Dying to Tell (13 page)

"Where did you get that?"

"It must have fallen out of his coat while he was on the ground. He did not notice it. But I did."

"I don't remember you picking anything up."

"You were not at your most observant, Lance. Understandably. Fortunately..."

"Your night vision's on a par with your kick-boxing."

"It is Townley's lighter. That is what matters. It is evidence against him. And I can swear that I intervened to prevent him stabbing you."

"Swear? What are you talking about?"

"I am talking about how it would look for Townley if we reported this incident to the police."

"Are you crazy? How would it look for me! And how the bloody hell would it get us what we want the whereabouts of Townley senior?"

"You are not listening, Lance, we reported it to the police. Obviously we do not wish to do so. But it is a question of... pressure."

"Well, I've had enough pressure for one night."

"Likewise Townley, I would think. Where do you suppose he is now?"

I shrugged. "Soothing his bruised pride in some bar or other, trying not to worry about who we are and what we're up to -and what's become of his precious cigarette lighter."

"Not home with Mother?"

"I doubt it. He was just leading me on with that story of going round to see her."

"I doubt it also. Which means we have an opportunity to apply some pressure to Mrs. Townley, before her son can warn her against us."

"You don't mean '

"Yes, Lance." He had the temerity to smile at me. "We have a call to make."

Hashimoto's strategy, so he explained to me, was based on the reality of our situation. Rupe had been here before us, enabling Erich Townley to guess at once what I was up to. How much Erich knew wasn't clear, but his crack about Hashimoto being a "Jap' hadn't just been a racist jibe. It meant something to him. It was significant. And it blew our cover, such as it was. Softly, softly consequently wasn't going to catch our monkey. Which left what Hashimoto called 'the frontal approach'.

Number 85 Yorckstrasse was a classy-looking neo-Gothic apartment block, heavy on balconies, porticoes and reclining caryatids. The door a sumptuously carved affair was firmly closed. (Maybe Hashimoto had just got lucky earlier, or maybe the time had come for the securing of entrances; it was gone nine o'clock, after all.) Hashimoto pressed the Townleys' buzzer, got no prompt reply, then left his finger on it for just as long as it took half a minute or so for the entry-phone to splutter into life.

"Ja?"

"Frau Townley?"

"Ja." (The admission came slowly and cautiously.)

"Is Erich in?"

"He is not here." (The mixture of German and American in her accent made her tone hard to interpret.)

"We need to speak to you about Erich."

"Who are you?"

"He is in serious trouble, Frau Townley. It will become more serious if you do not speak to us."

'1 do not understand."

Then let us in. And we will explain."

"Go away."

"If we do, we will go to the police."

"Polizei? (Now she sounded worried.).

"They will arrest Erich."

"What for?"

"Let us in."

"Why should I?"

"Because you must. For Erich's sake."

There was a lengthy silence.

"Frau Townley?"

Then the door-release buzzed.

We climbed the broad, marble-treaded stairs past stained-glass landing windows to a tall, double-doored apartment entrance on the second floor. One of the doors stood ajar and peering at us through the gap as we approached was Rosa Townley.

She was no querulous, quavering old biddy, that was for sure. She wasn't as tall as her son, but I'd have bet she towered over most German women of her generation. She held herself well too, shoulders back, jaw square, eyes glaring above high cheekbones and a broad nose. Hers was the kind of face that actually improved with age. Her hair was thick, grey streaked with black, where once it must have been black streaked with grey and before that a pure raven black. Her clothes were black too a polo-necked sweater and trousers (cashmere and silk, I'd have guessed); simple but far from casual.

"Who are you?" she demanded, grasping the door handle firmly.

"My name is Miyamoto," said Hashimoto. (It was as much as I could do not to flinch with surprise. Had I missed the announcement that we'd be operating under aliases?) "This is Mr. Bradley." (Ah, so I apparently wasn't operating under one.)

"You are not friends of my son."

"Do you know all his friends, Frau Townley?"

"I know the type." (I silently thanked her for the backhanded compliment.)

"May we come in?"

"You have not stated your business."

"A cigarette lighter." Hashimoto held it up for her inspection. "Dropped by your son as he fled after I had intervened to prevent him stabbing Mr. Bradley."

"You are lying."

"No."

"What do you want?"

"We want to offer you a way to resolve this matter without reference to the police."

"Money?"

"No."

"What, then?"

"It is complicated." Hashimoto smiled at her. "Let us in and we will explain."

The drawing room was as elegant and uncluttered as I'd have expected of Rosa Townley's living space. Polished wood, soft leather and two gleaming chandeliers. You'd have had to call in Forensics to find a speck of dust. Even the King Charles spaniel who eyed us from a cushioned berth on the sofa looked as if he'd been recently shampooed. I didn't doubt this was Rosa's exclusive domain (shared with the dog, of course). Erich probably kept to his own contrastingly styled quarters. (I'd been worrying about what might happen if he returned while we were there, but, oddly, now I'd met his mother, I didn't feel worried at all.)

There was no invitation to sit. To do her justice, Rosa didn't show any inclination to sit down herself. She stationed herself by the fireplace and waited to hear what we had to say.

I scanned the mantelpiece behind her for family photographs. Not a one. But the mirror above it looked expensive. So did just about everything else in the room. Whatever the Townleys were short of, it wasn't money.

"Earlier this evening, Frau Townley," said Hashimoto, 'your son assaulted Mr. Bradley in Viktoriapark." (My God, the man even knew the name of the park. You couldn't fault him for thoroughness.) "He had his reasons, though he would find them difficult to explain to the police. They would probably infer ... a sexual motive. We could encourage them to do so if we wished. But we do not wish to do that. Unless you force us to."

"Tell me what you want." Her voice was hard and unwavering, her logic impeccable.

"We want to know where your husband is."

She should have looked taken aback. But there was no reaction. Maybe she'd seen it coming. "My husband is dead."

"We do not think so."

"He is dead."

"How do you finance your life here, Mrs. Townley?" I chipped in. "Not to mention Erich's?"

"What business is that of yours?"

"You don't work, I assume. And Erich certainly doesn't seem the industrious type. So, where's the money coming from? Oil-rich son-in-law? Maybe. Or maybe a not-so-dead husband."

"Rupert Alder came looking for your husband," said Hashimoto. "We know this. What did you tell him?"

"I have never heard of Rupert Alder."

"Your son has."

"Eloquent on the subject, he was," I helped out.

"It is simple, Frau Townley," said Hashimoto. "If your husband is dead, or if you continue to insist that he is, we will go to the police. But if he is alive, as we believe, and you are willing to tell us where we can find him .. ."

Without taking her eyes off us, Rosa stretched out a hand behind her to a silver box on the mantelpiece. She raised the lid on a neatly columned stack of cigarettes, took one out, put

11 s it to her lips and cocked her eyebrows at Hashimoto. He hesitated, then stepped forward, struck Erich's lighter at the second attempt and lit the cigarette.

We waited. Rosa inhaled deeply and exhaled with studied slowness. There was one more, shallower, draw on the cigarette before she said, "You do not understand."

"Make us," I challenged her.

"Mr. Alder came here, as you say, wanting to know how he could find Stephen."

"I thought you'd never heard of Rupe."

"That was untrue. I apologize. But your threats ... confused me." (She had a funny way of seeming confused.) "He came. Without threats."

"Really?"

"Without threats to Erich and me. As for Stephen, how can you threaten a dead man? I told Mr. Alder what I have told you. Stephen is dead."

"Did he believe you?"

"No. No more than you."

"Can't say I'm surprised."

"He wanted me to pass on a message to Stephen."

"What message?"

"He said he had a letter containing damaging information about Stephen's activities in the summer and fall of nineteen sixty-three. He refused to say what the information was. If Stephen wanted to prevent the contents of the letter becoming public, he was to contact Mr. Alder." She shrugged. "I told him there was nothing I could do. I told him Stephen was dead. He asked for proof. He expressed the same doubts as you."

"And you could prove it?"

"No. I have had no contact with my husband of any kind for the past thirty-eight years."

"Then you can't know he's dead, can you?"

"I know, Mr. Bradley." She did her considerable best to stare me down. "To my satisfaction."

"Based on what?"

She devoted a lengthy moment to her cigarette, then treated us to a heavy sigh. "Very well. I told Mr. Alder. I will tell you.

I have a friend from childhood Hilde Voss. She came to my wedding. She knew Stephen well. She knew him before he ... lost himself." (I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but it seemed best to let her continue.) "Hilde still lives in Berlin. I see her often. She is a good friend. But there is something you must understand about her. She has .. . second sight."

"Oh for God's '

"It is true. It has many times been demonstrated. Whether you believe it or not is unimportant. It is true. Hilde wrote to me a long time ago, when I was still living in the United States, to tell me that she had ... seen Stephen's death."

"Where?" asked Hashimoto. "When?"

Rosa looked at him witheringly. "I did not mean seen literally. Hilde has .. . astral vision."

"Well," I prompted, 'what did she see ... astrally?"

"Stephen died. Violently, nearly thirty years ago."

"Care to be more precise?"

"I cannot be. Hilde wrote to me ... some time in nineteen seventy-two. That is all."

"And that's all you told Rupe?"

"There was nothing more I could tell him. He still did not believe me, of course."

"Of course."

"So, he went to see Hilde. She told me later of his visit. I did not hear from him again."

"Come off it."

"I did not hear from him again, Mr. Bradley."

"What did Hilde say about his visit?"

"She said she thought she had convinced him."

"Convinced him? Come on. You surely don't expect me to swallow that."

"I have no expectation either way."

' We will see Frau Voss," said Hashimoto.

"Please do. I can give you her address and telephone number. As I gave them to Mr. Alder."

"Hold on." It was all too pat. And in one important respect it just didn't fit. "Why was Erich so hostile if Rupe's visit turned out as innocently as you say?"

"Perhaps you annoyed him. Erich is ... easily annoyed."

"He tried to kill me."

"No, no. He must have meant merely to frighten you. That is all."

"You weren't there."

"No. But you are here, alive and well."

"Only because '

"Excuse me," Hashimoto interrupted. "This is pointless. We will speak to Frau Voss. After that ... I do not know. We still have Erich's cigarette lighter. Do not forget that, Frau Townley. If you leave us no alternative, we will go to the police with it."

"I understand."

"I doubt Frau Voss will be able to convince us."

"And I doubt she convinced Rupe," I put in.

"You doubt," said Rosa, giving me a contemptuous glare through a plume of cigarette smoke. "Yes. That is certainly clear."

CHAPTER EIGHT

I made it to the bar of the Adlon in the end. So did Hashimoto. As it happened, he might have been better off leaving me to it, because I was soon in the mood to tell him how badly I thought he'd managed the evening. And he, fair-minded fellow that he was, felt compelled to agree.

"Rosa Townley is a cunning woman, Lance. I wanted above all to avoid giving her time to think. But that is exactly what she has achieved by referring us to her friend the clairvoyant. It is not how I had expected it to be."

"Nothing's been how I expected since we arrived," I complained. "I could have died tonight."

"I would never have allowed Erich Townley to harm you."

"What if you'd lost us in the dark?"

"I did not lose you."

"You promised, before we left London, that we'd do nothing without discussing it first."

"There is such a thing ... as seizing the initiative."

"In that case, I suggest we go to the police without waiting to hear what Madame Blavatsky has to say. How'd that be for seizing the initiative?"

"It would not be wise."

"He held a knife to my throat, Kiyo. That's the sort of thing you're supposed to report to the police."

"He never actually."

"Well, he would have done, believe me."

"But will they believe you?"

"Of course, with you to back I stopped and stared at him. "You would back me up, wouldn't you, Kiyo?"

Hashimoto gave me a helpless look that left me feeling more helpless still. "We will speak to Frau Voss tomorrow and decide what to do after that."

"I see."

"I am sorry, Lance."

"Of course."

"I do not believe what Rosa Townley told us."

"I should hope not."

"But even so ..."

"Yes?"

"It is .. . remotely possible."