Hans stared at his reflection in the mirror. Was his nose too large? He moved the putty around to change the shape a little. That’s better. He put on the brown tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches he’d stolen from an American at the last hotel he’d stayed in. Then he fitted the auburn wig over his short, sandy hair. Putting on a tan, baseball cap, he looked at himself again, studying the effect. Did he really look like a university professor? Something was missing, but he couldn’t decide what. He switched the baseball cap for a corduroy newsboy flat-cap, finally a pair of black rimmed glasses. Now he was satisfied.
He went down with the suitcase to his rented, black Volvo and put his theatre case in the trunk beside the larger one that held his clothes then returned, got his briefcase and checked the passport he would be using to cross the border into Germany, as Ralph Stoner, a teacher in an American High School in Munich. He was ready to leave. He locked up the isolated chalet. He could return here as he had paid a year’s rent. He could afford it and being gone would not be noticed. He’d keep it for use when he returned for the auction of his emerald.
The car started quickly and he rolled slowly out onto the road toward the highway that led to the border. He always kept to the speed limit wherever he went, cautiously obeying all regulations so not to bring attention to himself. After all his early years in Argentina, he had grown to be a much disciplined man with a keen intellect and sharp eyes. The environment was in his mind at all times. The border would be challenging now that they were looking for a serial killer. The Swiss police would be on the scene, but maybe that newspaper photo wouldn’t have reached the border crossing yet.
He had studied the techniques Interpol used, reading everything he could find and had come to the conclusion that Interpol was really not that threatening. They were after all, just police that kept in contact across national borders, sharing their information. If the Swiss don’t actually have any information to share, why get alarmed? He most certainly did not look like that photo they had in the newspaper, and that’s all they’ve had to go on, he assured himself, as he drove along the winding mountain road.
Several hours later, nearing the border, Hans pulled over at a small café and gas station. He filled his tank and entered the restaurant, selecting the table with a newspaper lying on it. The waitress was going to take it, but he said he wanted something to read. After she took his order, he scanned the front page. There was a small article at the bottom about him. He was not so popular outside of Geneva, and that was good, but he also felt a sting at the snub. Vanity kept his senses sharpened and his pride intact. People are such fools. All they go on are looks, and if you look different, you are different. He could go wherever he wished because of his ability to masquerade himself. When the waitress placed the steak before him, he relaxed, laid the paper down and proceeded to eat.
Hans finished the steak dinner and went to the men’s room to check his disguise before leaving the small café, then returned to his car. From a box in the back seat he pulled out three philosophy textbooks and laid them on the passenger seat. He pulled out onto the highway and proceeded to the border six miles away.
CHAPTER 12
Inspector Servette uncovered his telephone from under a pile of file folders on his desk, and mumbled, “Found! You can’t hide from me.” He dialed and waited.
“Max I have a little job for you. Would you please find out what you can about this Wittlesbach Emerald and when it is to be auctioned by Christies? When the Klein killing in Rorshach was investigated a couple of weeks ago, a letter was found wadded up in their living room that seemed to indicate that there was a connection between the Klein’s, this stone and Christies. The investigators, at first, thought the killing was just a burglary gone bad, but those slash marks on the Klein’s may indicate something else. Yeah, check with Dr. Franz at Christies or Mr. Brunstein at the Bank du Mont Blanc and see if there has been any unusual interest in that gem that we should know about. Oh, and your sources on the street might have something interesting to say also. Thanks Max.”
Emily noted the tall stature of the Chinese-looking man that just entered Christie’s. He stood a head taller than any Oriental she had ever seen, and he was quite striking, in a strange way, but there was something vicious and almost sad in his eyes. He had tiny features — pinprick eyes and a splinter of a nose, so small that his head appeared to have swollen around his face. His hair was dun color and was as short as a drill instructor’s. His chest had the dimensions of an oil drum, and his coat sleeves were too short on a dark gray suit. His blue-rimmed glasses were surprising stylish, given the sprung and tired look to the rest of him. She rose from her desk in the corner and approached the man asking him if she could be of help. He wanted to see Dr. Franz and no one else. This miffed her a little because she felt she knew as much about what went on at Christie’s as Dr. Franz did. After all, she had experience at the main London Christie’s International office. However, rank and education always win out, she realized, and there was nothing she could do about that, so she turned and walked to the back office and knocked on the door to speak to her boss. He told her to show the man in, which she did.
“Dr. Franz?” queried Tam. “I’m Tam Stratton from Hong Kong. You have an interesting place here. I noted several Chinese ivories that are very rare. Very nice they are. I am a representative of a group of Chinese collectors who have banded together for advantage to buy important items such as those you put on auction. Primarily, today, I am interested in learning a little more about the Whittelsbach Emerald that is set to go on auction. Is there a chance I could view it?”
“Mr. Stratton, nice to meet you. I am sorry, but our policy is very strict and permits viewing by special customers only the week prior to the actual auction. The Emerald you speak of goes on auction, I believe, May first. Did you receive an invitation to that auction, by any chance? I do not recall your name. Those auctions are by invitation only, you see.”
“That’s why I’m here so early, sir. I wish to secure an invitation. How can that be arranged?”
“Well, you can get the official papers to fill out from Emily, the lady who greeted you in my outer office. Your background will be checked, and then we will see. That is, your financial background, you understand. Thank you for coming in, Mr. Stratton. Good day.”
Tam thanked Dr. Franz and returned to ask Emily for the necessary forms to fill out, which she handed him. He thanked her and left. Back in the same cab with the same driver, he noticed, he glanced over the forms. A bunch of rigmarole paperwork. That figures, he thought. “Yes, back to the Hotel du Fontaigne, and thank you for waiting.”
“You left your book in my taxi and I figured you’d want it back, besides business is slow.”
“Thank you very much for keeping my book, sir.”
Tam tipped him generously as he got and went into the hotel.
After Tam entered the hotel, the driver got his cell phone from the pocket of the taxi, dialed, and waited for a few seconds.