The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction (69 page)

Winslow handed his Beretta to Caligula Foxx. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Foxx roll down his window and get off a shot at the LaSalle. From the back seat of the Packard, Winslow heard a loud report. He inferred that it was a .38 or even a .45, fired by Jacob Maccabee.

A circle appeared in the driver’s-side door on the LaSalle, which swerved, its bumper clipping the corner of the Packard, swerving back again into its own lane. Another shot came from the LaSalle and Winslow felt the Packard lurch to the side. He fought the wheel, struggling to keep the big sedan from going into a 360-degree spin, finally managing to bring it to a halt on the shoulder. The LaSalle swept past, the convoy of school buses close on its tail.

Andy Winslow climbed from the Packard and walked once around the car. He let loose a string of obscenities that would have made a longshoreman’s ears burn. Jacob Maccabee climbed from the car, and the two of them jacked up its front end and replaced the destroyed whitewall tyre with the spare.

When Winslow and Maccabee climbed back into the car, Caligula Foxx said, “A pity, Andy. If only we’d acted a little sooner we’d have caught them before they ever got out of the parking lot.”

Winslow shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” He inhaled deeply. “All right, boss. What now?”

Foxx said, “Of course that was Konrad and Strauss. They’re probably headed for the German consulate.”

“Okay. We’ll catch them there.”

Foxx shook his head. “The consulate is technically German territory. We can’t enter without permission, and you can be sure that we’d not get that.” He looked dejected, a rarity for the huge detective. “Back to West Adams, Andy.” He laid a massive arm on the back of his seat and swung around to face Jacob Maccabee and Lisalotte Schmidt. “Reuter will fix us a light supper and we’ll plan our strategy.”

By the time they reached West Adams Place, an early winter dusk had fallen and the heavy, wet snowfall was turning streetlamps into glowing lanterns. They trooped up the steps to the old house, Foxx in the lead, and lifting the brass gryphon’s head to let it fall against the strike plate. He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and studied it.

“Where the devil is that fool Reuter? You’d think he’d know enough to answer the door.”

Andy Winslow said, “He’s probably busy in the kitchen, Caligula. You know when he gets involved in a new recipe, he just goes into a world of his own.”

“All right, all right.” Foxx slipped his watch back into his pocket. “Blast it, I never even carry a key. Why would I need it when I never leave the house? Andy, you must have one, the way you gallivant around all night and wander home at all hours like an alley-cat.”

“Right.” Andy Winslow tugged at his keychain and found a key to the front door. He inserted it in the lock and turned. The door swung open. They all entered.

The foyer was dark. “Reuter!” Foxx shouted again, “Reuter, confound you; what does it take for a man to be admitted to his own home!”

There was no response.

“All right.” Jacob Maccabee hung back, closing the door behind the others. Caligula Foxx advanced, followed by Andy Winslow and Lisalotte Schmidt.

Music was coming from Foxx’s study. The massive detective smiled. He turned to the others, said softly, “
Liebestod
. The Wagner piano transcription. Of course. One must credit even the monster Konrad with taste.”

He signalled Andy Winslow, pushed open the door to his study and took a cautious step across the threshold. He recognized Heinrich Konrad seated at Caligula Foxx’s grand piano. His touch on the keys was skillful and surprisingly sensitive. A Walther pistol lay on the music stand; clearly, Konrad knew the piece by heart.

Konrad looked up, an icy smile on his lips. He said, “Come in,” addressing Foxx by a name other than Caligula Foxx.

“You remember—” said Foxx. He advanced several more steps. Again, there was a fire on the hearth, although a smaller one than on prior days. A man’s body dressed in a dark suit lay before the fire.

“Your chef is in the wine cellar,
Soudruh
. Or would you prefer
Genosse
? Or simply Comrade? We were comrades long ago, were we not, Herr …” Again, he used the name that was not Foxx.

“Call me what you will.” Foxx stood over the prone figure. “We were comrades at one time. I would not call you Comrade now,
Pan
Konrad. Herr Konrad.”

“No. Nor I you, save, perhaps, for old times’ sake. It is time for revenge, then,
Soudruh.
What is it that Monsieur Sue said in his novel? ‘
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
’ It has been twenty years,
Soudruh.
Twenty years since you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed!” Foxx snorted. “You would have sold us out to the Serbs had I not stopped you.”

“They were advancing. We were outnumbered. To fight on would have made no sense!” Heinrich Konrad rose from the piano bench, reaching for the pistol that lay on the music stand. He lifted the pistol and pointed it briefly at Caligula Foxx but then he lowered his hand and sat once more, holding the pistol in one hand, caressing it with the other. “Too soon,
Soudruh,
too soon. We must settle our ancient grievance first.”

“There is nothing to settle, Heinrich. You fixed a handkerchief to your bayonet and started from the trench. I merely did my duty.”

“Duty.
Pah!
What duty? You toadied to the officers so they made you a sergeant and you became a veritable martinet.”

“I did my duty, Heinrich. I was a soldier in the Emperor’s army. As were you. And when I reached for your token of shameful surrender you—”

“I know what I did,
Soudruh. Y
es, I turned my bayonet on you.”

Foxx made an odd gesture. “I carry the scar to this day.”

“My only regret is that I didn’t kill you on the spot.”

“Ah, but you did not. And we held off the charge.”

“And I was cashiered and imprisoned. For that there is no forgiveness. None.”

Foxx turned away from the other. He knelt beside the body on the floor. Then, to Konrad, “I take it that this is Mr Strauss.”

“He served his purpose. I could not take him back to Europe with me and he would have been dangerous to our cause in America. I knew him. He was weak. He would have revealed too much, too soon, to the wrong persons. Anyway, already he was wounded in the car. I am not a nursemaid. He is a problem no longer.”

“So you shot him. In the back of the head, I see. Clearly your preferred form of murder. Will you do the same to me? Here, I will make it easy for you.” He struggled to his feet, puffing as he lifted his great bulk from the floor. He swayed, then reached for the edge of his desk to steady himself.

He stood with his back to Konrad. Over his shoulder he said, “Well, Heinrich? I see you find it most convenient to shoot when you do not need to look them in the face. You shot that poor child whose only crime was to deliver a telegram.”

For a time there was no sound in the room other than the crackling of the fire and Caligula Foxx’s breathing as he slowly regained his equilibrium.

Then strangely, Foxx heard the music resume. He turned. Heinrich Konrad had placed the Walther pistol back on the music stand and resumed playing the Wagner melody. So softly at first, that his voice could barely be heard, Konrad began to sing.

Mild und leise

wie er lächelt

wie das Auge

hold er öffnet

seht ihr’s, Freunde?

Seht ihr’s nacht?

Immer lichter

wie er leuchtet,

stern-umstrahlt

hoch sich hebt?

Seht ihr’s nicht?

And from the doorway, advancing slowly into the room, a hand extended before her, the other concealed behind her back, came Lisalotte Schmidt. She sang, also, in harmony with Heinrich Konrad, Wagner’s lines rendered into her own accented English.

Softly and gently

how he smiles,

how his eyes

fondly open.

Do you see, friends?

Do you not see?

How he shines

ever brighter.

Star-haloed

rising higher.

Do you not see?

Heinrich Konrad rose to his feet, his hands resting on the piano above the keyboard. The Walther pistol still lay on the music stand.

Lisalotte Schmidt brought her hand from behind her back, pointing Andy Winslow’s Beretta at Heinrich Konrad.

Konrad started for the Walther, but Lisalotte Schmidt fired a single shot. He slumped back on to the piano bench, bleeding from the shoulder. With his other hand he reached for the Walther but was stopped by a single word from the bulky woman.

“Lisalotte,” he murmured. “Lisalotte. After … after our night … after our night of love … Lisalotte. How—?”

“Sie haben meinen Bruder ermordet.”
Her voice had become an angry growl.

From the doorway, Jacob Maccabee whispered the translation to Andy Winslow. “You murdered my brother.”

Lisalotte Schmidt carefully aimed the Beretta, pointing it at Konrad’s heart.

Konrad lunged for the Walther but Lisalotte Schmidt’s second shot sent him reeling backward. The piano bench caught him behind the knees and he crashed to the floor. A final syllable hissed from his lips. “
Sieg
…”

Lisalotte Schmidt hissed,
“Mein Bruder ist revenged.”

Andy Winslow said, “There’s no need to translate that, Jacob.”

About the Author

Mike Ashley
is a full-time writer, editor and researcher with almost a hundred books to his credit. He has compiled over fifty Mammoth books including
The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes and Impossible Mysteries
,
The Mammoth Book of Historical Detectives
and
The Mammoth Book of Locked Room Mysteries and Impossible Crimes
. He has also written a biography of Algernon Blackwood,
Starlight Man
. He lives in Kent with his wife and three cats and when he gets the time he likes to go for long walks.

By the Same Author

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The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits

The Mammoth Book of Historical Detectives

The Mammoth Book of Classical Whodunnits

The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

The Mammoth Book of Shakespearean Whodunnits

The Mammoth Book of Shakespearean Detectives

The Mammoth Book of Royal Whodunits

The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits (Volume 2)

(US: The Mammoth Book of More Historical Whodunnits)

The Mammoth of Egyptian Whodunnits

The Mammoth Book of Roman Whodunnits

The Mammoth Book of Roaring Twenties Whodunnits

The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits (Third New Collection)
(US: The Mammoth Book of New Historical Whodunnits)

The Mammoth Book of Jacobean Whodunnits

The Mammoth Book of Dickensian Whodunnits

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The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 23

The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 21

The Mammoth Book of Great British Humour

The Mammoth Book of Drug Barons

The Mammoth Book of Scottish Romance

The Mammoth Book of Women’s Erotic Fantasies

The Mammoth Book of Fun Brain Training

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The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 10

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Copyright

Constable & Robinson Ltd
55–56 Russell Square
London WC1B 4HP
www.constablerobinson.com

First published in the UK by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2011

Copyright © Mike Ashley, 2011 (unless stated elsewhere)

The right of Mike Ashley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

ISBN : 978–1–84901–731–2

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