Funny how his calling Carbone’s wife by her first name had made the captain act so quickly and efficiently. Less than half an hour later, he called back with the details of Lorenz Gasser, the slim little man in the newspaper cutting. He was slightly breathless. The Trusted Man thanked him kindly and asked him to convey his regards and apologies to Isabella. This scared Carbone even more.
The Trusted Man wiped the receiver, made his bed and paid the bill, leaving a tip that was neither too small nor too showy. He treated himself to a coffee at a service station and drove for the rest of the night. No Reschen Pass this time. He was heading east.
He crossed the Swiss–Austrian border and drove down to Brenner from there, stopped to stretch his legs and empty his bladder, had another coffee and a stale croissant while a drunk lorry driver rattled on about the end of the world and nuclear apocalypse to a sleepy barman and reached Brixen at around eight in the morning.
Finding the slim little man’s house was child’s play. It was a villa surrounded by a garden on the northern outskirts of the town. The Trusted Man forced the outside gate open and rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a sleepy man. Skinny, with just a few hairs on his head and protruding front teeth. The kind of man who thinks he is cleverer than anybody else. A ferret. So this was the Vixen’s accomplice.
Lorenz Gasser.
“May I come in?”
The ferret did not object, merely glancing absently at the gun the Trusted Man was pointing at him, as if being threatened with death were a habitual occurrence.
He invited him to sit down.
The Trusted Man indicated a door through which the pounding of a shower could be heard. “Who’s there?”
“A friend.”
“Might this friend be a problem?”
“She’s a whore. High class. Costs me a hundred and fifty thousand lire a night. I know her. She’ll be in there for ages.”
The Trusted Man crossed his legs. “Marlene Taufer.”
Gasser rubbed his hands together. “I figured as much. Did Wegener send you?”
“One could say that.”
“Or one could say the Consortium sent you.”
“One could.”
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
“You don’t look scared.”
“Why should I be? It’s business. You want information, and I’m willing to give it to you. Free of charge. It’s your lucky day.”
“Let’s hope it’s your lucky day, too.”
Gasser winced at this remark. “Marlene called me a couple of weeks ago. I can check my diary, if you like. I write everything down. I’m meticulous. She needed a favour. A favour Wegener knew nothing about.”
“How did you meet her?”
“She’s Wegener’s wife, isn’t she?” Gasser said, almost annoyed by the unnecessary question. “That son of a bitch drags her around with him like a trophy. ‘Let me introduce you to my lovely wife . . .’ At least I have the decency to keep whores in their place.”
“Is Marlene a whore?”
Gasser displayed his nicotine-stained teeth. “By the way, you haven’t told me your name.”
“I’m the only entry missing from your diary, Herr Gasser.”
“Are you asking me if I screwed that airhead Marlene?”
“I’m wondering what the nature of the exchange was.”
A clucking laugh. “As a matter of fact, I did hope I might at first. Screw her every which way, if you know what I mean. And fuck that bastard. Just for the sake of . . . You must be wondering why I hate him so much.”
“Envy. Pride. Frustrated ambition. Does it really matter? Time’s flying, and by the time that shower’s over you’ll have a bullet in your head. Make it brief and no one will get hurt. Maybe.”
The ferret licked his lips. “Marlene asks me a favour. She knows my professional field: insurance, banking. Insurance for private clinics. Merchant banks. I’m her man. I suppose she must have found my number in Wegener’s notebook. We meet. I’m hoping for a good fuck, but what little Marlene offers me is even better, trust me.”
“Sapphires,” the Trusted Man said.
“Take a look around, my new friend with no name. Do you think I need money?”
“A hundred and fifty thousand a night is a substantial sum.”
Gasser looked at him. “We both know what those sapphires represent.”
“You tell me.”
“The Consortium. Wegener wants to be a part of it.”
“And so you agree because you know that this way Marlene will sabotage her husband’s plans.”
Gasser applauded.
“Give me the details.”
“Could you put that away?”
The Trusted Man indulged him. The gun disappeared into the holster under his jacket.
“Marlene was supposed to get to the Reschen Pass between three and nine in the morning. During that time, she would meet a border guard who owes me a couple of favours and who would let her through with no fuss. Then she would go to the clinic. You know about the clinic?”
“Zimmerman.”
“Terrible character, but efficient. I hope you didn’t kill him.”
“No.”
“I paid in advance, out of my own pocket, to make sure the operation went according to plan. I was supposed to go there to pay my respects and conclude the exchange. I would convert Wegener’s sapphires into dollars and new identity documents. Taking a reasonable commission. Fifteen per cent, if you want to know. Plus one sapphire. As a keepsake, let’s say.”
“Marlene trusted you.”
Gasser grimaced. “You forget what a crook Wegener is. Marlene didn’t come to me because of my pretty face, but because she was aware of the friction between me and her husband.”
“Something went wrong.”
The ferret absent-mindedly scratched a shin protruding from his pyjamas. “Marlene disappeared.”
“Before the border.”
“My man didn’t see her. Not that day, not the following days.”
The Trusted Man allowed himself a moment’s reflection. Marlene had disappeared somewhere between Merano and the Reschen Pass. That narrowed the hunting ground. Vinschgau. The Passeier Valley. The Ulten Valley. And all the surrounding valleys. Not exactly a tiny area, but not the Wild West either.
He stood up.
“Are you leaving?”
Funny how such a shrewd operator had not picked up on such an important detail, the Trusted Man thought as he shook the ferret’s hand. In sabotaging Wegener, Lorenz Gasser had hindered the Consortium’s plans.
The Trusted Man was shaking hands with a dead man.