The Stolen (53 page)

Thomas didn't move.

‘If you think I'm bluffing or that I don't know how to use this you're wrong. Christoph used to take me out hunting; I'm a crack shot.'

Thomas sat down slowly in the leather chair opposite the desk. ‘We thought you were dead. How wonderful you're safe! Your father —'

‘Shut up. I've only come here for one thing, Thomas: to know why you did it, why you had my mother killed.'

‘Liliane, you must be very stressed at this precise moment, your imagination running riot, understandable after the terrible things your father has done, what you must have witnessed —'

‘Cut the crap. I know the truth.'

‘Liliane, you know I loved your mother. I was the one who first set her up in her career… who got her the job at the Watch Company…'

‘Which makes your act even more despicable.' She aimed the gun at his head and stood. Only now did Thomas's confident façade crumble slightly.

‘All right. I'll tell you. Marie was good, the best financial officer I've ever known. She was meticulous. Unfortunately Christoph was not, and in retrospect I suppose it was only a matter of time before she found the records…' Thomas sighed, running a hand over his bald head, suddenly looking a lot older. ‘I was fond of her, you know, but we couldn't afford for the truth to come out.'

‘The involvement with the Nazis?'

‘Christoph was careless; he'd concealed some papers at the Holindt schloss and Marie found them, undeniable evidence in any court. She called me, someone she had always completely trusted, straight away. The rest was easy. She was a creature of habit. Even I knew she always skied at the same time of day.'

‘There were two explosions.'

‘Dynamite triggering an avalanche – a small one but big enough. And so she was buried, along with the truth. It was exciting to watch, really it was. Extraordinary, really, how everyone believed it – even Christoph, at least for a while.'

‘I hate you.' Her voice was steady and for a moment she loved herself for staying calm, for the sense of total clarity that flooded through her like light. Thomas looked over, a slight smile playing across his lips.

‘But tell me, Liliane, who do you think the police will believe? A hysterical teenager with a history of drug addiction and an unhinged father – or one of the most prominent bankers and upstanding citizens in Zürich?'

 

 

‘If you move, Matthias, Olek will shoot the girl,' Janus told them calmly.

Both Matthias and Helen raised their hands.

‘So Inspector Klauser was right, then: you
were
one of them: Janus Zellweger.' Matthias tried to keep the fear out of his voice, the imprint of Latcos's dagger, hidden in the belt at his back, now burning against his skin. Staring across at the arms manufacturer and his bodyguard he tried to guess how many steps it would take to reach them.

‘Klauser was a fool; he underestimated the extent of my influence – of
our
influence, I should say.' Janus moved forward, kicking Ravi's body out of the way. ‘You were a better detective, Matthias; it didn't take you that long to realise there was more than just your uncle Christoph and dear Ulrich involved. But I am only the messenger, the muscle guy, you could say – there were four of us and together we were the most powerful players in the country.'

‘Water, Fire, Air and Earth…' Playing for time, Matthias calculated that Janus was about twelve feet away. ‘Ulrich was Water, you are Fire, Christoph was Air. But tell me, who was Earth, Janus?'

‘Earth is our leader, around whom we revolve. A brilliant operator, a fiscal and strategic genius – without him we would be nothing.'

‘Just tell me.' Matthias needed to hear the name, to have his worst fears confirmed.

‘Would it make a difference to how you die?' Janus asked flatly.

‘Thomas – he's your leader?' Janus's smile answered Matthias's question. ‘Did he kill my wife?'

Instead of replying, Janus took a step closer, his gun trained on Matthias. ‘It was Wilhelm Gustloff's assassination that made us realise how important the cause was. That's when I met your real father, Ulrich Vosshoffner, an exceptional scientist. Ulrich sacrificed everything for the party; he understood what it was to rise above human sentiment, to give your life to higher principles —'

‘Like tearing valuable relics from innocent people, murdering in the name of racial cleansing?'

‘Nothing was arbitrary; he was a brilliant researcher. It was he who instructed me to hide the Kali statuette. He knew its history, that it had powers – we just couldn't work out how to trigger and utilise them. But that's not a problem now, is it?' Janus stepped closer to Helen as he talked. ‘You've proved yourself to be a greater scientist than your father, but it's a pity about the other part of your heritage – it has dragged you down to animal sentiment, something your father displayed. Your mother was less than human and why Ulrich kept her, I'll never understand. But I'm glad your life has finally served a purpose, even if your wife's didn't —'

Furious, Matthias lunged forward.

‘Don't move!' Janus shouted and Matthias froze. ‘I need you to tell me something,' he continued more calmly. ‘The exact analysis of the ore. Tell me that and the woman will survive.' He reached out and caressed Helen's hair. ‘Pretty little thing, isn't she?'

She jabbed him in the ribs and he gasped, and Matthias lunged for Olek, forcing the gun sideways, too late to stop Olek firing. The bullet narrowly missed Janus and Helen. On the other side of the cavern Matthias twisted Olek's wrist hard, making him drop the gun, then pulled out Latcos's knife and slashed at the Slav as Helen and Janus wrestled. Zellweger threw Helen onto her back, but as he stepped over her she kicked him with both legs and he staggered back onto the surface of the meteorite. There was a loud crackle as he hit the stone and a horrible scream just as Matthias plunged Latcos's knife into Olek's side. He fell to the ground, convulsing, just as Janus's blackened face and body slid down the meteorite wall.

Helen, half-collapsed on the ground, nursed a bruised face and arm. Matthias, winded, crawled over to her to cradle her. The Kali statuette stared out at them from the stone niche, her face a leering mask, the two of them surrounded by three corpses, placed like sacrifices before the goddess's altar.

 

 

Thomas stood and took another step towards Liliane. ‘You were such a beautiful, obedient little girl.' His voice was seductive. ‘Just like your mother. You know I made her who she was; do you think it was easy for me, having her killed? But you have to understand…' he took one step nearer ‘… what she'd learned would have brought us all down and I couldn't allow that. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made… I'm sorry, Liliane, it wasn't meant to end this way…' He opened his arms in a gesture of reconciliation, poised innocuously, as relaxed as a godfather should be with a goddaughter.

Liliane stared at him, at the benevolent expression that played across his face, at the mock-smile. Then she squeezed the trigger.

The bullet hit him squarely in the chest and he fell back against the carpet, the jagged wound a spreading crimson stigma. The dead Thomas Mueller looked, Liliane noted, faintly surprised.

 

Already there was the sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside; someone rattled the locked door handle. Liliane sat back down behind the desk. Swinging round, she looked out at the roofs and turrets of the Altstadt, at the clouds drifting high over the river. There were police sirens in the distance. She watched a seagull battling the wind; she was in no hurry.

 

Matthias closed his eyes for a moment against the band of sunshine that spread across the faces of the other mourners, catching at the brightly coloured scarves and skirts of the women. The raw alto tones of a woman's voice filled the spring air, a cousin of Keja, her black hair covered by a red scarf, an old fur coat pulled over her traditional blouse and full-length skirt. She was singing a poem of praise to the dead woman. The open coffin, an ornate white casket, was raised up on a platform surrounded by wreaths and flowers, and lay facing the modest house that Keja and her extended family lived in. The courtyard in front overflowed with mourners, some having travelled from as far as Turkey to be there.

The funeral had started in the early morning and it was now three in the afternoon. A young boy, solemn and skinny in a cheap suit, had begun to hand out hot black sweet tea in plastic cups to some of the older women to stop them from fainting. The band had been playing since eight a.m., initially heralding the mourners who'd come, dressed in their Sunday best from the surrounding houses and huts of the gypsy settlement – sandwiched between the Communist state housing and the distinctive domed and turreted roofs of the Kalderash houses.

Keja had died two days before, peacefully, and with her two sons holding her hands. She had told Latcos the day and time of her death the week before and, although refusing to believe her, he had reluctantly agreed to notify Matthias. She'd died triumphantly after receiving her last rites from both a Ukrainian Orthodox priest and a Pentecostal priest – the latter at the request of her son, who gave her no option.

‘Two invitations to the same dance,' she'd managed to whisper wryly to Matthias, ‘but at least this way I know I'm going.' She died a couple of hours later.

The singer, gesticulating violently, threw herself over the top of the coffin, which seemed to propel the crowd into a new paroxysm of grief. Latcos, gaunt and pale, leaned over. ‘She is singing about how our mother took her in as one of her own because her parents had died in the camps,' he explained. ‘You see how she was loved?' He began to weep openly, to Matthias's discomfort. ‘There is such a hole in my heart. I will miss her. I will miss our arguments every day of my life.'

Reaching into his pocket, Matthias pulled out a large white handkerchief and handed it to Latcos, who wiped his eyes. ‘Thank you. Come, brother, I think we need a drink.'

At the back of the house a bar had been erected. A group of Rom men were gathered round the portable table, behind which a tall thin youth with a soft feathery moustache was serving beer and a local home-brewed brandy. The men parted in respect as Latcos approached the table and, after handing a glass to Matthias, he lit up a cigarette.

‘So, Matthias, you told me Liliane is in prison for Mueller's murder?'

‘Not prison, juvenile detention – and just for one year. Her age saved her from real prison.'

‘The women of our family, they are strong.'

‘Actually, she's okay – she's clean of drugs and healthy – and she's started learning Romane.'

Latcos chuckled. ‘Keja would be happy. So among all this grief there is cause for celebration, brother. The valuables identified as Rom have been returned and there will be a Kris held specially to return them to the right families.' He threw his arm around Matthias's shoulder. ‘This time we won.' He lifted his glass. ‘To our mother's courage.'

The two brothers toasted each other then drank.

‘Just one other thing, Latcos. I had a call from Javob Rechtschild. He was a little surprised by the Magritte canvas we found. Seems it turned out to be a fake. He was a little perplexed as to why the Nazis would bother to confiscate a forgery.'

Latcos held his brother's gaze unflinchingly. ‘Maybe those Nazis weren't so intelligent after all,' he joked, but there was a challenging edge under his voice.

Matthias smiled. ‘Luckily they haven't been able to discover the provenance, so it will always go unclaimed.'

‘That is lucky – for someone,' Latcos added with a straight face. ‘But tell me, is it true what my cousin read – something about a breakthrough at Kronos Laboratory involving a brand-new mineral?'

‘I'm in the process of reverse-engineering the new silicate the statuette is made of. It could take decades to figure out how to duplicate the mineral and develop the first commercially viable superconductor at room temperature – or I could fail altogether. Helen's relieved – there's little chance “Kali's blessing” will be unleashed on the world just yet.'

‘And so the sun will rise and the sun will set and everything will keep turning.'

From the other side of the house they heard the singer stop singing and the deep voice of the priest booming out from the microphone.

‘I should go back. I have a song to sing and a speech to make.'

The younger brother slipped his arm around the elder and together they walked back to the funeral.

If you want to find out what happens to Liliane in juvenile detention, go to
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