Fanny pointed through the windshield. "Look at those tramps. They look like a couple from the silent movie era."
At the intersection, a strange-looking couple was pushing across a rickety old pram, laden with door-to-door advertisements. They had prepared themselves for a long period in the rain by wearing two raincoats, a short one on top of a long one. Little hats with sun cream ads printed on them perched on their heads. The pram's wheels were wobbly so their progress was slow. They stopped on the first traffic island and stared at the approaching SL 600. The man was scratching his beard and saying something to the woman.
Goldwasser stopped in front of the pedestrian crossing. The man pointed at the car and said something about getting wet. Fanny giggled. "I think they're asking for a ride. They're getting wet."
The diamond merchant ignored them. He was used to people looking at his car or making remarks about it. The man stepped into the gutter and tapped on the car roof. This was going too far. Goldwasser wanted to grab the radiotelephone to alert the police if necessary, when the light changed to green. He accelerated and sped away. The tramp jumped backward. "Hey, watch it!" he yelled. "There's a pocketbook on your roof."
But Goldwasser didn't hear him. Fanny had turned the music down a bit and cuddled up against him. "Why don't you show me your collection before you drop me off at my place, Mr. Goldwasser? Or don't you like showing me your best stuff?"
His thoughts raced ahead. He glanced quickly in the rearview mirror and saw the tramp standing in the middle of the intersection and picking something off the street. Fools! Risking their lives for a cigarette butt. The man was waving something at the disappearing car, but Goldwasser wasn't the least bit interested. Fanny put a hand on his knee and kept it there.
* * *
Rosa and Pier were sitting on the roofed terrace of the park café. A cup of coffee with a filter in front of them and the empty pram beside their table. They had finished their round through the Jewish district first. The pocketbook was lying on the table. They were discussing what to do with it. From where they were sitting, they had a view of the beautiful four-story, turn-of-the-century brick building in which the city-center police station was housed.
"Shall I hand it in over there?" he suggested. "Tuur Dommelaar's daughter works there. Nice girl."
Rosa emptied the small, silver cream jug into her coffee. She never wasted anything. She was thinking. "We'd better see who it belongs to first," she said, as she stirred her coffee "Because of the reward."
"Reward for what?" Pier asked.
"Our finders fee. But that means we'll have to take the pocketbook back to the owner personally. If we hand it in at the police station, he'll get it anyway, with a little delay, but that won't help anyone."
"You mean the police will keep the reward for themselves."
"No, silly, they're not allowed to accept money. We are, because we'll donate it to charity. I'm thinking of Starving Africa. What do you think?"
As always, Pier agreed with her.
He opened the pocketbook and spread the contents out across the table. A wallet, a mobile no bigger than a credit card, a cigarette holder and a gold lighter.
Rosa inspected the wallet. She found an ID card in a plastic cover, belonging to a Walter Goldwasser, born in Vienna on December 25, 1958. A Christmas baby. His address was Kastanjelaan 32A, Antwerp. The picture showed a man with a round, puffy face, heavy eyebrows and a hint of baldness.
She also found a few blank checks belonging to the Diamonds International office in the Hoveniersstraat, five hundred euros in bills, two bank cards, an American Express Gold Card and a couple of tissue paper envelopes. She opened one of them. At the same time the sun broke through the clouds. About ten polished diamonds of the highest quality lay sparkling in the sunlight. She closed the envelope.
"Do you know where the Kastanjelaan is?" she asked.
Pier nodded. "Near the Acacialaan and the Berkenlaan. South of Nachtegalen Park. The most expensive neighborhood in the city. The people who live there are mainly very rich diamond merchants, Israelis, Indians, Pakistanis. Only a hundred and eight mailboxes."
Rosa put the cookie she had been given with her coffee next to Pier's filter. She knew he had a sweet-tooth and he deserved to have the extra one. "We'll go home now, to pick up the rest of the leaflets," she said. "And then I'll finish the round. You ride your bike to the Kastanjelaan to reassure Mr. Goldwasser that we've found his pocketbook. But in order to give him a chance to think about some reward or other you tell him…" She leaned forward and lowered her voice.
Pier listened respectfully. Rosa always had these brilliant ideas.
* * *
Fanny had put a CD with music by French chansonniers into the CD player. She zapped through the songs until she heard Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg's voices singing
"Je t'aime, moi non plus."
It sounded very suggestive. And when Fanny started tapping the rhythm on Goldwasser's knee with her fingers, he had great difficulty in keeping his mind on his driving.
"Is your wife going to mind you showing me your Chagall collection?" she asked when the song had ended.
"My wife doesn't care for art. When the weather here is like this, she feels better on the Costa del Sol. We own a little pied-à-terre there. She won't be back until next week. If she likes the weather there, that is."
"Good for her."
They reached Kastanjelaan 32A, a large villa in a spacious garden, surrounded by a 2.5-meter-high gate guarded with cameras. He stopped the car in front of the entrance and punched in a code on the radiotelephone. The gate swung open and he drove through. The gate closed behind them and at the same time the garage door opened automatically. Inside, he switched off the engine. He waited until the gate was closed before getting out of the car.
"The security in your home is just as good as at the company," Fanny remarked. "Not just for the Chagall prints, is it?"
"You can't be too careful these days." Goldwasser answered. "Carjacking, burglary, robbery in broad daylight. It happens all the time. You have to be especially careful when you arrive home. The criminals lie in wait and just slip inside with you. But there's no chance of that here. Here no one enters unless I say so. You can sleep soundly." He led her through a kind of lockage into a spacious hall. "I just hope that you have no intention of doing so," he joked.
"Do what, Mr. Goldwasser?"
"Sleep soundly."
"Naughty, naughty." Fanny shook an admonishing finger. "But don't worry, I'm much too curious about seeing your Chagall collection."
They walked down the hall together. He showed her the Chagall prints, the Dali, original drawings and the Picassos. With a certain pride, he also showed her how the camera system and the infrared and volumetric sensors worked. At the first sign of trouble they alerted the central office in town, staffed round-the-clock, on a special wavelength. If necessary, they'll warn the police.
They finished the tour in a living room with luxurious couches and a mahogany bar. Goldwasser flipped a switch beside the door. The curtains closed and the lights went on. Hidden speakers emitted mood music. Fanny walked past the paintings on the wall and studied the signatures. She saw a discreet security control panel. She pointed at it. "Isn't that a bit over the top?" she asked. "It's like a fortress in here. What if you're just having some friends over? How do they get in without upsetting the entire neighborhood?"
"You check the monitor first to see if it's really your friends and then you push the welcome button. Look. The rest is automatic." He rested his hand on her hip as if by accident. "What would you say to a glass of Champagne before we look at the real works of art?"
Fanny giggled. "And I was afraid this was going to be a dull day."
Goldwasser walked to the bar with a spring in his step and fetched a bottle of Dom Perignon from the fridge. He got two glasses. "Here we go," he said cheerfully and popped the cork.
At the same time Fanny pushed the welcome button.
Her tinkling laughter and the bubbling Champagne drowned out the control panel's warning beep.
* * *
When a short but heavy downpour broke, Pier bowed his head over the bicycle's handlebar. He peddled as fast as he could. Riding a bicycle in Antwerp was very dangerous, not just because there were hardly any bike paths but also because of the rude disdain with which Antwerp drivers claimed the right of way and were never given a ticket for disregarding all the traffic rules. But he wasn't intimidated. In his boxing days he hadn't been afraid of anything either. He'd had thirty professional bouts, of which he'd won seven by knockout. Too bad he'd taken that nasty fall in the last one. It had meant the end of his career, especially because he sometimes had problems concentrating since then.
For instance, he'd been wondering for a while now why he hadn't taken the pocketbook and its contents with him straight away. He even considered turning back to ask Rosa again but he didn't want her to think he wasn't playing with a full deck. He rode on, trusting that he would remember in time.
He reached the Kastanjelaan in no time at all. He leaned his bike on the gate to number 32A. There was a sticker over the mailbox: No commercial leaflets, please. Typical rich people. He rang the bell and stared at the perforated ornamental plating, which he suspected hid a microphone. Nothing happened. Only the cameras over the gate made a zooming noise. He rang again. Suddenly a red light went on in the door panel. A voice with a strange accent asked:
"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?"
Suddenly he remembered. "I came for the reward." he said.
* * *
Walter Goldwasser held his glass by the stem and raised it. "Here's to a happy ending."
Fanny stirred the Champagne with her pinky and was admiring the rising bubbles. "I have a better plan," she said. "Let's drink to the jackpot we're about to take with us."
Goldwasser suddenly looked dubious. "What jackpot?"
"I think it's about one million euros." She put her pinky in her mouth and sucked the liquor off. "That's what the contents of the vault at Diamonds International are worth at the moment, isn't it?"
The provocatively pouted lips and the words she spoke somehow didn't match. Goldwasser didn't understand at all. "What are you talking about?" he asked, frowning. "What do the contents of the vault? …"
Fanny listened with her head tilted. She smiled. "Maybe you'd better get two more glasses out." She pointed behind her with her thumb. "We're going to have company."
Goldwasser looked over her shoulder at the door. He was shocked to the core. Two men dressed in dark blue jeans and anoraks were standing in the doorway. They looked like Slavs and had dark, mean-looking eyes and they looked as alike as two drops of water. Like a perfect hostess Fanny was doing the honors. "May I introduce these gentlemen to you? The man who is slightly cross-eyed is Kosta. His twin brother, recognizable by the small lump on the left side of his nose, calls himself Stako. Both are specialists at obtaining information, especially from people who would rather remain silent. They refined their interrogation techniques while working for the KGB, but since Russia has introduced a free market economy, they have been offering their services to the highest bidder."
Goldwasser was so angry he could hardly listen. "Get the hell out of here. All three of you!" He made a move towards the control panel but stopped dead in his tracks when Kosta and Stako simultaneously pulled out dangerous-looking guns. He was still more angry than frightened. The fact that he had allowed a floozy like Fanny to trick him like that bothered him most of all. All things considered, she wasn't even attractive. "Who are you?" He snapped. "What do you want from me?"
"Compliments from Igor Fedojev. You know him, don't you?"
"No."
"Oh, come on, Walter. You worked for him once."
"Me? Never! I have heard of him, that's true. I know he controls a large part of the gold and diamond trade in Moscow, but I've never had business dealings with him and I have no intention of doing so now. His reputation is not too good in the West."
"That'll change very quickly now that he's about to take over Diamonds International."
"That's what you think. My company isn't for sale. I'm far too young to quit."
"More to the point, you're too young to die."
Goldwasser now understood he'd better pull in his head. "Now, listen here, Fanny, uh… Ms. Galinda. You'd better run along now, while you still can." As he spoke he moved backward, until he reached a pedestal with a painted plaster sculpture of a hamadryas baboon in attack position on it. His hand was only centimeters away from the alarm button built into the pedestal when Kosta without taking aim, pulled the trigger and shot the baboon's head into smithereens. One of the shards drilled straight through Goldwasser's cheek. Tasting blood he was convinced that he'd been hit by the bullet itself. He put a hand against his cheek and backed away. "Okay," he moaned. "If it's money you're after." He gestured at the Floris Jespers painting. "Behind there is a small safe. Some of my wife's jewelry is in there and some cash. At least two hundred thousand euros. Take it."
