Ghosts of the Past (24 page)

“When we finish lunch, I need you to go shopping… sightseeing.” Ferguson announced, acting as if evaluating the wine as he swirled his third glass directly in front of his face.

“Okay. I can do that. Am I looking for something in particular?”

“No, but I want you to use your credit cards. Nice choice on the wine, this is really good.”

“Thanks. What’s with the credit cards?”

Ferguson held up his hand and paused to finish chewing the last bite of his sandwich. “Everything we’ve done to get here has been on credit cards. Airline tickets, rental car, hotel room, everything is traceable. I have no doubt that the police have traced our credit cards and know exactly where we are. Maybe not the hotel yet, but as soon as the transaction goes through for the room, they’ll clue in.

“The same goes for the bad guys, whoever it is that’s still after us. They may not be as close as the police, but I’m going to assume that they have the ways or means to track us down, and if I were in their shoes I’d start with personal history, which includes credit cards.”

“So why did we do that… the credit cards I mean? You could have warned me.”

“Well,” he finished off his glass, “because by tomorrow we won’t be here. And where we’re headed, hopefully, no one will know for a while.”

“Let me guess,” Courtney sighed and pushed herself back from her plate, “We’re not even close. At the very least we’re headed in the wrong direction.”

“Let’s just say we’re in the right country, and leave it at that.”

“So you’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Not for now.” Ferguson poured out the balance of the bottle of wine, moving from glass to glass measuring out even amounts in both.

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Oh ye of scared to death, particularly if the bad guys find out where we are. My feeling is the less you know the better and safer for you.” Ferguson spoke the truth, but with not enough conviction.

“Bullshit. You don’t trust me.”

“Not true. You’ll know soon enough.”

“Yeah, as long as you take me along and don’t leave me behind, especially if you had planned on using me as some decoy.”

“Damnit Courtney, I’m not going to use you and I’m certainly not going to leave you behind. You’re in this with me to the bitter end, unless you want out on your own.” The anger in Ferguson’s voice was more convincing.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Courtney suddenly felt badly for the spontaneous doubt that had overcome her sensibilities. “You’re stuck with me. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Forget it.” Ferguson fought the urge to tell her that he actually was beginning to feel more than a sense of camaraderie. His feelings were starting to run deeper, but he knew now was not the time to go there.

“I’ll be happy to go out and spend some credit somewhere. That’s one of the things I do best.” Courtney attempted to lighten the mood.

“Good. It sounds to me like we are stuck with each other. This whole affair may not be pretty, and it may not be all that fun, but I’ll guarantee that there will be no lack of excitement.”

“Let me be the judge on the
fun
part.” Courtney saluted him with a raise of her wine glass and polished off the remainder of her wine in one large gulp. She continued to stare at Ferguson as he looked off at a placid Lake Lucerne. There was something about this man that she already found exciting.

Chapter
14
 

May
22,
2001.
Zurich,
Switzerland.

Detective Toby Shutt was escorted into a plush conference room on the second floor of the
Kantonpolizei
Zurich
building in Zurich Switzerland. His trip over the Atlantic had been surprisingly comfortable, but it should have been, compared to the last time Shutt had been overseas. That was 17 years ago when he had shipped out in a miserably uncomfortable C-130 as a very young lance corporal in the United States Army, on his way to a six-month tour in Stuttgart, Germany.

Jean-Luc Daniel had met him at the airport, and with an outstanding command of the English language, had made the trek from the airport to a downtown coffee shop a lively and informative one. After a light breakfast and three cups of coffee that Shutt was convinced may have been the best coffee he had ever had, Daniel provided a short tour of downtown Zurich and the lakefront before they arrived the local police office. Shutt had learned more in three hours about the Swiss law enforcement establishment, than he could have in days or weeks back home. He also had found about thirty minutes to brief Daniel on the two material witnesses he was searching for in Switzerland.

Daniel was middle-aged, tall and thin with a refined air about him. He was handsome, and very polished in a tailored navy wool suit, a starched, white, French cuffed shirt and silk regimental stripe tie. His full head of blond hair was slicked and combed back. He was soft-spoken, but very affable, with a demeanor that exuded professionalism. There was no doubt in Shutt’s mind that Jean-Luc Daniel, was someone of importance in the hierarchy of the Swiss Federal Police, or at the very least possessing the intelligence and political savvy to help with a representative of the United States’ law enforcement community. In reality, he was right on both counts.

Daniel was head of the Coordination Division of the Federal Criminal Police Division, which manages all inter-cantonal and international investigations and the police liaison offices abroad. The CD also functions as a center for the exchange of information with Interpol offices outside the country. At his age, he was on the fast track to the head of the FCP, and Shutt should have been flattered to have Daniel personally overseeing his visit, if he only knew of his stature.

They had spent the last hour going through the pleasantries of meeting with the officers of the local canton office before being guided to the unoccupied second floor conference room. Daniel excused himself from the room to locate something to drink, leaving Shutt alone to use the new mobile phone that had been requisitioned to him. He glanced at his watch, which he had yet to reset to the correct local time, and read the time at home as 9:37am. He dialed up Steve Stewart’s office phone, which was promptly answered before the second ring.

“Steve, it’s Toby. Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear boss. Are you on the T-Mobile?”

“I am. I am also in Zurich at the local canton police office. By the way, thanks for coming up with Jean-Luc, the guy’s a godsend.”

“Glad to hear it, he sounded pretty professional over the phone.”

“Very much so. Have you had any luck while I was buzzin’ the Atlantic?”

“Actually, we have.” Stewart grabbed his notepad from in front of his computer, and swiveled his seat around to kick his feet up on the edge of his desk. “They’re headed to Lucerne, which is south of Zurich. Not too far away, according to the map I have up on the computer. They booked a rental car for a one way drop-off in Lucerne.”

“Very good. Hold on just a second.” Shutt reacted to Daniel returning with two cold bottled waters. “Thanks Jean-Luc. Hang on just a minute, I’m talking to my office back in Louisville, and I may need your input.” Daniel removed his coat, tossed it over the back of one of the ten cushioned armchairs surrounding the long mahogany conference table, and selected a second chair to sit in.

“Sorry Steve, go ahead,” Shutt, returned his conversation to the mobile phone.

“That’s all we know at this point. We are getting a list of all the hotels in Lucerne, and Shawna and I will get started on calling those to look for any Ferguson or Lewis that might have registered. If the names don’t come up we’ll go with descriptions, and if it’s anything close, we will fax pictures. We pulled photos from DMV. Both of their credit cards are being monitored, but nothing has hit the screen. We did find out Courtney Lewis’ cell phone is also a T-Mobile, and she had a very recent conversation with a Chicago number that we’re tracking down now.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Somebody better be. It seems you’re on vacation.”

“Amusing,” Shutt deadpanned. As soon as I finish with my sauna and swim, I’ll call you from the massage table to get an update. Better yet, if you get a hit on any hotels call me back ASAP and I’ll get the locals to help me here. Jean-Luc seems to think we should be able to get any help we want to bring them in for questioning. In the meantime, give me Miss Lewis’ mobile number again, and I’ll give her a little jingle to see if she’s around.”

Stewart read off the number as Shutt scribbled it down in his leather-bound notepad, passed on his farewell, and hung up.

Shutt turned his attention back to Daniel. “It appears my friends are in Lucerne. Is that close?”

“Quite. Just south of here on A4, no more than an hour by car.”

“We’re trying all the hotels. We don’t know if they’ve gone underground or traveling under their own I.D.”

“What can we do here to assist you detective?”

“Please, I’ve already told you, call me Toby,” Shutt reminded him of an earlier request. As for the help, nothing significant right now. As I mentioned earlier, I do not believe these two are dangerous. They are basically running scared from some bad folks. If you don’t mind, I could use you, and your ability to call for some backup if we run into a situation that calls for surrounding them. I really don’t anticipate it coming to that.”

“As I said before, I’m at your disposal. I can call the Lucerne office to let them know we’ll be headed their way and to be ready to provide us assistance if requested,” Daniel couched it as much as a question as a statement.

“That would perfect, Thank you very much,” Shutt responded in his most politically correct tone.

Daniel glanced at the large round clock on the wall above the door, pursed his lips and touched them lightly with the barrel of his right forefinger as he wandered briefly into thought. In immediate recognition, Shutt cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, looking directly at Daniel waiting for an inevitable proclamation of something important.

It came quickly. “It’s almost five o’clock. Since we are unaware of the whereabouts of your runaways, why don’t we get checked into a hotel here in Zurich. That will give you time to catch your breath from your flight, and we can arrange to have a nice meal. If anything comes up from your research back home, and they are fortunate enough to locate them, I will have the local office attach some officers to keep an eye on their location until we get there. We can be in Lucerne first thing in the morning, and you will be able to catch up on some sleep.”

“I had always heard the Swiss were loaded with hospitality, but if you keep this up, I’m going to have to agree with my partner back home.”

“And what would you be agreeing to?”

“He’s accused me of being on vacation.”

“No one ever said you couldn’t mix work with pleasure. This evening we will work on the pleasure.”

“I’m at your disposal,” Shutt mocked, extending his right arm to the opened door.

It was late and the Le Artistes restaurant had extinguished most of its guests. Nevertheless, there was still a hand full of tables of die-hard diners unwilling to relinquish the night. The beautifully lit Belle-Epoque architecture of the dining room, the breathtaking view of Lake Lucerne at night eclipsing the entire south wall of exterior facing windows, and the outstanding Mediterranean cuisine mad their decision to leave a difficult one. The cocktails and wine had only served to enhance the exceptional white tablecloth experience for those still relishing the evening.

Courtney and Ferguson were still enthusiastically ensconced at a table for two by the same windows overlooking the torch lights and large canvass umbrellas of the Le Maritime restaurant outside. Adjacent was the tree-lined sidewalk bordering the Lake, where the small ornamental lights strung in the branches reflected off the black water as if mirroring the stars in the dark sky above. It had been a delightful evening for both of them. The faint aroma of garlic and curry still lingered from their shrimp and chicken pasta entrees, battling for olfactory supremacy over the scent left by the apricot flambé’ that neither claimed they had room to finish, but had left nary a crumb on the plate.

“Picasso could have painted this scene to perfection,” Courtney observed. “Or Degas. Any of the impressionists for that matter would have loved the mix of light, color and reflection to blend into a nebulous replica.”

“It sounds to me you’ve been artistically inspired by your trek today. Either that or it’s the second bottle of wine talking,” Ferguson mirrored her stare out the window.

Courtney had taken Ferguson’s advice earlier in the day and had walked by foot along the lakeside quays, across several of Lucerne’s old squares, and through the streets of old town. She had shopped successfully along Kapellgasse and visited Altes Rathaus, an impressive masonry Renaissance building and tower from 1602, which served as the old town hall. Just left of the town hall on Furrengasse is the A-Rhyn-Haus, a 17th-century building housing a small but choice collection of the works of Pablo Picasso. Courtney was familiar with its existence, and was mindful to make that her top priority while sightseeing the city.

The collection had been a gift from Siegfried and Angela Rosengart, who presented the city of Lucerne on it’s 800th anniversary with eight masterpieces by the famous artist, one for each century. The outstanding works include
Woman
and
Dog
Playing
(1953),
Woman
Dressing
Her
Hair
(1954),
The
Studio
(1955),
Rembrandtesque
Figure
and
Cupid
(1969), and a sculpture,
Woman
with
a
Hat
(1961). There were additional paintings and sculptures, as well as drawings, original prints and ceramics from the last 20 years of the artist’s life displayed on three levels of the museum.