The two large silver candelabras festooned with dozens of candles cast a dream-like quality into the elegant room. Like a shadow Josef entered the room and removed the silver service plates from in front of each person and left the room. In a moment he returned, pushing a teacart of china plates. Just before placing the first plate in front of Miriam, he handed Servette a small card. Servette read it aloud, “Madame and Monsieur. Mussels baked with cream and Pineau de Charentes.”
David shot a quick look at Miriam who raised an eyebrow in response. He asked, “Does Josef always cook like this, Inspector?”
“Not always. Josef is just as adept at a bag-lunch as he is at superb cuisine. He is quite unusual. Fine cooking is just one of a great many of his talents. He can split an apple at 50 paces with a throwing knife and is equally lethal with a pistol, rifle, sword or blowgun. He has some advanced degree black belts in several of the martial arts and even a degree in Philosophy from the University of Geneva. David looked at Miriam in amazement.
David looked up from the last remaining mussel on his plate, and with a laugh said, “With all Josef’s talents — to say nothing of Max’s — why did you call us to help you with the murders?”
“Please don’t be offended. I think we really could have taken care of the situation at hand by ourselves, but, according to the instructions from Interpol, The Office was to be contacted, if certain criterion arose. It did and we called. You are here, and we thank you for your help. We will certainly be most cooperative.”
David’s “No offense taken….” was cut off by the arrival of Josef and the serving cart. After removing the mussel plates he began serving the second course.
“Josef, before you serve us again, show our guests the special features of your cart which you built yourself.”
He smiled and leaned over the serving cart. Suddenly he straightened up holding a small pistol in one hand and a wicked looking throwing knife in the other.
“Where did those come from?” Miriam exclaimed.
“Josef has maybe too much free time,” Servette answered, with a rueful smile. “He finds the most interesting places to hide his little play things. That, combined with an obsessive amount of curiosity, has made him a very unusual person. He has never had to use his fancy serving cart, but as you can see, it has its possibilities. Okay, Josef, you may proceed.”
Josef handed the Inspector another small card, which he read to his guests, “Fish ragout with garlic croutons.”
Max broke the silence of the moment. “I understand that you have been after this man you call, the Dagger for some time.”
David responded. “Well, not us personally, and it’s been several years since his name surfaced in connection with a series of killings throughout Germany. Whoever was doing these acts of brutality was quite anonymous until someone in our research department detected a certain pattern. Each of these stabbing victims was also mutilated with slash marks somewhere on their bodies, hence the nickname, the Dagger. Then, as I said, someone going over the details of these killings remembered a number of killings that had happened years before in the same style. Over the years we thought we had isolated several persons who might be our killer. At the same time we were investigating a rather maniacal group that was a small German underground terrorist splinter organization. On paper and on the door of their office in Munich are the words Government Retirement System. However, we can’t uncover any business of theirs that has anything to do with government or retirement. We were able to infiltrate a local cell of that group in Berlin, but we found their orders were being given from someone in Munich, but we have never been able to crack that Munich cell. That group is suspected to be behind a number of these murders, because all of the victims were Jewish. Now we think that the person known as “the Dagger” was this killer, but since then he seems to have broken ties with that group and struck out on his own. We now believe he contacts various terrorist groups for special services and sometimes for safe houses, but usually he is on his own. We have no photographs of him outside of a computer-aged photo when he was in his early teens, some thirty years ago, that one Levi sent you that you used in your newspaper. We also have a couple of artist’s sketches done from surviving victims, but that’s not much to go on. We don’t even know that those near-victims have really seen the man we’re after or perhaps, a disguise. This is one of the reasons he is so hard to run him down.”
The dining group was so intent on David’s words they hardly noticed that Josef had removed their fish plates and handed the Inspector a third card.
“Ready for roast squab with sauterne sauce?” Servette asked.
Miriam looked down at the plate placed before her, “It’s simply too elegant to disturb. Inspector, how can we ever repay you for this magnificent repast?”
“Really, my dear, there is no need. I would much rather eat with guests than with one of Josef’s, how do you say, TV dinners.” Everyone laughed.
“And while I have the floor, I must insist. Call me Piet, instead of Inspector Servette, at least in friendly company, comprenez-vous?”
“Yes, Piet, I understand,” Miriam replied.
He continued, “You can watch to see if your little bird will fly off your plate if you wish, but I’m going to make damn sure mine doesn’t.” With those remarks, he attacked the squab on his plate with great delight.
While eating, Piet turned to David and said, “I know I said no business until after dinner, but this story is getting very interesting. He then asked, “The person you have been tracking has not been active for several years. Why do you think he has started killing again — this time in Switzerland?”
“That is a mystery to us also, Piet. We learned a long time we cannot predict what he might do or be surprised at what he does. One of his patterns is he never seems to have a pattern, except, for those mutilating slash marks, of course. My suspicion is that some of our agents have been even face-to-face with him on at least one occasion.”
Josef returned to the dining room. “Not more food!” Miriam exclaimed with pleasure.
The tall Sudanese gave Piet the card: the next course was identified as curly endive salad with honey poppy-seed dressing.
Max picked up the chilled fork from the frosted salad plate, telling Josef as he left the room, “Thank you, Josef.” To the guests at the table he said, “This is my favorite salad. Josef serves it every time I come here for dinner.”
Piet replied, “I was going to save any professional talk for after dinner, but since we have already begun, let me say everything will be at your service here as you attempt to solve these cases. If you need any additional people to assist you, all you have to do is ask. However, I can assure you Max knows everyone worth knowing here in Geneva on both sides of the law. He has his pulse on everything special that goes on in this wonderful city, and Joseph will always be there somewhere in the shadows.”
“Thank you Piet. You exaggerate only slightly,” replied Max. A ripple of laughter circled the table. “But seriously, I am at you beck and call. You have only to call me. I’ll give you my private cell phone number before you leave tonight. What I don’t know, Josef will be able to find out in short order.”
Almost on the cue, Josef reappeared to remove the empty salad plates and handed Piet another card. “This time Josef has prepared apple cider sherbet.”
The conversation slowed as they savored the tart-sweet dessert. “Mm … the perfect finale to the most wonderful meal I have ever been served,” responded Miriam who continued looking at Josef. “Josef, you are a jewel. You wouldn’t like to move to Israel, would you?”