“I am afraid I don’t, but please, come in.”
They followed her into the house and dodged around the boxes in the hallway. She had gone straight into the kitchen, and they followed her, both getting a feel for the house as they went. The woman was classy, but a little needy. Günther made a note to make a break for it as soon as she had answered his questions.
“Tea? We brought it with us from England.”
“Yes, thank you. Mrs Jarvis, can I ask you a few questions?”
“Yes, of course, but I don’t think I will be of much help. I have never met Mrs Petersen. We got the house from her husband. They are separated, you know. Shame, really—it’s such a lovely place.”
Lisa busied herself with the tea, PG Tips, in a porcelain teapot.
Not exactly British aristocracy, but they were German, so they wouldn’t know the difference.
She smiled at them, and, taking the tray with cups, saucers, sugar, milk, and the teapot, she made her way into the lounge.
“Thank you,” they each said as she offered them a cup.
“Milk and sugar?”
“Milk, please.”
Monika declined with a wave of her hand and sat back to watch her boss work.
Lisa poured the milk from the teapot’s matching jug and gave him one of her best smiles. This was a welcome break, dealing with someone else’s problems, instead of her own.
“Mrs Jarvis, I hope I can count on your discretion. We are investigating the Company that Mr Petersen works for. Mrs Petersen has sent us some information we are eager to follow up on. For obvious reasons, it would be better if Mr Petersen, and anyone else from the Company, remain unaware of our interest at this time.”
Lisa got that bad feeling again.
“My husband works for the Company.” She blurted this out, rather than saying it. “But he has only just started; two weeks ago. That’s why we have just moved in.”
“Okay, your husband is in no way involved, but it would still be better if you didn’t tell him about my visit either, please.”
Then the cookie dropped; Müller looked up and gave her a quizzical look.
“Is your husband the gentleman from Prince Regent Street Underground?”
“Yes, yes. That’s him.”
“That’s a very brave thing he did, Mrs Jarvis. You must be very proud.”
“I thought it was bloody stupid!”
They all laughed, Lisa covering her mouth with embarrassment at what had just burst out.
“No, don’t get me wrong, I am proud. Of course I am proud. But it was completely out of character. Even he didn’t know what came over him.” Smiling again, she took another sip of tea and sat back in the leather sofa.
“And where is Mr Jarvis now?”
“He is away on business. I am not expecting him back for quite some time, as he has to visit the Company’s assets all over the world.”
Interpol had already sent Müller a list of all Meyer-Hofmann’s business interests, and it was a long list. They had also sent him a list of deaths and suicides of company employees in the last twelve months. That made disturbing reading, especially when you looked at the people’s heredity.
“Mrs Jarvis, I cannot tell you what we are investigating at this stage, but if you notice anything unusual, anything at all, please get in touch with us.”
He handed her a card and made to stand up. She reached over, immediately catching his thigh and motioning for him to sit down.
“My husband has being acting crazy ever since we arrived here.” Again, she blurted the sentence out.
Müller looked confused but sat back down.
“Please, whatever you have to tell me, continue.”
“The Underground. The speech at the Town Hall in German. He doesn’t speak German! He was ill, and he told me he had been drugged.” Müller pulled a notepad from his pocket.
“Slowly, now, who drugged your husband?”
“I don’t know, but it can only have happened at the club, the one on Gallery Street.”
“Your husband told you this?”
“Yes, but then he denied it. God, it’s all so mad. He is just not himself—he is aggressive and loud and obnoxious.”
“Maybe it’s just the pressure of the move?”
“No, no, he is used to pressure, but he has never acted this way before. I feel like I don’t know him anymore. Someone has done something to him, given him something.” Her tone was pleading, and her hand was back on his thigh.
If Müller could have a Euro for every time he had heard the line, “my husband doesn’t understand me” in his career. Another marriage gone sour. People going their separate ways. He doubted it had anything to do with the Petersen case. But the idea that he might have been drugged was intriguing.
“Mrs Jarvis, I don’t know what all this means, or whether it has any bearing on our investigation. But I will most certainly bear it in mind. If you think of anything else, you know where to get me. Now, unfortunately, we really have to get back to the station and try to determine the whereabouts of Mrs Petersen.” Standing in unison, the officers moved briskly towards the door. Looking over his shoulder, Günther could see Lisa Jarvis had not moved and was staring blankly at the carpet under the coffee table.
25
Heinz Hofmann prepared himself for another night in the basement of the Company’s club in the Odeonsplatz. He had insisted that they make no fuss, and was bunking in one of the guard’s rooms on a portable steel bed. He had thought about a hotel outside of the city, but that would mean a commute that he was keen to avoid. The club provided him with everything he needed, food, water, and a bed. All that, and access to all the Company’s records. He had taken to studying them long into the night, as the nights were the worst. Sitting in the interrogation room, leaning against the chair with a needle in his right arm, the doctor standing over him, he was feeling anything but confident about the final outcome of his metamorphosis.
“Why is this taking so long, Doctor? Shouldn’t Jarvis be losing touch by now?”
“This is not an exact science, Herr Hofmann. You must be patient.”
“I have no time for patience. There is too much to be done—I don’t have time for this shit. Can’t you just up the dosage or something?”
“It is not a question of the dosage, but finding the best strain of the virus to change the DNA and destroy his memory synapses. It would seem that Jarvis’s memory has wired itself unconventionally. It should be responding to treatment, but it appears to have multiple synapses to the same memory chain. As we destroy one, it opens another. I believe that your old memory is almost totally regenerated. The problem is, that Jarvis’s memory has not been destroyed. He must have suffered some very intense emotional trauma in early life; that is the only explanation for all this. Extreme emotional arousal can cause memories to become far more intense and deep-rooted.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
Ecker bent over to take the needle out of Hofmann’s left arm; as he did, Hofmann grabbed his arm, squeezing down with enormous force.
“Aghh, Herr Hofmann!” Ecker bleated.
“Listen to me, Furtner. Get this sorted, and get it sorted quickly—nobody is irreplaceable!”
“I will, I will. Tomorrow, I want to try four new strains. We will get this done. We will defeat him. Trust me, please.”
Hofmann released him, and Ecker stumbled backwards, rubbing his left arm as he went. Then, regaining his composure, he straightened himself.
“Herr Hofmann, the human brain is capable of housing anything up to a 1,000 terabytes of memory, and has over a trillion synaptic connections. It is not a simple rewiring job! The neurons in Jarvis’s brain are creating new synapses, connecting your memories and forgetting his. They have been responsible for your rebirth, but if you feel you have someone better qualified… ” Ecker didn’t wait for a reply. Leaving Hofmann with the needle still in his arm, he turned and left the room.