Where the Bones are Buried (10 page)

“When I have made that decision, you will not be in any doubt.” He gave them a slashing look and walked away.

“Snippety when he's thwarted,” said Swan. “Can he take our passports, just like that? I swear I don't know how some people live with themselves.”

Margaret's eyes smoldered. “You've turned not knowing into an art, Swan.”

“If wishes were horses, Margaret. But you're too chewed up with envy and bitterness to see straight.”

Sergeant Wegener's eyes widened expectantly, but the heat passed without shedding any light. After the cheek swabs had been collected, the two women retreated into a frigid silence. Nobody said a word in the police car on the way home. But today, Margaret commandeered the front seat. Dinah sat in the back with Swan.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
Was there a message in the rhyme? Did she wish she didn't know?
Know what? Dinah finished the rhyme in her head.
If turnips were swords, I'd wear one at my side
. Other than a growing fear that it would take a sword to prize the truth out of her mother, she was at a loss. But she had a sinking feeling that Margaret had recognized the dead man, and so had Swan.

Chapter Fifteen

Wegener pulled up in front of the Wunderbar and Swan reached for the door handle. Wegener reached an arm over the seat. “Your passport, please.”

Swan rooted it out of her bag and handed it over without protest. She seemed less defiant than she had been at the morgue, although it was impossible for Dinah to intuit what was going on in her mind.

“Thank you,” said Wegener.

Swan didn't hear. She was already out of the car and making a beeline for the hotel door. Margaret handed over her passport and clambered out, coughing.

“You can let me out here, too,” said Dinah. “Assuming it's no longer
verboten
for me to communicate with my mother.”

“Do as you wish.”

“
Dankeshön.
” She got out and followed Swan and Margaret into the lift. They rode up in silence and walked single file to the room. Swan unlocked the door and went directly to the toilet.

Margaret went to the minibar. She said, “I did some shopping yesterday afternoon at that KaDeWe store. Amazing place.” She brought out a bottle of gin and a jar of olives. “These come all the way from Morocco. Care for a martini?”

“You recognized him, didn't you?”

She blew her nose and poured four fingers of gin into a water glass. “He was Cleon's driver and bagman for at least a dozen years. Always had a smartass remark about something or somebody.”

“Why didn't you tell Lohendorf that you knew him?”

“Did you see the way he and that female storm trooper look at me? They're thinking hey, she's already killed one man. They probably think I killed Pohl and Swan went native and took his hair.” She plunked two olives into her gin and downed half of it in one gulp. “Anyhow, chump that I am, I thought Swan might have stepped up and ID'd the bastard instead of playing dumb and pretending to be outraged.”

“Mom knew him, too?”

“Cleon hired him shortly after Swan took over the title of Mrs. Dobbs. She dubbed him Polly. Polly Wolly Doodle. What a piece of work.”

It wasn't clear if the “piece of work” referred to was Pohl or Swan. “You could have stepped up and told the truth, Margaret, instead of acting all weak-kneed and wussy, sniveling for your little flask of courage.”

She laughed a mirthless laugh, which triggered a hacking cough. “Before I spill my guts,” she wheezed at last, “and get us in still deeper with these Germans, I'd like your mother to tell me if she whacked the bastard. I'd like her to tell me why she gulled me into making this trip.”

“Gulled you how? Is that what you and she argued about on the beach before the powwow began?”

“We had some back and forth about lies.” She discharged a snort of palpable disdain. “In short, how many are too goddamned many.”

Swan walked into the room, fluffing her hair. “I must look a sight.”

Dinah could have slapped her. “Why did you say you didn't know Alwin Pohl?”

“It's irrelevant that I knew him. It wouldn't help the police find his murderer.”

“We'll come back to that in a minute. How did you gull Margaret?”

“Let me count the ways,” said Margaret. “She lied about Reiner Hess meeting us at that Indian art place yesterday. She lied about him even being in Berlin. She lied about having something he wanted to buy. I should have checked out the ‘doodad' that was going to make us rich before we left Georgia.” She plucked a thumb drive out of her jacket pocket and dropped it in Dinah's hand. “There it is, the insurance policy she says Cleon gave her. I read it yesterday on the hotel's computer. It's empty as a bubble.”

Swan actually managed to look indignant. “Reiner wouldn't know that right off.”

Margaret gave a derisive hoot. “Only an idiot would take for granted that it contained what you said it did. An idiot like me. Serves me right for imagining that I would ever come out ahead in this rat-infested world.”

“Mom?” Dinah labored to keep up. “You were going to try to bluff Hess into giving you money?”

“Not exactly bluff. I thought the incriminating thingummy might add a little extra incentive, presented in a nice way. Reiner and I are old friends. It's kind of a ticklish situation.”

“Ticklish doesn't begin to cover it,” said Dinah. “You came here intending—in a nice way—to blackmail your old friend, the double murderer?”

Margaret scoffed. “It was all bullshit. Turns out, they're pen pals. I smelled a rat when she pulled that disappearing act yesterday. Hanging around waiting for you in that bizarro gallery, I got to thinking maybe she'd kept something back from me. So I returned to the room and rifled her suitcase. Besides the empty thumb drive, I found a letter from Hess, postmarked Cyprus. ‘
My dear Swan, I wish I could lend you the money you need, but at this time
…'”

Swan said, “I don't believe those are his final words, Margaret. And I don't believe he's still in Cyprus. His daughter Elke's expecting a baby any day now and I'm sure he'll want to be here in Berlin for the birth. If we can find him, I'm sure he'll help us out with the money.”

“Why are you so almighty desperate for money?”

“It's not a matter of desperation. It's only fair. I'm the one who has to fend off the government agents still looking for Cleon's money. I'm the one who has my bank account examined and my poor husband's accounts questioned, while Reiner gets to enjoy all that money and he doesn't even pay taxes on it.”

“Screw Hess!” Dinah was close to her wit's end. “Can't you get it through your head that money is the least of your problems? A man you know, a man you've lied about knowing, was brutally murdered. You're a suspect. The police have your shoes and your DNA and your passport and they won't give up until they find out the truth.”

“If I thought you'd brought me along to set me up as a scapegoat,” said Margaret, “I'd strangle you with one of your Frederick's of Hollywood brassieres.”

“Y'all are ganging up on me. I didn't kill that man. And the police would never have known we were anywhere near that Müggel-de-doo place if Dinah hadn't gotten so het up and called 'em in. Not that you're to blame, baby. You did what you thought was right. As for you, Margaret, I've been trying to help you. If there was any money to be had, I'd have given it to you. I would still. Don't forget, I bought your ticket and I'm the one paying for the hotel.”

“Thanks for the room and board, Swan, and oh, yes, for putting me in the crosshairs of the German police. All I need is another murder rap. You are
too
generous.”

“I'm suffering, too, Margaret. In ways you'll never know and trust me, that's a blessing.”

“Oh, for the love of God. I've had more than enough of your forked tongue and your wild-eyed fantasies. I plan to get roaring drunk this afternoon, and quite possibly violent. It would be safer if you found yourself a different place to sleep tonight.”

Dinah felt ambushed, duped six ways from Sunday by a mother whose veil of lies she couldn't pierce and whose love she couldn't trust. She permitted herself a brief moment of self-pity, then gritted her teeth and hardened her heart. Either Swan had come to the end of her lies, or her daughter had come to the end of the umbilical tether. She said, “Take a nap, Margaret. I'm going to give Mom a little walking tour of the city. If you feel the same way when we get back, I'll help her pack.”

Chapter Sixteen

An anemic sun shone through the clouds as Dinah nudged Swan out onto the street and pointed her in the direction of the Gendarmenmarkt. Gendarmenmarkt was Dinah's favorite square in Berlin, perhaps because its architecture reflected the past in a city whose skyline was jagged with modernity. The bomb damage to the Konzerthaus and the graceful eighteenth-century French cathedral had been repaired, and the German Cathedral, burned to the ground in 1945, had been painstakingly reconstructed to the last detail. It was a short walk and Dinah felt the need for open space and a view of the sky.

At the corner of Niederwallstrasse and Jerusalemstrasse, her eye was drawn, as it always was, to the quotation by Albert Einstein stenciled in large red letters on the windowless wall of an apartment building. Thor had translated the German for her, which went something like, “When concerning oneself with matters of truth and justice, there's no difference between small and big problems.” She didn't like to quibble with a man of Einstein's intellect, but in her humble opinion, concerning oneself with the truth about murder dwarfed the small shit. She said, “We're going to have to discuss Alwin Pohl. Why did he come to my apartment to see you and why did he use the name Hess?”

Swan could usually deflect an unwelcome question by veering off on a whimsical tangent, but for once she stayed quiet. Dinah left the subject of Polly Wolly Doodle until they reached the square. She guided Swan to a bench midway between the two cathedrals. “Let's sit, Mom. The bench isn't wet.”

Swan sat and pointed to a statue of Friedrich von Schiller. “Who's that?”

“A German poet and philosopher. Schiller.”

“And what did he make of this cruel ol' world?”

“He believed that mankind was doomed to suffer.”

“Doomed.” Her smile was uncharacteristically sardonic. “Like Higgledy-Piggledy. Picked and plucked and put in a pie.”

“You said that you were suffering, Mom. Do you want to tell me about it? The truth's going to come out sooner or later and I would appreciate being the first in line to hear it.”

“If a woman can't trust her own daughter with the truth…” She broke off and steepled her fingers under her chin. It was a familiar sign. This was not going to be easy for her.

Dinah was seized by that old seasick feeling, not knowing which way the waves would break. Margaret had nailed her dead to rights. She
was
afraid that Swan would say something she couldn't forgive. If you loved someone, you should be able to forgive anything. But “should” was a highly aspirational word. Doubts could be staved off, rationalized, managed. Knowing would require so much more—judgment, perhaps action. Hallmark sentiments aside, love had its boundaries. While the logical part of her brain struggled to chart them, her subconscious took over. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, baby. I wish there weren't this wall between us.” But even that admission was too much for her. Her eyes darted as suddenly as a dragonfly. “I'm so hungry I could eat a buttered rock. Could we go somewhere and have ourselves a bite of lunch?”

“You can't wriggle out of this situation with a smile and a digression. I need to hear the truth now. Love has its limits.”

“I hope you're wrong about love, Dinah. I'd hate to see you end up like poor Margaret. But I'll tell you about Mr. Alwin Pohl if we could please go inside someplace where it's warm.”

Dinah saw that she was shivering. They were only a few steps from the Café Aigner where she and Thor often ate. “Okay, come on.” She helped her to her feet and they crossed the square, arm in arm. She tried not to think of it as a perp walk.

The headwaiter, or
Oberkellner
, remembered Dinah from previous visits and seated them right away.

“Do y'all have bourbon over here in Germany?” asked Swan.

“Jim Beam, Wild Turkey, Four Roses, Maker's Mark…” The waiter seemed prepared to go on.

“That's fantastic. My husband Bill just loves Eagle Rare. Do y'all have that?”

“I will ask the bartender.”

“No.” Dinah scrunched her eyes. “One of the ones you named will do.”

Swan hesitated for a split second, then smiled up at the waiter. “I'll have a double bourbon Presbyterian with Maker's Mark.”

“I'll have a glass of the house red wine,” said Dinah. She waited until he was out of earshot. “I've never known you to drink anything but chardonnay. It must be bad if you need to buck up your courage with the hard stuff.”

She did the steepling thing.

Dinah steeled herself. “Let's have it.”

“What's that thing Cleon used to say? Overtaken by events. Somebody was always being overtaken by events. Well, I was overtaken by Polly's murder.”

“Did you kill him?”

“I did not. I wished he was dead, or gone off somewhere so I'd never hear from him again. He was a slimy toad and if somebody had killed him while I was in another country, I'd be singin' hosannas.”

“Why? What did he do to you?”

She glanced around as if to make sure Lohendorf wasn't skulking about with a portable mike. “Pretty much everything I told you is the truth, only backwards and with the name changed.”

“Backwards how? Did you intend to blackmail Pohl instead of Hess?”

“Truth to tell, Alwin was blackmailing me.”

Dinah's thoughts cornered hard. “What in the name of all that's holy could Alwin Pohl have to hold over
your
head?”

“Did you know they've got a law back in the States that says, even if you had no idea in the world that the person you were with meant to kill somebody, you're just as guilty as he is?”

“Sure. I used to work for lawyers. If somebody dies during the commission of a felony, even if it's accidental, all of the participants can be charged.”

“That's what Alwin had on me. It's as unfair as a tumor, but there you are.”

A different waiter brought their drinks. This one was young and blond with a gold hoop in his left ear.

“Thank you kindly.” Swan smiled up at him. “If you don't mind my saying, you look just like the attractive young lieutenant in that movie about the plot to assassinate Hitler. What was it called?”

“
Valkyrie
. It was a good film. Germans are always the bad guys in American films, but there were some good ones in
Valkyrie
. Matthias Schweighöfer played the lieutenant. You are not the first to say that I resemble him. He lives here in Berlin.”

“Well, isn't
that
a coincidence.”

“I see him sometimes at the clubs. He is a good guy. Not at all arrogant.”

Dinah glowered at Matthias' doppelgänger. He seemed to get the message and beat it back to the kitchen.

Swan tasted her drink. “I wouldn't have guessed you could get bourbon in Berlin. And everybody I've met speaks perfect English.”

“But only you can use it to say nothing. Are you telling me that you were present when somebody committed a murder?”

“Nearby. Believe me, Dinah, I didn't know it was going to happen.”

“Just tell me.”

“Ten years ago, Cleon asked me to ride along to Brunswick with him. He said he had to stop off on the way to town to serve a subpoena. Polly drove. We got to this witness' house and he and Polly went inside. I waited in the car. When they got back, Cleon had blood on his shirt and jacket. He said, ‘It was a bleeping trap,' and when I asked about the blood, he said he had shot a couple of drug cops.”

“Weeping Jesus. Cleon killed federal agents and you knew about it?”

“I was scared to death of him from that day on.”

“Let me get this straight. It was Cleon who killed these people and not Reiner Hess?”

“That's right. I never told a soul for fear of what Cleon might do. I didn't know until a month ago that Polly had recorded what we said in the car.”

Dinah took a long drink of her wine, mostly to give herself time to process the rolling revelations. Ten years ago, 2003. Swan had been divorced from Cleon for twenty-five years. She had been married to Hart Pelerin and widowed, and she had remarried three times since then. “What were you doing palling around with Cleon? Were you planning to go back to him?”

“No. It was supposed to be a friendly drive to Brunswick, that's all. If I'd known he was going to shoot somebody, I'd never have gone.”

If Swan didn't know what Cleon intended, if she just happened to be sitting in his car, she wasn't liable under the felony murder rule. Of course, she could be prosecuted by a district attorney who didn't believe her. How could she prove she didn't know? And if she'd helped Cleon escape, she was guilty of aiding and abetting. With Cleon dead and the other felon blackmailing her, Dinah could understand how she would feel she had no choice but to accede to Pohl's demands. Still, there were too many loose threads to weave into a coherent whole. “How does Hess fit into this disaster?”

“I wrote him and asked if he could reason with Polly. Buy him off or scare him off, do
something
to help me out of this pickle. But that tax scandal has forced the man to go to ground like a hunted fox.”

“You expected Hess to pay the ransom to Pohl for the recording?”

“Why not? I thought he would take care of Polly and share some of his money with Margaret and me, for all our trouble. I've never given his name to any of that plague of agents who've pestered me since Cleon's death.” She drank a few sips of bourbon. “Anyhow, Reiner was never the villain that Margaret imagines. Cleon may have hidden money from her, but it wasn't Reiner's doing. Cleon was the devil incarnate. If it hadn't been for him—”

“Oh, stop it. You stayed close to him after your divorce. You stayed close the whole time you were married to my father and long after he died.”

“I told you I was afraid of Cleon.”

“Since when, Mom? Ten years? Twenty? When were you first afraid of him?” Dinah felt the old compulsion to ask her straight up if she knew that Cleon had killed Hart Pelerin, but she chickened out again. “You could have been smart and told the feds that Cleon had killed two of their own. They would have locked him away where he couldn't hurt anyone else.”

“Smart?” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I had three years of high school on the Big Cypress Reservation. I dropped out after my father hanged himself and I married Cleon the day I turned eighteen. He was already a lawyer, working for Highbrow, Uppity and Snob up in Atlanta. Smart for me has always been to say as little as possible and let other people believe whatever suits them. You don't have to tell me that I've been stupid, that I've put myself and Margaret in jeopardy. I just hope it doesn't suit my daughter to believe that I'm a murderess.”

Dinah thought of all the times she'd faulted her mother for being glib and superficial, hiding behind her smiles and her charm. It had never occurred to her that the studied nonchalance covered feelings of inferiority.

The Matthias lookalike returned to take their order and Swan turned on the charm automatically. “Would you recommend something for me? A specialty of Berlin?”

He recommended the Brandenberger Landente, stuffed duck with red cabbage and potato dumplings. That reminded Swan of a numbered duck she'd had in Paris once, which reminded the waiter of duck-hunting on a private estate on the Baltic last year.

Dinah hardly heard. Her thoughts were in ferment. She supposed Pohl had recorded Cleon to use as leverage in case they were caught and Cleon tried to lay the blame off on him, but why had he waited until now to threaten Swan? He must have seen her picture among Farber's Facebook Indians, remembered the recording, and decided to dig it out to fatten his kitty for Barcelona and a new life with Lena.

“What will you have?”

“Dinah? The young man asked you a question.”

“Oh. Just another glass of wine, please.”

Swan patted his sleeve. “Bring us an extra plate, Kurt. We'll share the duck.” She ordered another bourbon Presbyterian and sent him away with a grin on his face.

When they were alone, Dinah said, “How much money did Pohl want from you?”

“Four hundred thousand Euros. That's more than a half million dollars. I told him I didn't have that kind of money, but he didn't believe me. He said he knew I had the wampum, which I took as a very disparaging word. He said he knew about Panama. He said Cleon told him that's where he parked his cash.”

“Why would Cleon entrust a goon like Pohl with his banking info? And why would Pohl think that you inherited it?”

“I don't know. I told him you were the only one who could dip into that money.”

Dinah rubbed her temples. Her mother had thrown her to the wolf. Did Pohl tell anyone else? She would have to think about that later. She could juggle only so many hot potatoes at a time. “If Pohl believed you were going to pay him, why would he run our car off the road and shoot at you before he got the money?”

“I said you wouldn't give it to me unless you thought my life was in danger. That's what that doll was about.”

A minute went by while Dinah digested yet another lie. She felt as if she were swimming underwater in one of those deep, murky channels of the Suwannee. How could she believe anything Swan said? An old brain twister sprang to mind, something about a lost traveler on an island with two tribes, the Truthful Whitefeet and the Lying Blackfeet. They all wore moccasins so that the traveler couldn't tell them apart. The only way to ascertain the right directions was to ask a question that both the truth-tellers and the liars would answer in the same way. Dinah couldn't think of a single question that would produce a straight answer. Anger boiled out of her. “You've played us all for fools, haven't you? Margaret, Pohl, me. And you're still fooling Margaret, letting her think you need money when you don't. Your money problem is lying dead in the morgue. Now all you have to do is fool the police.”