Skinner shook his head. 'No, Brian'll have lined it all up by now. But what I can and will do, once I've seen the girl, is get to that bank in Amsterdam as fast as I can, even if the local law has to drive us.'
`Will you come back here?'
Skinner shook his head. 'No, I think this investigation's moving back towards my patch. You've still got to tie Inch's accident, and Alberni's dodgy suicide, to Vaudan, if you can. But me, I'm off down another trail!'
Sixty-one
It was a very smart hotel located in the heart of Hamburg's main business district, with the well-polished look of private ownership rather than the glitz of a major chain. Its furnishings were opulent, and its staff had the air of people who knew that they were there not simply to serve, but to care.
Skinner and Mackie sat in the coffee shop and waited for Hilda Braun to join them. A German detective, who had met them at the airport, sat alongside. However, they had already discovered that his interpretative skills would not be needed. Not unexpectedly for a big-city hotel receptionist, the woman turned out to be multilingual.
They rose as she approached. She fitted the shorthand description which Skinner had been given. Busty, and with a crest of soft, well-groomed red hair, she came to the table still wearing her receptionist smile, but with curiosity and concern showing in her eyes.
The three men continued standing as she reached the table. The German moved round and drew out for her the fourth chair. As she sat down, he poured her coffee from a large chrome Thermos pot.
`Thank you for joining us, Miss Braun,' said Skinner. 'Let me explain why we are here. My colleague here on my left and I are involved in an international investigation of what could be a very big crime indeed. This gentleman,' he nodded to his right, 'is from the police in Hamburg. He is helping us today.'
'I see. And why do you need to talk to me?' Her smile had gone. Only the concern remained.
`In the course of our investigation, we are watching a number of people. A couple of days ago, one of them made a trip to Hamburg: a very short trip. He flew here, he met with you, and then he flew away again. His name is Serge Lucan. We'd like you to tell us what you talked about.'
The girl took a sip of coffee. Skinner noticed that her hand was trembling slightly. She sat silent for a few seconds, as if considering her reply. Then she looked up and across at Skinner.
`I have a boyfriend,' she began hesitantly. 'His name is Hansi. We have known each other for many years. We are both from Bremerhaven, quite near here. Hansi was. . had a little trouble a few years ago. When it was over, he decided that there was no future for him in Germany, and we agreed that he should go somewhere else to try to make a new start. We agreed that when he was established I would join him. Hansi was a sailor, on inshore boats mostly, so he decided to go to the south of France to look for work crewing on private yachts. He was only there for a few weeks when he called me to say that he had found a job with a man named Vaudan, as a crewman on yacht and cruiser charters around the Mediterranean. The pay was good, and he said that Vaudan had told him that there might be opportunities later for other work, with even better money. That was a few months ago. He has written regularly, but I have not seen him since then.'
She took another sip of coffee. The tremor was still there. The man you are talking about — Lucan. He called me one morning earlier this week. From the airport, he said. He said that he too worked for Monsieur Vaudan, and that he had a message for me from Hansi. I told him to come to the hotel. We met here. He said that Hansi had asked him to come. He gave me a letter from him, and he gave me twenty thousand Deutschmarks.
`Hansi's letter said that he had been given an even better job by Vaudan as a crewman on a big yacht which some man from the Middle East had chartered, but that the cruise was not just the Mediterranean; it was around the world, and could take up to two years. He said that the man from the Middle East was paying the crew directly, and that the money was crazy. Hansi asked me if I would bank some of it for him, and use any I needed for myself. He said that, as well as the twenty thousand, every six months while he was away I would receive another fifteen thousand. It would come through Monsieur Vaudan, by bank draft. Hansi asked me to give this man Lucan a note confirming that I had received the money. So I did. He said that I could write to him through Vaudan's office in Monaco.'
She took a third sip of coffee. Her hand was now steady. `That's all there was. Lucan finished his coffee and his strudel, and left. Does that help you?'
Skinner nodded. 'Yes, it helps me a lot. Do you still have Hansi's letter?'
She held up her handbag. 'Yes, in here.'
And what did you do with the money?'
'I opened a bank account the same day. Now, what is this about, please?'
Skinner held up a hand. 'I'll tell you, Miss Braun, but first I want you to give me Hansi's letter. My German colleague here will give you a receipt if you wish one.'
She looked at him with a touch of fear in her eyes, seeming to clutch her bag tighter than before.
`Miss Braun, you haven't told us Hansi's surname. So I'll tell you: it's Gruber. I've met him. In a prison in Barcelona. He's being held there in connection with the death of a man in Spain. I expect that he will be charged with murder. The money that he is being paid is to keep him quiet while he's inside. But I don't imagine they'll pay it for too long. It'll be cheaper to arrange for him to have an accident in jail, or to commit suicide in his cell. I know Vaudan, too. He's very good at arranging accidents and suicides.'
Hilda Braun seemed to sag back in her chair. Tears ran down her face. She held a hand to her mouth, shaking her head slightly as if to deny the truth of what Skinner was saying.
`I'm sorry to have to hit you with this, but there was no way I could edge up to it. Look, do you want to help Hansi?'
She nodded.
`Well, there might be a chance. But,I want you to give me that letter, and to write me another one.'
Sixty-two
The oriental girl spread herself against the window, beckoning to Skinner and Mackie as they walked past. Her tiny bra and G-string were almost the same yellowish colour as her skin. Mackie, in spite of himself, looked towards her. The beckoning grew even more insistent.
`Want me to wait for you, Brian?' Skinner asked with a grin.
The slim detective shook himself theatrically and forced himself to move on. 'Christ, sir, are they all like that?'
`From what I remember, most of them just sit there in their Marks amp; Spencer bras and knickers, looking bored. That lass must have been working on her sales technique.'
`I once had a girlfriend,' said Mackie, 'who had one of those big Garfield cats stuck halfway up her bedroom window. That's what that one there reminds me of, pressed against the glass like that'
`You'd be a lot safer shaggin' Garfield than her,' Skinner muttered grimly.
`You been to Amsterdam often, boss?' Mackie asked.
`Once,' said Skinner. 'About fifteen years ago. I'd been a good boy or something, and my boss fixed it for me to be liaison man with the local police on a football trip. The local lads gave me the grand tour of the canal district. And before you ask, the answer's "Mind your own business".' He grinned at a sudden memory. 'Actually, to tell the truth, there was this Dutch lady detective in their squad. I really fancied her, so the last thing I was going to do was let her see me taking any interest in the women in the windows!'
`How did you do there, then?' asked Mackie, amused by this sudden burst of frankness from his boss.
Skinner smiled again. 'The answer's still "Mind your own business". It was a long time ago. Don't know what I'd do if I met her here today, though.'