The Heir Hunter (15 page)

“Where exactly are we going in Berchtesgaden, if you don’t mind me asking, Herr Merchant?”

“A retirement home by the name of Schönes Luft. Heard of it?”

Rolf nodded his head and yawned. “Oh yes. Very exclusive home. Have you relations there?”

“No,” replied Nick, reading a mountain road sign as it flew by. “Just doing some work on behalf of a client in the United States.”

Rolf pointed forward. “Your exit is coming here. Slow down or you’ll pass it.”

Nick eased off the accelerator. Claudia was so close he could feel her presence. He ground his nails into the steering wheel as he pulled from the autobahn. As he slowed, the car proceeded along a winding road that skirted a massive outcrop of boulders. To the left, he saw rustic chalets, some built into the rocks of the mountain towering above. A gray double-steepled stone church appeared ahead, its twin spires pointing to the sky like daggers. Carved figures in various states of rapture stared out blindly from its niches.

He passed the church and veered to the left as instructed. The road climbed upward. After about a twenty-second ascent, the road leveled and opened up into a circular parking area. A stately, white-pillared structure loomed before them like a mausoleum at the far end of the lot. Nick pulled the car to the front of the building and parked. He placed his recorder in his jacket pocket, double-checking that the tape had been rewound to the start. He looked to Rolf.

“I’ve no idea if the woman I want to see speaks
English. If she does, you may not be needed. You’ll of course be paid for your time.” Rolf nodded, unaffected either way.

Nick stepped from the car and eyed the Schönes Luft. Stark white with four twenty-foot granite pillars flanking the entrance, the structure looked sturdy enough to withstand a World War II air raid. He wondered if that had been the designer’s intention. It looked secure, if not warm and friendly.

At the entrance, they passed through an elaborate display of flower beds and hanging plants and entered the building through a pair of massive oak doors. From the foyer of the building, he looked for someone to approach. An older woman dressed in white wrote at a front desk, and as his shadow fell on her paper, her stern gray eyes met his.

“Ja?”

“Hello,” Nick said with a smile. “Do you speak English?”

“How can I help you?” she asked, her look guarded.

“I’d like to speak with one of your residents if possible.”

“You are a relative of one of our boarders?”

“No. My name is Nick Merchant—I’m a private investigator from the United States. I have important news for one of your boarders regarding a family matter.”

“Have you an appointment?” she asked, reaching for a large leather-bound book. “We usually require appointments for visitors who are not family.”

“No, it’s an urgent matter and I didn’t have time to call.”

“What is the person’s name?”

“Her first name is Claudia. I’m unsure of her last name. She sends letters to relations in the United States.”

The woman’s mouth had shrunken into a tight pucker of displeasure. “I’ll need to speak to the authority on duty,” she said, rising to her feet.

“I appreciate that.”

Nick nodded uncomfortably at Rolf. Authority on duty? He thought this was a rest home, not a prison. The staff certainly had a warm touch. He hoped he would never end up in a place like this.

He looked beyond the reception area and into a large sitting room. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries and pictures, the carpet was thick and new, but somehow it was like colorful camouflage. The place had a cold feeling to him. It seemed more a hospital ward for the terminally ill than a retirement home. He wondered if Claudia was completely infirm.

The woman returned in a moment’s time with an even sterner looking companion. The newcomer was a formidable presence, a pinkish-skinned woman with wide shoulders and a thick neck. She eyed Nick disapprovingly.

“You’re the one who wishes to see Claudia Dorsch?” she demanded.

“Yes, I believe she’s the one.”

The woman walked slowly from behind the counter, examining Nick and his translator.

“I’m the Directing Custodian here. This retirement community is a private home. We don’t let just anyone wander in to see our guests. Many of our boarders are not in the best of health. Unexpected visitors can be upsetting, Herr . . .?”

“Merchant. Nick Merchant.” Nick extended his card and let her read it.

“You’ve traveled far, Herr Merchant.”

“Yes, I have, Frau . . .?”

“Brausch.”

Nick motioned to his translator. “Why don’t you step outside for a moment and let Frau Brausch and myself have a word in private?” Rolf exited. “Is there somewhere where we can perhaps sit down and talk, Frau Brausch?”

“What is this concerning?”

“A family matter pertaining to one of your residents.
Please—just a few moments and I promise I’ll be on my way.” He took extra care to speak softly. The woman seemed too ready for confrontation.

“This can’t take long. I have too much to do. Follow me.”

Nick focused on the back of her thick neck and gathered up his resolve. A cranky old nursemaid wasn’t going to stop him so close to the summit. Persuasion combined with the proper amount of half-truths would do the trick.

They entered a small, brightly lit office. Frau Brausch did not sit down and did not invite her guest to do so. Nick clasped his hands in front of himself and began.

“Frau Brausch, I have a small business in the United States, a business which does genealogy on families. Through my research I’ve learned a great deal about Claudia’s family, some of whom live in the United States. Claudia may be entitled to a sum of assets in the United States which have been left to her by a recently deceased relative. I simply wish to speak with her briefly, to establish for legal purposes whether or not she is the person I believe her to be, and then inform her of her inheritance.”

“She has never mentioned relations in the United States. I think you may have the wrong person.”

“Well, it shouldn’t take me more than ten or fifteen minutes to find out. All I need to do is ask her a few very specific questions.”

Frau Brausch was holding firm. “We’ve had problems in the past with unexpected visitors. Why didn’t you telephone ahead first? Frau Dorsch is in no condition to even understand any of your . . . legal phrases.”

“I’m requesting just ten minutes and then I’ll leave. I promise I will be very gentle with her. Please—I’ve come a long way. . ..”

Brausch was biting her lower lip in frustration. He was wearing her down.

“As her guardian,” continued Nick, “you’re watching out for her best interests, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” she snapped.

“Well, let me find out if she’s who I believe she is so that I can provide her with what’s legally hers.” He spoke firmly but softly.

Brausch exhaled in defeat. “Ten minutes. That’s all you get. If she’s sleeping, you’ll just have to come back. If you upset her in any way or—”

“I promise I won’t. I’m glad I haven’t come all this way for nothing.”

“Yes, yes, yes—follow me and I’ll check on her. If she’s asleep you’ll just have to wait.”

“Does she speak much English? I’ve brought my translator along with me.”

“You won’t need him. Now come along.”

Nick found Rolf by the front garden and sent him off to do as he wished until he was done with Claudia. He then followed the acerbic custodian as she led him up a stairwell.

Nick was barely even aware of his surroundings. His hands felt a bit shaky. This was potentially the most important moment of his professional life, and the fact was flashing in his head like a thousand-watt strobe light. He wasn’t used to this. This wasn’t the happy-go-lucky heir finder strolling into the McClure house with a smile and a contract. This was Game Seven of the World Series, bottom of the ninth, bat in his hands, and a hundred-mile-per-hour fastball heading his way. He had to make good.

They reached the second floor and proceeded down a tiled hallway. Small white marble busts peered at Nick from cubbyholes in the walls as they walked by. They would serve as his silent witnesses.

At the hallway’s end, Frau Brausch stopped at a door and faced him. “If she’s sleeping, you’ll have to wait,” she repeated.

Nick watched from the doorway as she entered. An elderly woman was sitting upright in bed, with another woman in a wheelchair facing her. The woman in the bed
was speaking and looked gaunt and frail. Brausch placed her hand on her shoulder, and the old woman turned her squinty eyes up to her. They exchanged words in German and Nick saw her nod absently. There was a blankness in her eyes he had seen before. It wouldn’t be the first confused, elderly person he had to extract information from. It had never been easy.

Brausch walked quickly back to the doorway.

“She’s very disoriented, but she wishes to hear you out.” Brausch peered over her shoulder at the women. “Her friend Magda won’t disturb you. I’ll be right outside this door if there are any problems.”

“Thank you very much.”

Brausch nodded and closed the door partially behind her. Nick looked at the old women and walked toward the bed. A large open window revealed the Alps, a sight probably unappreciated by the room’s boarders. The bedridden woman happily babbled to her friend in the wheelchair. She turned to Nick as he drew closer, and he saw her eyes, vacant pale-blue pearls. Nick smiled, glanced at her equally confused friend, and reached for a chair. He took a moment to rethink his strategy before speaking.

“Hello, Claudia,” he said softly. “My name—”

“Yes, hello, hello. You wish to speak in English, eh? Yes, Magda and I still remember it from the old days. We still like to practice it when old friends come to see us. Isn’t that right, Magda?”

Her companion spoke in a smoker’s rasp. “He looks just like my brother Karl.”

The eyes were completely blank, the smiles blissfully serene. Nick now fully saw what he was faced with. Forget trying to explain who he was or what he had come for. He needed to get her talking about Jacobs.

“You’re feeling better, Claudia?” asked Nick sweetly, as if he were talking to a child.

“Yes, I am, and I wish you would come visit more often. You are Uncle Willie’s young nephew, eh?” Her fingers
fidgeted incessantly as she leaned against the headboard of her bed.

“Yes, I am,” replied Nick without hesitation. “Uncle Willie says hello. . ..”

“Tell him I’m not happy about that girl he chose. Not at all.” She pursed her lips and looked agitated. Magda frowned in agreement.

“She wasn’t a very good choice, was she?” asked Nick.

“She’s a Pole! I don’t approve of her.”

“A Pole—how terrible,” added Magda, making a little clicking sound of disapproval. Nick nodded, his face duly concerned.

“I don’t care for Poles,” continued Claudia. “For Willie to mix his blood with her is wrong. Do you know where her family is from?”

“Where?”

“Danzig!” She spat the word from her mouth as if it were a poison.

“Danzig?” repeated Nick in mock astonishment.

Both Claudia and Magda shook their heads dejectedly.

“It’s terrible,” said Claudia.

Nick nodded, his face a mask of empathy, while he processed what he was hearing. Was Uncle Willie actually Gerald Jacobs? If not, he needed to change the subject, and fast. He scooted his chair forward. It was time to be more direct.

“I haven’t seen Uncle Willie in some time, Claudia. He hasn’t moved, has he?”

“No. He was born in Düsseldorf, he will die in Düsseldorf. The family is still there.”

“And how is Gerald? Gerald Jacobs?”

Claudia’s face immediately brightened. Something had clicked.

“Monica’s letter came the other day.” She reached to the nightstand by her bed and grabbed an envelope. “You can read it if you like.”

“Thank you,” he replied, remembering the name on
the back of the passport photo taken from Jacobs’s home. He opened the decrepit envelope carefully. It was in German and was dated August 2, 1972. Nick looked up and saw both women staring at him.

“So . . . how is she?” he asked awkwardly, drawing a confused look from Claudia. “Monica. How’s her health?”

“Much better. After the war, I think she and I will go to Dresden for a long vacation.” She tilted her head to Magda. “Maybe you will come, Magda?”

Nick frowned. After the war? The woman was completely gone, living in some long-dead past. Anything out of her mouth was dubious. He needed to get to the heart of the matter.

“What about Gerald Jacobs, Claudia?”

She paused, her hazy mind struggling to gather fractured pieces of decades-old memories. “Ludwig,” she sighed, “poor little Ludwig, my darling.”

Nick froze. Ludwig? He thought Jacobs was her darling. Alex was right, then—Jacobs was Ludwig Holtz-mann.

“How is Ludwig?” he asked, prodding her along. “I’ve not seen him in a long time.”

She smiled. “Ludwig used to have the most golden hair that I’ve ever seen. Everyone thought he was the dearest man.”

“I’m sure they did,” replied Nick. “How is Ludwig, Claudia?”

“Ludwig is fine. He now lives in the
verdammt
United States.”

“What city, Claudia?”

“Eh?”

“What city in the United States does Ludwig live in?”

Her face went blank, almost as if a synapse in her brain had misfired at that moment. “I don’t . . . remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Nick asked. She did not respond.

“Near New York City,” Magda interjected.

“How do you know?” he asked, turning to Magda.

“Because she told me.” Claudia glared at Magda and she looked down.

Nick abandoned his previous tact and shot right to the point. “Magda, is Claudia Ludwig’s sister?”

“No,” she whispered, a hand shielding her mouth. “His sweetheart.”

“Not brother and sister?”

“No.” She looked at Claudia cautiously before continuing. “Lovers.”

Nick turned back to Claudia. “Has Ludwig ever married? Does he have any children?”

Claudia shook her head adamantly. “No, Ludwig was too dedicated to his work.”