Naked Cruelty (20 page)

“How come the Baroness kept her money ungarnished through the Third Reich?” Nick asked, frowning.

“Her father deposited it in a Swiss bank, of course. The day after Mussolini signed the Pact of Steel with Hitler. The Milanese nobility seem to have run rings around Mussolini.”

“More Miss Procter's history, Helen?” Carmine asked, smiling.

“Oh, definitely, sir.”

“Where does Kurt come into this?” Nick demanded.

“Helen's getting there,” Carmine said softly.

“Kurt's aptitude for mathematics showed very early, though he's not musical, and as he grew older he inclined to physics. It was Dagmar took after the Baron, had the chemistry. She's five years older than Kurt, and went from university into Fahlendorf Farben as a research chemist. She's better than the old man, so Kurt was free to do what he loves—particle physics. The Baron consented when he was told Kurt was potential Nobel material.”

“Are they snobs, then?” Nick asked.

“Insufferable snobs,” said Helen without hesitation. “Old Prussian junker stock, very conscious of the bloodline. They were Catholic Social Democrats, hence the disapproval of Hitler.”

“Is Dagmar married?” Carmine asked.

“Yes. The Baron and Baroness dislike him—he's low-born. More importantly, he's not in Dagmar's class when it comes to the chemical innovations Fahlendorf Farben must produce if it's to stay ahead of the competition—insecticides, fertilizers, new plastics, oil substitutes. They met in Bonn, at university. In 1951, a year after they were married, Josef changed his name to von Fahlendorf, and struck a deal with the Baron, who wasn't senile then. In return for changing his name, he'd be paid a fat salary, no questions asked, no accountability. Kurt loathes Josef, mostly because he's hurt Dagmar so badly. No mistresses—fraud. She caught him selling her trade secrets in unpatented formulae to Fahlendorf Farben's chief rival. Luckily she found out before the papers were handed over. Josef was sent to the Fahlendorf Farben equivalent of Siberia, though he still has an office and a fat pay check. That's because his name is von Fahlendorf, as far as I can gather, and the old Baron tends to protect him for the sake of the grandchildren.”

“How many children do Dagmar and Josef have?” Carmine asked.

“Four. Two boys, then two girls. Aged between fifteen and seven. The youngest, a girl, is by far the most intelligent. The children have been taught to despise their father,” Helen said.

“What was Josef's name before he became a von Fahlendorf?” Delia asked.

“I haven't been able to find out, I think because the family is busy playing ostrich—they want the world to believe that the guy really is a von Fahlendorf cousin of some kind.”

“Could you find out, Deels?” Carmine asked.

“If it were in Britain, yes, sir, but not in either of the Germanys. Just what are you thinking?”

“If this could possibly be a family job.”

“Nothing would surprise me,” said Helen, trying to sound cool.

“Ten million dollars!” Delia exclaimed. “Can they raise that?”

“I honestly don't know! How do I break the news?”

“As a cop does,” Carmine said. “Sympathetically, warmly, yet dispassionately.”

“But will they be able to raise the money, Captain?”

“It's a perfect scheme,” said Delia. “Kidnappings inevitably disintegrate over payment of the ransom—it's so difficult to retrieve from the drop spot undetected. Whereas here there is no drop spot, just a Swiss bank account number. The money never enters the U.S.A., and the Swiss will never divulge information about their clients.”

“Once the money's deposited, we can't touch anyone,” Nick said. “The whole thing sucks.”

Carmine slid out of the booth, reaching for his wallet. “No, this is on me.”

Helen didn't speak until they reached Carmine's office. “I've made up my mind, Captain,” she said then. “I'll talk to Dagmar, but I'm not going to drop any hints that the kidnapping might be a family job. Dagmar is the logical one.”

“A good decision,” said Carmine, sitting down.

Nick came in on their heels. “The finger belongs to Kurt von Fahlendorf,” he said. “It's been verified twice over.”

The phone rang: Paul Bachman. Carmine put it on the speaker. “There are no prints except yours and Helen's on the package,” Paul said. “Patrick says the finger was amputated eight to nine hours ago. There are no drugs in the blood, so they cut it off cold turkey. No cauterization either. Kurt will have lost some blood, though not a major bleed. Patrick suggests that the only first aid might have been to pack the hand afterward.”

“They mean business,” Carmine said. “If we don't find him, he's a dead man. Payment of the ransom won't alter that. They've taken a mature, highly intelligent man trained to look for things smaller than atoms. They daren't release him.” The amber eyes stared into Helen's soul. “You can't betray this when you speak to Dagmar, Helen. The family has to make its decision as to payment or non-payment in the belief that there's a chance Kurt will be found alive. You're not empowered to communicate what we might know is fact, as fact. At this stage, nothing is proven.”

“I understand,” Helen said, staring at the railroad clock on the wall facing Carmine. “It's nine a.m. here, which means it's three p.m. in Munich.” She reached into her huge bag and drew out a black notebook: her own property. “I have Dagmar's work number as well as her home one. Kurt gave them to me in case anything ever happened to him.” She laughed wryly. “He meant a car or a skiing accident, not a kidnapping.”

“Fred's rigged up this red phone through a tape recorder,” said Carmine. “On speaker, we'll hear every word said. The recorder switches on automatically the moment the receiver's picked up. Go to it, Helen, and don't let us put you off. We have to be here.” He handed her the red receiver.

Dagmar was at work, and answered the phone herself; the number Kurt had given Helen was a private line.

The von Fahlendorf daughter's initial reaction was incredulity, followed by all the emotions associated with a practical joke. Only when they had worn themselves out did Dagmar begin to suspect that her caller was serious. At the same moment Helen reached the end of her tether.

“Listen, ma'am,” she said, “I'm handing you over to our chief of detectives, Captain Carmine Delmonico. Maybe you'll believe him—he's a man!”

She subsided muttering while Delia patted her soothingly and Carmine talked to Dagmar, who, perhaps because she associated police with men, now seemed to understand Kurt's situation and peril thoroughly.

“What's concerning all of us in Holloman is the size of the ransom,” Carmine said. “Have you any hope of raising it?”

“Oh, yes,” said the clear voice in its German accent, “it is already collected.”

“No kidding! How did that coincidence happen?”

“It is the foundation of a trust fund for my children,” said Dagmar. “My mother has retired from the company, and the ten million represents her capital, which she insisted be put into American dollars. Of course it will go to pay Kurt's ransom—we can always set up another trust fund for the children later.”

“I see.” Carmine's mind was racing. “First of all, ma'am, I do assure you that your brother has been kidnapped. His finger established his identity, as the kidnappers knew it would. I must warn you that the odds of getting Kurt back alive are not good, but there is a chance. The Holloman end will be devoted to a search aimed at finding him, because we have our doubts that the kidnapping masterminds are in America. We think they may be German, and that the kidnappers don't care who is brought in to solve the American end because it can't make any difference to the ransom. That's going straight from Munich to Zurich.”

“Typically American!” she said in an icy voice. “Blame anyone but yourselves.”

“There's no blame attached to us, Frau von Fahlendorf!” said Carmine, voice equally icy. “We're the whipping boy. What's your husband's real name?”

“Von Fahlendorf,” she said.

“No, before he changed it.”

“That is no one's business except his.”

“For someone whose blood brother is in terrible danger, you seem to have strange priorities, ma'am.”

“Don't call me ma'am!” she snapped. “Helen, what is the account number, and the name of the bank?”

Carmine shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no, ma'am, you don't get that information until it's time to pay the ransom.”

She hung up.

“What a bummer!” Nick exclaimed. “The Dodo escalates to murder, and a day later a foreign national who is a Chubb professor of physics is kidnapped. It stretches us thin, boss.”

“Too thin,” said Carmine grimly. “I'll have to go see the Commissioner in a minute, but first—priorities. The Dodo has to be worked, even though his victim is dead. We don't know if von Fahlendorf is dead yet, so we proceed on the assumption that he's alive. That's not impossible, because a lot of kidnappers kill passively by imprisoning their victim somewhere impregnable and then not giving them food or water. Three days without water, three weeks without food. Not a terribly accurate rule of thumb. If the prison's insulated, sheltered and full of air, the victim will survive at least a week unwatered. Therefore our first priority is searching for Kurt.” He hunched his shoulders, sank his chin onto his chest and thought for what seemed an eternity; it was probably three or four minutes. Then he sighed. “I can' t run the Dodo and the kidnapping,” he said flatly. “As a completely new case, the kidnapping goes to Corey and his team, with Helen tacked on to liaise between us and Kurt's family as well as with other agencies like the FBI.”

Helen's face betrayed her dismay, but she had learned from her conflict with Abe Goldberg; she nodded willingly.

“When and if Abe and his team can be freed up, we'll have two teams spearheading the search for Kurt. Helen, keep me in the loop at all times. You're my trainee, not a part of Corey's team—understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She looked directly at Carmine. “Will the FBI be a help or a hindrance, Captain? Cops dislike them.”

“They won't bother the Holloman PD,” said Carmine, unfazed. “If the kidnappers were known criminals, the FBI would be a big help, but we know they're not. I'd be willing to take a hefty bet that they're German nationals who visited the U.S.A. with only one purpose—to snatch Kurt. Further, the kidnappers knew that Dagmar von Fahlendorf had liquidated her mother's investments to form a trust fund for the grandchildren. Again, it screams a German operation. Our real task is to find Kurt before the ransom money has to be paid.”

“Do you seriously think that she's involved?” Delia asked.

“No, but I don't trust her security, Deels. If she leaves the name of the bank and account number lying around, and the kidnapper has access to the ten million, the transfer might take place ahead of time. So—she doesn't get it until her Friday twenty-five .”

“What if the FBI tell her?” Helen asked.

“After I've explained, they won't.”

From Silvestri's office Carmine went to Corey's, two floors down. He was on his own.

When Carmine entered Corey looked up, grinned, and pushed a file across his desk. His long, dark face was suffused with triumphant content.

“The Taft High arms cache case,” he said. “Closed.”

“That's great, Cor. Fill me in.”

“It wasn't as bad as we originally thought, though Buzz is still muttering that there's more to it. All I can say is that if there is more, we can't find evidence of it, including Buzz. The story as we have it is that someone in the Black Brigade got spooked into thinking there was a raid coming, and gave his little brother the cache of guns he had in their home. The kid hid them at the Taft High gym, and, as you know, Principal White found them.”

“Why does Buzz think there's more to it, Cor?”

“He believes the Black Brigade has thrown off a splinter group composed of less patient, more violent soldiers who don't think Wesley le Clerc is doing it any more than Mohammed el Nesr. Both le Clerc and el Nesr preach that violence for the sake of violence is a waste of manpower, but the splinter group is tired of waiting for the country's entire black population to erupt. The guns weren't supposed to be at the school for more than a few hours in transit—they'd been bought with the proceeds of a bank holdup in Middletown, and there are a shitload more than were found.”

“But there's no proof?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Then the case is closed. But keep an eye peeled, huh?”

“Sure, always. What have you got. for me now?”

“A kidnapping.”

Corey sat bolt upright, staring at Carmine as at the Angel Gabriel. “
A
kidnapping
?” he squawked, gasping.