“That’s nice. With a position like this, it makes you wonder why they waited that long.”
“I’m pleased you think so.”
The château comprised the old château and the new château — a nicety that was lost on me, save to say these were two separate buildings — a sweet little chapel, a library, a coach house, a pantile-roofed walkway, and, for all I knew, a police presidium and a dungeon that was home to the man in the iron mask. Meyer told me that the new château was in a poor state of repair — which struck me as being counterintuitive — and that I would be staying with him and his wife, Patrizia, and their other guests in the old château. With its three stories and a façade that faced south toward an attractive French garden, the old château was a compact four-square building with dormer windows and a pyramidal mansard roof, on the summit of which was an onion-topped bell-carriage that resembled the cherry on a very large white cake — the kind of cake that very rich people are wont to have. It was a spectacular house, but for my money it was the view that made it especially enviable because, in the middle of Lake Constance, you could see as far as the German island of Reichenau with its famous abbey. Meyer told me he had some powerful binoculars on a tripod and through these you could see German soldiers watering their horses in the lake. I didn’t doubt this for a second. From Wolfsberg Castle you could probably have seen Abbot Berno of Reichenau eating his breakfast back in 1048.
One thing I didn’t expect to see from the terrace at Wolfsberg Castle was General Schellenberg. Wearing a light summer suit, he was sitting below the terrace on the lawn at the back of the house with a woman I guessed was the wife, Patrizia, two dogs, and, in no particular order, Major Eggen. Meyer led the way down a flight of steps to greet them.
“This is the man I was telling you about, my dear,” he told his wife. “The famous Berlin detective. Bernie Gunther.”
“Yes, of course. Welcome to Wolfsberg, Herr Gunther.”
She stood up politely to shake my hand. Patrizia was a woman of spectacular beauty who reminded me a little of Hedy Lamarr. Tall and willowy, with an easy laugh, she wore a floral summer dress and white Persol sunglasses and smoked as if her life depended on it. I might justifiably have paid her more attention but for the realization that Schellenberg and Eggen had certainly used me to smuggle gold across the Swiss border — that I’d taken all of the risk, unwittingly, while they’d traveled in complete safety.
“Everything all right, Gunther?” asked Schellenberg.
For the moment I decided not to let on I knew about the gold or to tell Schellenberg that the OSS had mistaken me for him, and with lethal consequences. The two Germans remained seated, smirking quietly and looking like they’d both been very clever. But the P38 in the shoulder holster I was wearing under my jacket was just itching to come out.
“Yes, everything’s just fine, sir,” I said.
“Any problems with the car?”
“None at all.”
“Good. And where is it now?”
I was tempted to say I’d left it in Zurich. Instead I sat down and let Patrizia refill my glass, and after a short delay, said, “Out front.” I teased him with the keys for a moment and then dropped them back into my pocket.
“How was Zurich?” she asked.
“I liked it. Especially the lake. And the hotel was lovely.”
“Where did you stay?”
“The Baur au Lac.”
“That’s the nicest,” she said.
“This is all very cozy,” I said. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to see both of you here. General. Major.”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing,” explained Eggen. A little bead of sweat rolled off his forehead and onto the bony bridge of his nose. It was a warm day but not that warm, and I realized he was nervous — of me, perhaps.
“I could sit here all day and look at that view,” I told Patrizia.
“We frequently do,” she said. “The desk in Paul’s study is set deliberately against a wall, so that the view doesn’t stop him from writing. It’s a tip he picked up from Somerset Maugham when we were on the Riviera before the war. Although Paul hasn’t done anything as extreme as Maugham did. When he bought the Villa Mauresque, he had the window in his study bricked up so that the view wouldn’t distract him.”
“It’s difficult enough to write a novel as it is without staring out of the window all day,” said Meyer.
“I have the same problem at police headquarters on Berlin’s Alexanderplatz,” I said. “I frequently find myself staring out the window. Wondering what I’m doing there at all.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing much more about that,” said Meyer.
“Uh-oh,” said Patrizia. “I hear a writer coming. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see how dinner is coming along.”
“I’ll come and help you,” said Eggen.
Schellenberg waited until they’d gone and said, “I thought I told you not to bring a gun to Switzerland.” His keen eyes hadn’t missed the fact that I was wearing a shoulder holster.
“This?” I patted my left breast. “I didn’t bring this to Switzerland. I acquired it along the way. A souvenir of my visit, you might say.”
“Get rid of it, for Christ’s sake. You’re making our hostess nervous.”
“You know, I don’t think I will, General. Not for the moment. Too much has happened since I got to Switzerland. Best it stays where it is for now. Tucked up in its little holster.”
“I can assure you,” said Meyer, “Patrizia is fine with guns. Like most Swiss, we keep quite a few guns around the house.”
“It’s too late for that,” I said. “The Germans are already here.”
“I thought you said there were no problems, Gunther,” said Schellenberg.
“With the car. The car’s just fine. It’s out front. With me, things were a little more difficult.”
Schellenberg looked relieved. “Such as?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“That sounds a bit ominous.”
“It’s not at all ominous.” I lit a cigarette. “Not really. You see, it already happened. To me, at any rate. I’ll tell you about it sometime, General. When I’m in a more even frame of mind than I am at this moment. It will be better for you that way. Right now I just want to enjoy this very impressive view, this excellent glass of wine, and this cigarette. And to talk to Captain Meyer, of course. I haven’t seen you since last July, Captain. We’ve got a bit of catching up to do, you and I.” I smiled a sarcastic sort of smile. “With the accent on ‘catching,’ perhaps.”
“Whatever do you mean? And, please, call me Paul.”
“Thanks, but for now I’ll just stick to captain, if you don’t mind. And what do I mean? Well, at the risk of seeming rude, I have to ask you a formal question. A policeman’s question, I’m afraid.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Schellenberg.
“The last time I saw you, Captain Meyer, at the German Opera in Berlin, there was a murder just around the corner. Fellow named Heckholz. Dr. Heckholz. Someone stove his head in with a bust of Hitler. There’s a joke in there somewhere but not for Dr. Heckholz. He died, you see. Not the first person killed by Hitler, and certainly not the last. There, I made it. The joke.”
“No one’s laughing, Gunther,” said Schellenberg.
“Let me finish. Heckholz was a lawyer for the Minoux family, who used to own the villa on Lake Wannsee. Where the IKPK conference took place. Heckholz was preparing to ask some awkward questions about the Nordhav Foundation and the purchase of the villa and who received all of the money from the sale. At first I thought the general here had ordered one of his men to shut Heckholz up. After all, he is the managing director of Nordhav and rather conveniently he does command an office full of murderers.”