Heckholz grinned and stood up. “I should have realized the difficulty of trying to trick a famous detective from the Alex.”
“No, that’s remarkably easy. You just send them a hundred marks in an envelope.”
“Lilly, darling, will you please come in here?”
A minute later the redhead was in the meeting room. She was taller than I had supposed, with larger breasts, and as Heckholz made the introductions she took my hand as if she’d been handing alms to Lazarus.
“Herr Gunther, this is Frau Minoux.”
“That’s a bad habit, Frau Minoux. Listening outside doors like that.”
“I wanted to see what kind of man you are before I made my mind up about you.”
“And what’s the conclusion?”
“I still haven’t decided.”
“You’re not alone there.”
“Anyway, it’s a bad habit I learned from you, Herr Gunther. It was you my husband paid to spy on me at my home in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, wasn’t it? When was that exactly?”
I nodded. “Nineteen thirty-five.”
“Nineteen thirty-five.” Frau Minoux rolled her eyes and sighed. “So much has happened since then.”
“Well, I guess he didn’t find anything,” Heckholz told her, “otherwise you’d hardly be here now, would you? Still married to Friedrich.”
“You’d have to ask Herr Gunther that,” said Frau Minoux.
“I didn’t find anything, no. But strictly speaking, Frau Minoux, I never actually listened outside your door. As it happens, I subcontracted the job in Garmisch to a local detective — an Austrian named Max Ahrweiler. He was the one who was looking through your keyhole, not me.”
Frau Minoux sat down, and as she crossed her legs the wraparound dress she was wearing fell from her thigh to reveal a lilac-colored garter; I turned politely away to give her time to fix this but when I looked again, I could still see the garter. I told myself that if she didn’t mind me looking then I didn’t mind, either. It was a nice garter. But the length of smooth, creamy white thigh over which it was stretched was better. She screwed a cigarette into her holder and allowed Heckholz to light her.
“Is it Arabian Nights?” he asked. “The perfume you’re wearing, Lilly? Just out of interest.”
“Yes,” she said.
Heckholz put away his lighter and looked at me. “I’m impressed. You have a good nose, Herr Gunther.”
“Don’t be. My nose for perfume is the same as the one I use for trouble. And right now I’m getting a strong scent of it from both of you.”
But I sat down anyway. It wasn’t like I had very much to do at home except stare at the walls and sleep, and I’d already done quite enough of that at work.
“Please,” she said. “Put the money back in your pocket and at least hear us out.”
I nodded and then did as she had asked.
“First,” said Heckholz, “I should explain that my main offices are in Austria, which is where Frau Minoux is still primarily a resident. However, she also rents a house here in Berlin-Dahlem. I act for both her and for Herr Minoux, who is of course currently languishing in Brandenburg Prison. I take it that you’re familiar with the basic facts of the Berlin Gas Company case.”
“He and two others defrauded the company of seven and a half million reichsmarks and now he’s doing five years.” I shrugged. “But before that he helped steal a company — the Okriftel Paper Company — from a family of Jews in Frankfurt.”
“That company had already been Aryanized by the Frankfurt Chamber of Commerce,” said Frau Minoux. “All Friedrich did was buy a company the owners were legally obliged to sell.”
“Maybe. But if you ask me, he had it coming. That’s what I know about Herr Friedrich Minoux.”
Frau Minoux didn’t flinch. Clearly she was made of stronger stuff than her husband. For a minute I let my imagination play around in her pants; maybe they smell something in the air, but it’s surprising how often women guess what I’m up to; it’s a technique I use sometimes to let them know that I’m a man. But she finally woke up to the fact that she was showing a garter and tugged the dress back over her thigh.
“The rights and wrongs of the Berlin Gas Company case are not in dispute,” said Heckholz. “And it might interest you to know that several million reichsmarks have already been repaid by the three convicted men. No, it’s what happened afterwards that is a matter of some concern to the Minouxes. Are you perhaps acquainted with a Berlin private detective by the name of Arthur Müller?”
“I know him.”
“Tell me about him, if you would.”
“He’s efficient. A little lacking in imagination. Used to be a cop at the Police Praesidium here in Charlottenburg, but he’s from Bremen, I think. He got stabbed in the neck by an SA man once, so he has no great love for the Nazis. Getting stabbed — sometimes it just works that way. Why?”
“Herr Müller’s currently engaged by the Berlin Gas Company to find out if Herr Minoux has any hidden assets in the hope that even more money can be recovered from him. And more pertinently, Frau Minoux also. To this end he and his own operatives have been keeping Frau Minoux and her daughter Monika under surveillance at her home here in Berlin and at Frau Minoux’s home in Garmisch. And very likely this office, as well.”
“There’s a man watching your front door. But it’s certainly not Arthur Müller. This fellow looks like he learned the job from reading Emil and the Detectives. My guess is that he’s keeping a mark on you while Arthur gets some sleep.”
“We assumed the Gestapo might also be involved until you explained the position with regard to telephone tapping. So then. The plain fact of the matter is that Frau Minoux has substantial works of art and furnishings of her own that were in the matrimonial home in Wannsee that she has been obliged to hide at a warehouse in Lichtenberg, for fear that these would also be confiscated by the government.”
“I begin to see your problem.”
“Would you say that Herr Müller was honest?”
“I know what it used to mean. To be honest. But I’ve got no idea what it means today. At least not in Germany.”
“Could he be bribed, perhaps?”
“Maybe. I guess it would depend on the bribe. If it was ten thousand reichsmarks then the answer would almost certainly be yes, possibly. Who wouldn’t? But it makes me wonder why it’s my nose you’re riffling these bills in front of and not his.”
“Because he’s only half the problem, Herr Gunther. Have you heard of a company called Stiftung Nordhav?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t hang around the Börse Berlin. I was never much interested in the financial pages. And the only figures I’m interested in are wearing swimsuits right now. Or not. Depending on which end of the beach they like.”
Heckholz lit a small cigar and, smiling, puffed it lightly, as if he liked the taste more than the sensation it delivered.
“This isn’t the kind of company that has a listing. It’s a so-called charitable foundation that was set up by your old boss, Reinhard Heydrich, in 1939, ostensibly to build rest-and-recreation centers for members of the RSHA. In fact, it’s a very powerful company that makes all kinds of business deals designed to profit the directors, of whom Heydrich was the chairman. Since his death there are five directors left: Walter Schellenberg, Werner Best, Herbert Mehlhorn, Karl Wilhelm Albert, and Kurt Pomme. It was the Stiftung Nordhav that bought Herr Minoux’s Wannsee villa in November 1940 for 1.95 million reichsmarks, which was a great deal less than what it was worth. Most of that money was used by Herr Minoux to pay fines, compensation, and legal fees. Since then the Nordhav Foundation has bought several properties including Heydrich’s own summer home, in Fehmarn, using money stolen from disenfranchised and murdered Jews. It’s our strong suspicion that none of this money goes to the government and that all of it is used to benefit the remaining five directors.”