“I warned you before, Gunther. Cops in Zurich don’t have a sense of humor.”
“Okay, you’ve got the rope under my ear for that one. Type out a confession and I’ll sign it now.”
“We still have the death penalty in Switzerland,” said Weisendanger. “For certain crimes.”
“Forget it. I didn’t kill those Amis.”
I glanced around the room. On the wall was a flag and a map of Switzerland just in case we forgot where we were. I didn’t think that was likely. Weisendanger might have been speaking German but he still wasn’t making much sense. So far, so Swiss. Unless...
“Shall I tell you what I think happened? Don’t get your hopes up, Inspector. I’m not about to explain a smart theory about those dead Americans. I don’t know anything about that. But I’ll bet good Swiss money that this morning’s little charade was a politician’s idea. Not someone who understands how policemen work, like you and I. Am I right?”
“The government councillor in charge of security is keen for you to move on — at least from Zurich.”
“I’ve just got here. Why should I leave? I haven’t broken any laws. I don’t intend to, either.”
“He feels that you might be an undesirable element.”
“Believe me. I’m already quite used to that back home. You see, I’m not a Nazi. I only look like one.”
“A commissioner of police can make life difficult for someone.”
“That doesn’t sound very democratic. In fact it sounds like the sort of thing a Nazi would say.”
“But you do have business in Ermatingen, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“In which case I strongly suggest that you go and do it, while you can.”
“Pity. I was getting to like this city.”
“I wouldn’t like you to owe me anything. Like your life.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“You’re not listening to what I’m saying, Gunther. You see, I’ve got a hunch that trouble is something that comes your way. And since I’m supposed to protect you while you’re in Zurich, I just don’t want to be the one that has to pull your chestnuts out of the fire. Maybe you had nothing to do with those three dead Americans. Maybe. But perhaps there will be others who might think differently. Americans, for example. Who might make the same stupid mistake I did. You see what I’m saying? This is a quiet town. We like it that way.”
I thought of the dead man in the village of Ringlikon. At least his sudden death would look like an accident. Farmers get killed by bulls all the time. It’s an occupational hazard. But the two men who’d fallen from the viewing tower at the top of the Uetliberg — you could hardly have concealed the fact that they were both wearing second-degree burns on their faces. And when they were identified as German — maybe even Gestapo — then someone might make a connection with the dead farmer, and the Swiss police would start to believe they had a tit-for-tat war on their hands between us and the Amis. So Weisendanger was probably right. If the Amis didn’t try to nail me, the Swiss would almost certainly have to pick me up again and then where would my mission be? It was best I went to Ermatingen. Even if that meant I wasn’t going to sleep with Dalia anytime soon. That was a pity but it couldn’t be helped. Not unless her husband had gone to Geneva again.
As soon as I was back in my room at the Baur, I called her at home in Küsnacht. Agnes, the maid, answered and told me that her mistress would telephone me back in five minutes. Twenty minutes later Dalia called up.
“Darling, what happened yesterday? At the hotel?” she asked. “I know I was late, but surely you must have guessed why. Were you angry with me?”
“Not in the least. I had to go out. On business. Suffice to say it was a very long day.”
“That sounds difficult.”
“You could say that. Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about coming back to Germany?”
“You mean to be in this film? No. I haven’t. Being a movie star no longer interests me very much. I’ve decided to go to the polytechnic and study mathematics. I’m particularly interested in studying set theory and the continuum hypothesis. There’s a theory I should like to prove by a man called Georg Cantor.”
“Sure, I know. The singer. Banjo Eyes.”
Dalia laughed. “That’s Eddie Cantor.”
“I know. But I didn’t want you to think I was completely ignorant.”
“I hope that my decision doesn’t leave you in a difficult position with Josef.”
“With Josef?” I smiled, as for a second I imagined myself on first-name terms with the minister of Truth. “No. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Are you all right, baby? You sound tired. I miss you so much.”
“I’m all right. And I miss you, too. I can’t believe you’re so close and yet so far. Every time I see that lake I know you’re looking at it, too. Why don’t I just swim down there and see you? Right now. It couldn’t take me more than a couple of hours. Seriously though. I don’t suppose there’s any chance your husband is going away on business today. Only, I have to leave Zurich.”
“So soon? Oh, no. That’s too bad. You’re going back to Germany?”
“It might happen that way. I have to go to somewhere first. On the Swiss-German border. I’m not sure when I’ll be back down this way, if at all.”
“Stefan is still here, and he’s very suspicious, Bernie. That’s to say even more suspicious than normal. Well, you got my note at your hotel. What are we going to do? I think I’ll die if I don’t see you soon.”
“Look, I’m going to a château in a place called Ermatingen.”
“Ermatingen? That’s not so far. About an hour away by car. We might meet there, perhaps. But Rapperswil would be better for me. I could easily get to Rapperswil and there are lots of hotels in Rapperswil.”
“I’ll call you when I get to Wolfsberg. Maybe we can meet up at Rapperswil. I don’t know. But don’t give up, angel. Don’t give up. Like you said before. Love will find a way.”
Thirty-five
Wolfsberg occupied an elevated, north-facing plateau between the Thur valley and the Untersee of Lake Constance. I parked beside an extensive pear orchard and walked toward one of several buildings and, summoned by the crunch of my car tires on his gravel, I found Paul Meyer-Schwertenbach walking toward me, taller and more handsome than I remembered, and smiling warmly. He was wearing the informal clothes of a southern German gentleman: a gray Trachten-style hunting jacket with green piping and gold deer on the lapels, a pair of matching riding pants, and short brown ankle boots. There was a hock glass in his hand. I expect there were servants around but at least for the moment I didn’t see any, and Meyer struck me as the type to pretend that he and his wife were simple souls who much preferred to look after themselves. Preferring to look after yourself and doing it by necessity are very different things; especially when you have a butler and a maid and a cook and maybe a couple of gardeners to help out with a few light duties around the house.
“You made it,” he said, and handed me the glass. “I’m very glad. Welcome to my house. Welcome to Wolfsberg.”
“Thanks,” I said, and tasted the wine, which was a delicious Riesling. “That’s the most hospitality I’ve had since I got to Switzerland.”
“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” he said.
“I had to change my plans.”
“Let me show you around,” he said with justifiable pride.
“You have a beautiful home,” I said redundantly.
“There’s been a house on this site since 1272.”