CHAPTER 21
“I came here to speak to you, only to find the door unlocked and the office empty,” Holger said. “Does this happen often?”
“No. That is, I don’t think so. It’s the first time it’s happened all week.” I swallowed, collecting my wits. “I was following Johann. He left very abruptly. You told me to keep my eye on him.”
“We need to have a little talk, you and I.”
Yes, we did. I wasn’t sure how much Holger suspected his employee was involved in—but surely he didn’t want a murderer on his payroll. I was curious what Holger would say to what I’d witnessed that day.
“I will take you to dinner,” he said. “Somewhere nice.”
Was it dinnertime already? It was dark outside, but the days were so short now, I couldn’t tell how long I’d been gone.
“Not too nice, I hope,” I said. “I’m not exactly dressed for the rotogravure.”
“You are dressed attractively enough,” he said.
A ringing endorsement if ever I’d heard one.
Johann burst through the door, red-faced and sweating from what must have been a very brisk walk. I hadn’t been far ahead of him. When he saw Holger, his eyes grew wide. “I’m glad you’re here, Holger. I need to speak to you.”
“Herr Schmidt,” Holger said sternly, “you left the office open. And Leisl was not here.”
“She wasn’t?” Johann turned to me. “I wonder where she was.”
From his expression, I could tell he’d guessed I followed him. I gathered my things quickly, eager to get away. I only wished there was some way I could contact Operative Halloran and arrange a rendezvous. There was no way to use the telephone in privacy in the office now.
“Try not to leave the offices unmanned again,” Holger warned Johann. “That printing press was expensive.”
“I didn’t think I was leaving the office empty.” He colored at the injustice of being scolded for something he considered, rightly, to have been my fault. “Herr Neumann, I need to speak to you about a very urgent matter.”
“Tomorrow, perhaps,” Holger said. “Right now I am taking Fräulein Frobisher to dinner.”
“But—”
“I know your concern,” Holger told him sharply. “I will deal with it.”
I picked up the stole and draped it around my shoulders, eager to get out of there. Something in the air between these two, and the way Holger avoided Johann’s pleas, unnerved me.
Holger’s lip curled at my fur stole. It seemed clear he hadn’t seen it before. “What kind of animal was that?”
“Nicht ganz mink,” I said, then glanced over at Johann. “Good night.”
He barely met my eye. “ ’Bye, Leisl.” There was guilt in his jowly face . . . but was it the guilt of a killer?
Saying nothing, Holger took my arm and escorted me out to a waiting car. His driver—the same tall, broad-shouldered man as before—opened the back door for us.
“I need to talk to you about Johann,” I said, once we were settled on the seat.
To my surprise, Holger almost chuckled. “He wants to talk to me about you, too. But that does not matter now.”
If Johann didn’t matter, why had I been planted at Das Auge?
I expected we would drive downtown, but the chauffeur turned the car in the opposite direction and didn’t go very far before stopping in front of an old carriage house. Most of these had been converted to garages, or torn down to create more space for rapacious apartment house builders. This one had a sign swinging over its door that read The Coach House.
Inside, the wide-open space stretched from front door to back, dotted with round, red-clothed tables. The floors had been refinished, and the brick walls painted a light beige that glowed golden in the dim lights that hung down from the pressed-tin ceiling. The few remaining stalls had been transformed into private, bench-lined cubbies. A woodstove in the corner let out enough heat to warm the place, aided, I surmised, by stoves in the unseen kitchen. A long bar took up one side of the room. Here and there paintings of horses were hung in honor of the club’s origins. The air was hazy from cigars and cigarettes. In the far corner, a pianist pounded out “Play a Simple Melody,” the tune I’d loved from Watch Your Step. It was already a hit.
A maître d’ appeared, although with his thick neck and arms he looked more like a bouncer. Even at this relatively early hour there were only a few tables open, but we were shown to a good one. The maître d’ took a long look at me before pulling out my chair. Had I seen him before? I sat and inspected the café’s patrons more closely. They weren’t the smart set by any stretch: businessmen obviously stopping for a bracer before heading home to their wives and children or empty flats; cold-eyed men in dark suits surrounded by similar types and women in too-loud clothing; a few looked like artistic types, who flocked together at a few tables, absorbed in conversation.
Holger requested wine first thing—a Riesling, unsurprisingly—and the man nodded and hurried off to do his bidding.
The maître d’ made me anxious, and that anxiety reminded me of Leonard Cain. Had I seen the man previously at one of Cain’s clubs, or during one of my few other encounters with Cain? For all I knew, this place might be one of his. The man was in jail, but his businesses hadn’t died with his sentencing just a few days shy of a year ago.
“Does this club belong to Leonard Cain?” I asked Holger.
“The criminal?” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know about him?”
“I read about him in the newspapers. He ran gambling dens and other unsavory places.”
“I wouldn’t know. This is merely a restaurant I come to sometimes.” Uninterested in Cain, he studied his menu. “Veal cutlets are the thing to have here. I will order for us both.”
High-handed, but what could I say? “Thank you.” I pushed the menu away from me as if relieved to be unburdened by such a weighty decision. “I think you should know something about Johann.”
“My main concern is that those who work for me are loyal to our cause.”
The waiter buzzed up to our table, opened a bottle, and poured Holger a glass of wine, which was duly approved. The man poured wine in my glass, and Holger ordered the promised veal cutlets, potatoes macaire, and green beans au gratin. I’d eat well, at least.
Holger took a sip of wine, as did I. “You should perhaps know that Johann wrote to me this morning,” he said. “About you. Can you guess what he told me?”
I froze. His face was twisted in a smile. Was this some sadistic way of toying with me?
The one small swallow of wine I’d had burned like acid in my stomach. I’d expected to be the one telling tales on Johann—but apparently I was going under the microscope, and who could say where that would lead. “I know your concerns,” Holger had told Johann at the office. What exactly did he know?
I shouldn’t have come here. I should have made excuses and reported to Operative Halloran to get instructions before speaking with Holger.
“No guesses?” He lit a cigarette, then exhaled extravagantly. “He told me you were a spy.”
I started to reach for my wineglass to quench my parched throat, but thought better of it, in case Holger was able to detect a telltale nervous tremor.
“He wrote me a note this morning to inform me of your duplicity.” Laughter burst out of Holger like canon fire. “The fool thought he was telling me something I didn’t know. ‘I don’t trust her,’ he wrote.” He chuckled, delighted.
Of course. Holger already knew I was a spy. A spy for him. Tension drained out of me.
I purposefully sagged with disappointment rather than show my relief. “I suppose this means you won’t need me anymore.”
“Not at all. Just because I don’t need you at Das Auge doesn’t mean you can’t be useful to me in other ways. Unless you’ve decided you no longer want to work for my organization?”
“Is it an organization?” I asked, perking up at the chance to mine a little more information from him. “I thought it was just you, and your interests in”—I lowered my voice, although I doubted anyone could have heard me over the surrounding conversation, laughter, and the pianist, who was barreling out the “Merry Widow Waltz” as if it were a ragtime tune—“Germany.”
“There are many of us working in various ways to help our cause. A girl like you could be useful. Although . . .” He eyed me critically.
“What?”
“Perhaps we need to teach you to be a better liar—so the next Johann is fooled for a little longer.” I smiled and he half smiled back. “For now, let’s have our dinner. Afterward, we can discuss your future. Would you like a cigarette?”
He offered me one, which I dutifully took. I tried to relax a little. Maybe my work here wasn’t done, after all. Holger had plans for me . . . although whether he would still have plans when Johann was turned over to the Secret Service was something I doubted.
Holger struck a match and I leaned in to light the cigarette. I peered over the flame, down at Holger’s coat sleeve. There was a button missing. The other button had a tiny eagle on it. Polished brass. Exactly like the button I’d retrieved from Ruthie’s.
I inhaled, then coughed.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Everything was wrong. Alarms were going off in my skull. Holger had been at Ruthie’s and lost that button . . . near the tub. How? In Ruthie’s final struggle? I’d assumed Johann reacted so sharply to Ruthie’s stole because he’d felt guilty about her death. But I was now just as fearful that the culpable one was Holger. The button placed him, not Johann, at the murder site.
Johann had even tried to warn me—he’d liked me that much, at least until he’d realized I was spying on them. “I don’t like the way he deals with people,” he’d told me.
In all likelihood, he had witnessed or at least knew of the way Holger had “dealt with” Ruthie.
And now, if I gave myself away, Holger might deal with me.
I reached for my wineglass, commanding myself to guard my expression. Unfortunately, at that moment my gaze latched in horror on a woman following the maître d’ to a table. It was the dress that caught my eye first: a deep rosy-pink wool dress with a black lace overlay on the bodice. It was Callie’s dress, but Callie wasn’t wearing it. Anna Muldoon was. Worse, in the same moment I saw her over Holger’s shoulder, she spotted me. Her eyes bulged, and she stopped in her tracks.
Was it too much to hope that she would read my expression silently begging her to move on without acknowledging me?
“As I live and breathe—Louise!”
“I’m not—”
Anna was already turning to her escort, a man in a dark suit, with rakishly long hair parted down the middle and a thin mustache. I was fairly certain this was the much-talked-of Alfred Sheldrake, formerly Callie’s favorite director. “Alfie, look—it’s Louise Faulk, Callie’s roommate. You know, the police lady.”
Alfred said a polite how-do-you-do.
So much for hoping I could bluff my way out of this with denials. I was caught left-footed, and Anna was too sure, too loud, for me to convincingly contradict her. How could I possibly salvage this situation? I could feel Holger’s gaze burning into me, suspicious, blue eyes darkening with suppressed anger.
Anna must have noticed him, too. “Who’s your handsome friend, Louise? Don’t worry. I won’t tell Frank.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper as she explained to the men, “Louise and my brother are undeclared sweethearts.”
I stood so abruptly that my chair scraped the wood plank floor with a shriek that turned heads. “Thank goodness you’re here, Anna. I desperately need your help with something.” I took hold of her arm. “A girl matter,” I explained to the men. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”
Holger half rose, while Alfred and the bewildered maître d’ watched me whisk Anna away. When we’d first entered the restaurant, I’d noticed a sign pointing to the ladies facilities up a staircase off the foyer. I led Anna in that direction. The second floor was probably where the horse groom had once lived, and my guess was that it hadn’t improved much since then. The restroom turned out to be a rather primitive chamber with a smallish window, a dripping sink, and no attendant, yet the privacy suited me at the moment. I pulled Anna in after me.
“Really, Louise, I can wait outside. Alfie will—”
“Forget him.”
She looked aghast at the idea. “He’s an important director.”
“He’s a married director, with three children. Callie says he’s notorious, and if you have the sense God gave a pill bug, you won’t lay the foundation of your career on an illicit flirtation.”
Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t going to thank me for the warning. “Are you worried I’ll say something to Frank about seeing you with—” She nodded as if Holger would be just outside the door. God, I hope not. But there was no reason he wouldn’t be. He had to know by now that he should have listened to more of exactly what Johann had to say about me.
I took Anna’s hands in mine and gave them a hard squeeze. “I want you to tell Frank. Better yet, tell Frank’s superior at Centre Street. You know where that is?”
She frowned. “I’ve been there once.”
“Good.” Hurriedly, I reached into my satchel and pulled out a pad and pencil. With a shaky, hurried hand, I scrawled a note to Captain Percival Smith. I told him I’d discovered Ruthie’s murderer and the houseboat where the forgery operation was likely taking place. I gave the name of this restaurant, and where they could find Johann. I emphasized sending help with the utmost urgency, as I had been discovered.
I folded the note and gave it to Anna. “Put this on your person, and deliver it to Captain Percival Smith at Centre Street Headquarters. If Smith is not there, hunt down your brother and explain that I was on a clandestine mission and have been found out. Most of all, the first policeman you see, send him here.”
As I spoke, Anna’s face became more and more perplexed. “Found out by whom?”
“Never mind. Just tell him. Captain Smith and the Secret Service need to know there’s a houseboat called the Silver Swan moored off the pier near East Seventy-Ninth that has something to do with what they wanted me to find out. Most of all, tell them that Holger knows who I am.”
“Of course he does. He’s your date.”
I shook my head. “Tell it back to me. What are you going to do?”
She clucked her tongue. “Alfred promised me an evening on the town. Do you know how hard we’ve been working?”
“Never mind that. This is life and death.”
“Whose death?”
“Maybe mine.”
“Then shouldn’t you find this Captain Smith?”
For someone who’d just been told she had my life in her hands, she didn’t inspire confidence.
“I’ll try, believe me. But if we’re both looking, there will be a better chance of at least one of us having success. Promise me. Find a policeman, then deliver the note.”
She took in a deep breath and let it out as if exhaling were a form of hard labor. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” I hurried over to the small window and yanked at the sash. It stuck at first, then flew open. Cold, sour-smelling air blew in. I glanced around, then beckoned her. “Time to go.”
She dug in her heels, aghast. “You expect me to crawl out a window?”
“If you’re seen leaving, it will raise suspicions.”
“But—”
“We are dealing with men who have killed at least one woman, Anna. Believe me, you don’t want them following you.”
Her mouth closed, and she hurried forward. “All right. But I hope if I do this, you’ll help me explain to Frank that having an actress for a sister isn’t the end of the world.”
“I’ve already made a start.”
She smiled. “Have you? He never said!”
She looked ready to settle in for a long talk about her career prospects, so I reached into my bag and pulled out several dollar coins. “Take these and hire a taxicab. Speed is absolutely essential.”
Grumbling, she took the coins, folded them in the note, and hid them in her bodice. She poked her head out the window.
“How do I get down?”
“Climb out and swing over to the fire escape. It’s just a couple of feet away.”
“I was my school’s girl physical culture champion, but that was in seventh grade,” she said. Nevertheless, she gamely hiked up her skirt and scooted out onto the sill. Her nose wrinkled. “What is that ghastly smell?”
It was full dark outside, but I recognized the odor. “The kitchen must have a back door below this, where they keep the garbage cans. Good incentive not to fall.”
“So is the fact that I want to remain in one piece.”
I smiled. “Good luck.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“What actresses do when they’ve forgotten their script. I’m going to extemporize.”
She looked doubtful, but then turned her attention to the task at hand. She scooted over to the right, as close to the fire escape as she could get, reached her right hand over and grabbed the railing, then swung her right foot over.
“I wish I hadn’t checked my coat,” she said, shivering. Then, in a display of acrobatics that gave proof to her boast about being a physical culture champion, she swung the left side of her body onto the fire escape and scrambled over the railing. She waved that all was well, and then hurried to lower the metal ladder and climb down it. Throughout this, she was a blur in the darkness, until I heard her heels hit the ground below. A clang and a high shriek went up.
“What was that?” I called down in a loud whisper.
“I think I scared a mouse,” she said in disgust.
More likely a rat. I didn’t tell her that, though. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but I’m not so sure about this dress. I hope Callie doesn’t want it back.”
“You need to hurry,” I reminded her. “Godspeed!”
I could just make out her arms flapping in a final wave, and then her footsteps retreated down the alley.
I straightened. Now what? Should I attempt to sneak out, too? Or should I return to the table and announce to Holger that I knew all?
An unnecessary announcement, if the look on his face when Anna had given me away was any indication.
Slowly, I lowered the sash. Someone needed to keep their eye on Holger’s whereabouts. Otherwise he might slip away. If I played my cards right, I could keep him occupied long enough for Anna to get a policeman to me. I could arrest Holger on suspicion of murder right away, of course. But aside from a badge, I had nothing to back up my words. If a man had gone to extremely devious means to kill Ruthie, I doubted he would acquiesce quietly to an arrest by a lone, unarmed policewoman.
I washed my hands, and checked my face in the chipped mirror, willing a determined expression to replace my look of uncertainty. Then I unhooked the latch and swung open the door. I went down the short corridor and turned into the stairwell.
Holger waited for me on the top step. “Abandoning your escort at the table is bad manners,” he said.
“I’m coming back to you now.”
“Where is your friend?”
I forced a laugh. “Where do you think? The rest room is small—a one-at-a-time affair.” When he studied me skeptically, I said, “Shall we go? I’m looking forward to my dinner.”
His lips thinned. “Sadly, it will have to be postponed. I will take you home.”
Not if I could help it. I wasn’t getting into a car with him again. I needed to be back in the restaurant, among the diners, so when I told him he was under arrest, he would be trapped in plain view of scores of witnesses.
“Must you?” I asked. “I really am hungry.”
He sighed. “The only thing, you really are, fräulein, is a liar.” He nodded over my shoulder, and a shadow bore down on me.
I’d forgotten about the driver. I barely had a chance to wonder at how a large man had hidden himself behind me when he whirled me around like a rag doll and slapped a hand over my mouth. Bite him, I thought. But with the first breath I took, a sickly smell hit my nostrils, and a strange sense of disembodiment settled over me. That sweet, noxious, vaguely familiar smell was the last thing I remembered for some time.