts. “And that would be a needle in the haystack, I think you say.”
God, she was beautiful, even when she was skeptical. What is it exactly, he wondered. Her blue eyes? They were set perfectly apart. Her nose — not too big, not too small. The lips were a little full, but that only sealed the deal.
Her face was unblemished and, surprisingly given her job, unwrinkled. And her breasts — not large, actually, but high and seemingly firm under her very proper blouse.
“Thank you for your time,” said Gregor, starting to rise.
“You said that someone may have checked the video cameras,” said Nuri. “I’d like to look at them myself. And the funeral. Was there anything unusual about the funeral?”
“Only the flowers.”
“Flowers?”
“The dead roses. It is not clear whether they were deliberate or not.”
“Would you happen to know the shop that sent them?” he asked.
A dozen black, withered roses had been sent to the funeral. The state of the roses wasn’t a matter of poor service — they’d been ordered that way.
Nuri talked Frau Gerste into taking him to the shop to see the owner. He was hoping Gregor would beg off because of her allegedly heavy schedule, but no such luck — she not only came, but insisted on driving. That left him in the back, slowly getting intoxicated on the scent of Frau Gerste’s perfume.
The scent was hard to describe. A kind of exotic lilac thing. Spicy, yet sweet.
Like her, no doubt. He wondered what kind of lingerie she preferred.
“It’s not the strangest order he’s ever had, especially for a funeral,” Frau Gerste translated as they interviewed the owner of the small shop. “One time he had to make a delivery with several mice’s heads. He doesn’t like to do it, but for the extra fee…”
“Can I get a copy of the invoice, or order, or whatever?” asked Nuri.
“I can’t order him to give it,” said Gerste.
“But he could give it to us voluntarily, right?” he asked.
“The laws regarded evidence in court—”
“But they apply to you,” said Nuri. “Not me. And if I then made a copy available to you…”
“I don’t know…”
“If the information came from the FBI,” suggested Gregor, “then it would be usable.”
“Hmmmmph,” said Frau Gerste.
The order had come through an e-mail system. The owner printed it out. Nuri took it, then asked if there was a small office where he could use the phone. He wanted privacy, not the line — he pulled the headset for the MY-PID out and connected to the computer network.
“Good morning, Nuri,” said the computer.
“Working on the personality modules again?” asked Nuri.
“Please repeat request.”
“I need this order tracked.” Nuri read in the particulars. The computer took several seconds before telling him that the order had come from a shop in Naples.
“Any known mafia connection?” asked Nuri.
It was another few seconds before the computer answered. The shop’s owners had been named in two different indictments related to La Costra Nostra.
When Nuri came out of the office, Frau Gerste and Gregor were nodding solemnly as the owner of the shop told them, in German, about the fine points of caring for freshly cut flowers. It was all in the water, he said, and in the angle of the cut.
Nuri would have been content to let the conversation continue — it gave him a good chance to watch Frau Gerste surreptitiously — but Gregor noticed him gawking and abruptly asked him if he’d discovered anything.