"There is no doubt, Herr Carter… natural causes, a heart attack."
"But the scratches…"
"Made by a woman, and probably just before he died," Reimer replied.
"That would agree with the Italian's story."
"Yes."
"And if there was a woman, and a struggle," Carter said, "it could have brought on the heart attack?"
"Possibly."
"I would like to talk to the Italian."
"He is there, in the sitting room."
Carter moved through the door, nodded to a young officer who left at once, and turned to face Antonio Montanno.
He was about twenty, tall, broad-shouldered, with black curly hair and the chiseled good looks that Italian sculptors had glorified down through the ages.
"I'd like to hear your story," Carter said, lighting a cigarette.
"I've already told it ten times."
"Tell it again, to me."
Montanno sighed and began to mumble it out once more.
"Herr Hessling called the Golden Calf. He wanted me to drop by the house."
"Why?"
"To meet a woman."
"What woman?"
"I don't know. He didn't say."
"Why?"
The young man shrugged, his face flushing. "Who knows? I got here, rang the bell. No answer. I went back to the Calf and called. No answer. That's very unusual for Herr Hessling. I got worried. I came back, climbed the fence, let myself in through one of the windows, and found him. I was afraid — that's why I didn't call the police until this evening."
Carter crushed out the cigarette. "I don't think so. I think you're very handsome. I think Hessling sent for you because he wanted a homosexual affair. I think you turned him down. You fought. You scratched his face, and he had a heart attack and died. It's not exactly murder, but I think the police could make a manslaughter case out of it."
Montanno was laughing. "Hessling might have been a pervert, but he was no homosexual."
"Then why did he ask you over here in the middle of the night?"
"I told you, to meet a woman." His fingers were twisting against each other now, and his eyes were darting around the room, hitting everything but Carter's face.
"Just to meet her?"
He shrugged.
"Why don't you tell me, Tony? Reimer doesn't give a damn about you, and neither do I. We're after something a lot bigger."
Carter could see the turmoil in his young face. Suddenly the broad shoulders sagged and he sat back in the couch.
"All right. He wanted me to make love to this woman. Once or twice a month for the last year, he would call the Calf and have me come over. There would always be a girl. She and I would make love while Hessling watched."
"Did he pay you?"
"Yes. Always a hundred marks."
"And the woman?"
"Sometimes."
"What does that mean?"
Another shrug. "Most of the time they were street girls or from one of the clubs. They would always get a hundred marks, too. Other times… well, they were different."
"How?"
"Jesus, man…"
"How, Tony?"
"They… they hated it. It was like he was forcing them and I was raping them."
"Like he had something on them and this was how they kept him quiet?"
"Could be."
"Okay, Tony. Now, this morning… was there anything different about this morning?"
The young man thought for a minute, and nodded. "From the sound of it, I was going to get a lot more than a hundred marks. This one was something special. From the way he drooled on the phone, it sounded like she was a movie star or something."
Carter stood. "Okay, kid. I think you're clean. Just tell Reimer everything you've told me, and I don't think you'll have any problems. He moved away, and then remembered. "What do you know about Gertrude Klammer?"
"Not much. She runs the Calf and the hotel, answers only to Hessling… answered only to Hessling."
"Do you suppose Hessling had anything on her?"
Montanno smiled. This time it was genuine. "Hessling had something on everybody who worked for him. If it wasn't enough, he added bonus money to get them to do anything he wanted."
"Could Gertrude Klammer have been the woman?"
"It's possible, I suppose, but I doubt it. Hessling liked them fairly young and beautiful."
Carter nodded. "One more thing. Were there ever repeaters… the same girl or woman twice?"
"Never."
Carter briefed Reimer and asked for a complete checkout on Gertrude Klammer, telling him about her odd behavior that night at the Golden Calf.
"But don't pick her up… not yet. Are the phones clean?"
"Ja, go ahead."
He called the hospital. There was no change with Lisa Berrington.
Horst Vintner wasn't at SSD headquarters.
Erhanee picked up on the first ring when Carter dialed the private World Bank number the Indian had given him.
"You're burning the midnight oil."
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
"How's it going?"
"Much better than I expected, but Protec is big. The printout will be longer than War and Peace, but I think I can have it for you by tomorrow afternoon."
"Good. What about the other matter?"
"Just as I thought. No way to get to the old man unless you go through the son, Erich Voigt."
"Where would I find him this time of night?"
"He has an office above a sleaze joint called the Bavarian. Number Ten Knesebeck Strasse, off the Ku'Damm."
"Is everything just off the Ku'Damm?"
"Everything sleazy is," Erhanee said with a chuckle. "According to my sources, this is about the time every night that Voigt counts the day's take."
"Thanks. See you."
Carter returned to Reimer. "You mentioned that you were going to keep Hessling's death under wraps for a few days?"
"If I can," the man said. "With him dead, it might be a good opportunity to scrape up a lot of dirt."
"What if Hans-Otto Voigt knew about it?"
Reimer's face screwed up into a look of pain. "He'd mobilize his troops to take over Hessling's territory as soon as we backed out."
"Would you mind if I tell him?"
Reimer smiled. "Will it do you some good?"
"It might."
"Go ahead. Voigt will find it out before the papers get it anyway. Sad as it is, he's probably got someone in the department."
"And along with the Hessling file, can you get me everything on Voigt?"
"Ja, I'll send it over to your hotel in the morning."
"Danke… a lot."
Carter headed for the door. The little man in the back of his mind was pounding, telling him that there was a connection between the try on Conway, the death of Delaine, and Oskar Hessling.
Dieter Klauswitz was dozing in a chair by the window, the radio a soft hum behind him, when the knock came on the door.
"Yes?"
"Security, Herr Klein. Could we speak to you for a moment?"
There was a second of panic when he first leaped for the door. But he quickly calmed. He was an American businessman. Everything was completely in order.
He opened the door.
There were two of them, in plain clothes. Over their shoulders he saw two Vopos with their banana-clipped rifles across their chests. That was nothing to get alarmed about. They were everywhere, and they probably slept with their rifles.
"What can I do for you?"
"Routine, Herr Klein. Could I see your papers, please?"
They moved forward into the room without being asked, forcing Klauswitz to move with them.
"My passport and entrance visa are at the desk."
"We know that, Herr Klein. Could we see your currency declaration, please?"
"Of course." He fished it from his briefcase and passed it over.
The man perused it, then moved to the bed. "Would you lay out your currency so we may compare it, please?"