She had the kind of haunting face and sensuous figure that drew and held men's eyes. Carter was no different.
Only when the voices of Vintner and Stephan Conway were raised in anger was the Killmaster's concentration drawn back to the two men.
"As mundane as this questioning may seem to you, Herr Conway, I assure you it is not. Now, will you please tell me about the blackmail attempt?"
Conway furrowed his wide brow and looked to his attorneys. There must have been some imperceptible nod of agreement, because he started to talk.
"When I was a student I joined a couple of left-wing organizations. It was one of those idealistic college things," he said with a shrug. "When I found out that they were Communist connected, I got out. It's as simple as that."
Vintner nodded. "But obviously someone remembered."
"Yes. I was contacted by a man in San Francisco and shown some petitions I had signed years ago. I was told the material would be suppressed if I agreed to sell certain electronics technology and equipment to a firm here in West Germany."
"And?"
"And I told them to go to hell."
"So those petitions were given to the American FBI."
"Yes."
"And you were investigated?"
"I was, and cleared. I don't see what this has to do with the attempt on my life."
"Perhaps nothing, perhaps something." Vintner said evenly. "Do you know of anyone who would want your wife killed?"
"Of course not! She didn't have an enemy in the world."
"But there were threats against your life."
"Yes."
"When?"
"The morning we got to Berlin."
"How?… Letters? Someone came to you?"
Conway hesitated. Again a quick look at his people. Vintner didn't catch it. He was looking down at his notes. Carter did. The eye contact was directly with Ursula Rhinemann.
"No, it was a phone call, here at the hotel."
"And what did they want?"
"The same thing, electronics. I think it's the damned Commies."
Vintner shifted gears. "I have a statement here from your sister-in-law, Ms. Lisa Berrington, that states that you and your wife were on the verge of divorce."
"Preposterous!" Conway thundered, jumping to his feet. "Lisa's a bitch! She has never liked me, and has always done everything in her power to split us up! Oh, Delaine and I had our arguments, but what couple doesn't?"
"I see." Vintner sighed. He gathered his papers and stood. "When will you be leaving Germany, Herr Conway?"
"I know my dear wife would want me to go on with my work. I am scheduled to speak in Munich in four days. I shall probably leave Berlin that morning."
"Thank you for your cooperation."
The steno was already out the door. Carter fell in step behind her, and then stopped.
"Herr Conway, I wonder if I could ask you one more question?" Carter spoke English with a heavy German accent.
"What is it?"
"Do you know a man by the name of Oskar Hessling?"
The man was a good actor, but the question had come out of left field, a direction he had not fully prepared to defend.
There was ever so slight a twitch at the right eye, a little breath, and the start of another look at the woman, which he arrested just in time.
"No, I've never heard the name."
"I see. Danke."
Vintner was the first to speak in the elevator. "What do you think?"
"I think he's guilty as sin," Carter replied.
Vintner nodded. "So do I, but it will be hard to prove without the shooter or the man who hired him. It's a pretty elaborate scam just to get rid of one's wife. Almost unbelievable."
"I have a theory," Carter said. "The blackmail was for real. Conway wants to get rid of his wife, so he used it to promote rumors that he's about to be hit, but the target is really the wife."
"Like I say," Vintner replied, "pretty elaborate and farfetched. And damned hard to prove."
"Maybe." Carter turned to the blond stenographer. "I saw you staring at the tall, dark-haired woman. Do you know her?"
The girl nodded. "Her name is Ursula Rhinemann. A few years ago her picture was on every magazine cover in Germany. She was a fashion model. She is even more beautiful now."
"What's her connection with Conway?"
Vintner consulted a printout of Protec's administrative staff. "She's head of public relations for Europe."
"That's a hell of a job for a fashion model," Carter quipped.
Vintner shrugged. "Not if she's got brains as well as beauty. It might be a plus. What are you thinking?"
"An old-fashioned, very simple triangle."
"With Ursula Rhinemann as the other woman?" Vintner said, his bushy eyebrows arching.
"You saw her. What do you think?"
Vintner nodded. "I'll put a team on her."
Bruchner awaited them at the car, smiling. "We've got the motorcycle! A young punk was picked up for speeding on Bismarck Strasse. He admits stealing it from a garage in Wedding."
"Any chance he's our shooter?"
Bruchner shook his head. "None. He's a petty thief, long record, but not capable of this. A team has already interrogated the neighbors around Wiebe Strasse. An old man remembers the biker going into the garage on the BMW and coming back out in a white Mercedes."
"License number? Description of the driver?"
Bruchner's face fell. "No tag number, and all he remembers is that the driver was blond."
"At least it's a start," Carter said, crawling into the car. "Drop me at Tessiner Stuben. I have a meeting with a man who might have some answers."
Ten
"Fräulein Klammer?"
"Ja." Gertrude Klammer's palms, holding the door open a crack, were sweating. This woman wasn't from the Ku'Damm, but she didn't look like police, either.
"I would like to talk to you, Fräulein Klammer."
"I am busy now."
The white Mercedes was due back at Tegel. She hadn't gotten the call to pick it up. She didn't know where to pick it up. She didn't know what to do. Was this woman from Europa?
"I would like to talk to you about a white Mercedes, Fräulein Klammer."
Gertrude Klammer's face went as white as the car. "Are you from Europa?"
"No, Fräulein Klammer. I have something I want you to read."
A paper was passed through the crack. Gertrude read it and sagged against the wall, letting the door swing wide.
"Mein Gott…"
The woman had entered and closed the door behind her. "I want you to sign that paper, Fräulein Klammer."
"But this is a confession! It says I helped an assassin escape!"
"You did, Fräulein Klammer, when you rented the Mercedes and left it in the Wiebe Strasse garage."
"Who are you, police?"
"No. It doesn't matter who I am. We have this knowledge, and we have uses for it. I assure you, Fräulein Klammer, we have no intention of using it against you."
"But I didn't even know it was Oskar Hessling who hired me!"
"We know that. Just sign, Fräulein Klammer. And if you should want to leave Berlin…"The woman placed a stack of one-thousand-mark notes and a pen on the table. "Sign, Fräulein Klammer."
Gertrude Klammer could feel her pulse racing. "I have no choice, do I?"
"None. If you don't, a copy of that will be mailed to the SSD. It will only be a matter of time."
Gertrude sat and, with a quivering hand, signed the paper.
She barely felt the thin piano wire touch her throat before she was gasping out her last breath.
The restaurant was rosy in the glow of the midafternoon sun. It smelled of fresh flowers and good food. Carter ordered a drink, a beer, and a double order of turbot with leeks en papillote.