A Song Of Shadows Part 25

Baulman sipped his hot chocolate. He wanted all of this to be at an end, but he was too careful to dismiss the Jigsaw Man's question out of hand.

'Hummel is the only one directly connected with Lubsko, but Hummel was close to Riese. Riese was not at Lubsko, but he and Hummel were friendly, and I cannot say what Hummel might have shared with him, and with Engel in turn. If Engel tries to sell anyone else out, it will be Hummel next, then Riese.'

'Are you sure that these are the only ones Engel might give up?'

'He wouldn't dare name the last.'

'You're sure of this?'

Baulman was suddenly tired. He felt the force of the past straining to emerge, like water behind a fracturing dam.

'No,' he said, 'I cannot be sure, but even Engel has his limits. Anyway, he will give them Hummel before he offers up anyone else, and who knows how long that will delay proceedings? But can't you get in touch with him and pressure him to remain silent?'

'We did, through his lawyer. Engel is angry that we wouldn't support him as far as the Supreme Court.'

'Did you tell him that we can't s.h.i.t gold?'

'He seems to believe that we have funds hidden away.'

'For decades we have all enjoyed a life of comfort, of security. How does he think it was paid for?'

'I offered to put ten thousand Euros into an account in Germany for his use. The lawyer says it's not enough. Even a hundred thousand wouldn't be enough to satisfy Engel. He wants to stay in the United States.'

'If only he'd been more like Fuhrmann, and had the courage to take his punishment without complaint, and without betraying his comrades.'

'Fuhrmann was an officer.'

Baulman had suspected that this would be the Jigsaw Man's view. He was a sn.o.b of the worst kind. He had a point about Fuhrmann, though, who'd been their contact outside the camp. He'd remained silent, unlike Engel.

'But Engel,' the Jigsaw Man added, 'is a thug.'

'We were all thugs,' said Baulman.

'Even you?'

'Even me. I have no illusions. I was there.'

The Jigsaw Man didn't contradict him, but Baulman could see him bristling. The Jigsaw Man didn't like such talk.

'Speak with Hummel and Riese,' said the Jigsaw Man. 'See what you can find out.'

'Me?'

'Who else?'

'But they might be watching me.'

'You told me they had nothing on you.'

'I know, but ...'

He bit his tongue. He didn't want to d.a.m.n himself with his own mouth.

'What would be more suspicious?' asked the Jigsaw Man. 'That you should continue to see your old friends or that you should suddenly stop seeing them for fear of drawing attention to them?'

'I have not spoken with Hummel in years. He lives in a home. I hear he's senile.'

'Then I suggest that you renew his acquaintance before it's too late. And Riese?'

'We were never close, but I know him a little.'

'So you find out if the Justice Department has been in touch with either of them, and apprise them of the importance of maintaining appearances.'

The Jigsaw Man knocked back the rest of the brandy in one mouthful, and put the snifter on the table.

'If you hear anything more from Demers, be sure to inform me. And tell me how things go with Hummel and Riese. Remember, you're not the only one who has to be protected.' He patted Baulman on the shoulder. 'You're not even the most important.'

49.

Gordon Walsh sat at the back of the conference room as Lieutenant Driver, the newly appointed commanding officer of Major Crimes Unit-North gave details to the a.s.sembled reporters of progress in the continuing search for Oran Wilde and the a.s.sociated killings, which amounted to none at all. He tried to disguise it as best he could behind the usual plat.i.tudes about following a number of lines of inquiry, but the appeal for fresh information gave him away. Behind Driver, in a gesture of support, stood the commander of MCU-South plus a.s.sorted uniformed officers and members of the Violent Crimes Task Force, along with a pair of FBI agents who were there simply to fill up the room and put some kind of governmental gloss on the whole mess. All present bore the expressions of men and women who wanted to be anywhere else but where they were. Walsh was reminded of those show trials in China, when everyone involved in a failure was paraded in front of the cameras before being hauled off and shot. They'd asked him to take his place out front with the d.a.m.ned, but he'd told them, in the most diplomatic way possible, to go screw themselves.

When the reporters had exhausted themselves by asking the same questions that they'd been posing ever since Oran Wilde vanished off the map, someone from NBC raised the Winter murder, and Driver gave a variation on the same theme: lines of inquiry, ongoing investigation, reluctant to compromise sources, any information gratefully received, and we'll even pay for the stamps ...

This led on to Bruno Perlman, and the possibility that the case of the Tedescos down in Florida might be connected to his death. Driver gratefully ceded the microphone to Detective Louise Tyler, who was leading the Perlman investigation. Thank G.o.d they didn't put her buddy Welbecke up there, Walsh thought. She'd probably have punched someone out. Tyler threw the media a couple of bones, but they had little meat on them, and when she tried to suggest that Perlman's death might yet prove to be suicide, it provoked open expressions of disbelief from the crowd. The Perlman question did allow the MSP to shift some of the heat to the FBI liaisons, one of whom told the room that because the results of the autopsy on Perlman were 'inconclusive', a second, federal autopsy was in the process of being conducted. When asked about a connection to the murder of Ruth Winter, he said the investigation was still in progress. He gave the same answer when asked about the Tedescos.

While he was speaking, someone took the chair at the far end of the row from Walsh. He glanced over to see Marie Demers, who'd come nosing around following the Winter murder, and who was being copied on all relevant material. Walsh tried to recall if he'd ever been involved in a bigger cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k, and decided that he hadn't. Maybe they should get T-shirts made for everyone once it was all over: I SURVIVED THE Cl.u.s.tERf.u.c.k KILLINGS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT AND THE REMNANTS OF A CAREER.

The problem, from Walsh's point of view, was that the resources of the MSP were being fatally overstretched by the three investigations Wilde, Winter, and Perlman and, instead of alleviating the burden, the involvement of outside agencies was complicating the whole business still further. It was as though white noise was being pumped in over a piece of music, and now n.o.body could hear the tune.

But Demers interested him. He was the reason that she was in attendance at the press conference. He'd heard from Ross that she was back in Maine, staying at some hotel midway between Bangor and Boreas. He'd eventually succeeded in getting in touch with her the night before, and suggested that they meet, but she begged off with a migraine and offered to hook up after the press conference instead.

Mercifully, the conference started to wind up, and the whole sorry affair was brought to a close, the relief palpably emanating from those behind the microphone. Walsh sidled up to Demers. They'd met briefly in the aftermath of Ruth Winter's murder, and at her burial. This time he took Demers for coffee, where she ordered some kind of nonfat decaf which, to paraphrase the Tom Waits song, didn't even look strong enough to defend itself. In the spirit of the occasion Walsh resisted ordering something sweet and fat, and instead went for an Americano with so many shots that it practically counted as a giant espresso.

'Thanks for taking the time to meet,' he said.

'SAC Ross told me that it might be worth my while speaking with you.'

'That was nice of him.'

'Ross doesn't do nice.'

'No, he doesn't. I just said it for form's sake.'

Walsh took a hit of his coffee, and the first of the caffeine lit up his synapses like fireworks on the Fourth of July. He thought his eyeb.a.l.l.s might pop out.

'Well?' said Demers.

She wasn't much for small talk, Walsh thought. It might have been the aftereffects of the migraine, or it could be that she was always that way. He didn't much care which. It wasn't as if they were planning to get married.

'You're investigating a man named Marcus Baulman as a possible war criminal.'

'Yes.'

'This Baulman was at a concentration camp called Lubsko, of which Ruth Winter's mother was the sole survivor.'

'It wasn't a concentration camp: it was officially an "experimental colony" but otherwise, yes.'

'And members of Bruno Perlman's family died at the same camp, which gives us a dotted line between Ruth Winter, Perlman, and Marcus Baulman.'

'Again, all this is common knowledge.'

'I have something that isn't,' said Walsh.

'Really?'

Demers wasn't exactly on the edge of her seat, but he could see that he had piqued her curiosity for the first time.

'The man who killed Ruth Winter the one we're calling Earl Steiger, in the absence of anything more conclusive was a professional killer, possibly hired by a man named Cambion.'

Now Demers was interested. She even pushed her weird coffee to one side, as though it might impede the flow of information.

'Where did you get this?'

'It doesn't matter where, and it's not conclusive. I don't have any evidence to support it, but the source is good.'

'You didn't share this with Ross?'

'I did.'

'Ross didn't share it with me.'

'You take that up with Ross. For what it's worth, he told me to keep it to myself, but I don't work for Ross not officially, anyway, although sometimes he acts like I do. Plus I'm tired of seeing my entire department chasing its tail with no result. So I'm looking at all of these pieces, but I can't make them fit together. Then you come along talking about war criminals, and suddenly I can see a picture.'

'Go on.'

'Bruno Perlman finds out something about Lubsko and Marcus Baulman that n.o.body else knows. He shares it with his friend Lenny Tedesco, then heads north. Along the way, he lets someone up here know that he's coming maybe even more than one person. Because of the Lubsko connection, I'm figuring one of them has to be either Isha Winter or her daughter.'

'I spoke with Isha Winter,' said Demers. 'Perlman didn't say anything to her about coming back for a second visit, and I don't think he'd have been welcome anyway. Isha didn't care much for his att.i.tude the first time they met.'

'Then it's Ruth Winter he wanted to see. Perhaps he figures that an elderly woman shouldn't be approached directly about whatever he's discovered, and he might be better off going through her daughter. Baulman finds out that Perlman is coming, and hires Earl Steiger to take care of him and the Tedescos. Steiger could have killed all of them, but I'm leaning toward him farming out one of the jobs.'

'Why?'

'The timing is tight not too tight for it to be impossible for Steiger to have worked alone, but just tight enough to make it improbable. And also-'

He took a moment to risk another sip of coffee. This wasn't where he parted ways with Louis, exactly, but it was a leap that he still wasn't entirely confident about making.

'There's a chance,' he said, 'and only a chance, that the killing of the Wilde family might be part of the same picture, but designed to distract us.'

Demers said nothing. He couldn't tell if it was disbelief, or if he had her.

'Everything about the Wilde case is off,' said Walsh. 'Everything. Oran Wilde should have been caught within hours, but he's still out there. His father's safe was locked when the house was examined, and we found charred bills in his wallet, so what's the kid doing for funds? And there's no motive. The more we find out about Oran, the more he seems like a regular kid a little fond of wearing black, liked his shoot-'em-ups, and not as smart as he thought he was, but no murderer. Just the opposite: his close friends had him pegged as a decent, sensitive guy. His yearbook photo should have read "Least Likely to Commit a Ma.s.s Killing." But somehow, his family ended up dead and we've committed huge resources to scouring the state for him, with no result.'

'You're saying that someone slaughtered four members of a family, and abducted a fifth, as a diversion? From what?'

'From a body on a beach. From Bruno Perlman. Whoever put him in the water probably didn't know about the tides there, which are all screwy. Perlman wasn't supposed to wash up at Mason Point, but he did. I think someone went to the trouble of clogging up our system so Perlman would be overlooked and tagged as an accidental drowning, or a suicide, or would simply lie in cold storage until whatever else needed to be done could be completed.'

'What about Ruth Winter?' asked Demers. 'She doesn't fit into the same time frame. She dies later. Why not kill her along with Perlman?'

'Maybe because Perlman's killer knew that he hadn't shared his information with her yet. What if it was something physical, something that Perlman wanted to show her? There was no laptop in his car when it was found, and we know that he owned one from a warranty found in his apartment. Unless Perlman brought his computer with him for his last swim, then it, along with anything else that might be useful, was taken by his killer.'

'Then why murder Ruth Winter at all?'

'That's where it all starts to fall apart,' admitted Walsh.

'But you think Baulman may be the one who did the hiring,' said Demers.

'Would he kill to hide his past?'

'He was responsible for murdering children at Lubsko, and apparently did it without compunction. So, yes, I think he would or, given his age, he'd pay someone else to do it for him.'

'You have proof that Baulman is the one you're looking for?'

Demers drank some more of her coffee and scowled.

'Why am I even drinking this s.h.i.t?' she said.

'I didn't want to ask.'

She didn't wait for him to offer to get her something stronger, but went to the counter herself and came back a few minutes later with an espresso.

'f.u.c.k it if I get another migraine,' she said.

'That's the right att.i.tude.'

'Where were we?'

'Proof that Baulman is a war criminal.'

'We don't have any.'

'Jesus. For real?'