“The Day After Tomorrow.”
Outside, Remmer and Schneider crossed the stone pavement of Charlottenburg’s courtyard. They walked quickly, saying nothing. Ahead of them, a black Mercedes turned in at the gate and was waved through. Stepping aside, they saw the driver stop at the entryway and go inside. Remmer’s first thought was that Scholl was leaving and he hesitated, but then nothing happened. The Mercedes stayed where it was. It could be there for an hour, he thought. Pulling his radio from his jacket, Remmer spoke into it. Then they moved on. Passing the gate, Remmer made deliberate eye contact with the security guards on duty. Both men looked away, and he and Schneider passed unchallenged. As quickly, a dark blue BMW squealed out of traffic and slid to a stop at the curb beside them. The two got in and the car drove off.
If Remmer or Schneider or either of the two BKA detectives in the BMW with them had looked back, they would have seen the palace’s main door open and the driver of the black Mercedes emerge, accompanied not by Scholl or any of the prestigious guests but by Joanna.
Helping her into the rear seat, the driver closed the door and got behind the wheel. Pulling on his seat belt, he started the engine and drove off, circling the courtyard and then turning left on Spandauer Damm, the opposite direction from the way Remmer’s BMW had gone. A moment later the driver saw a silver Volkswagen sedan pull from the curb, make a quick U-turn across traffic, and settle into the lane behind him. So he was being followed. He smiled. He was merely taking her to a hotel. There was no law against that.
Alone in the backseat, Joanna pulled her coat around her and tried not to cry. She didn’t know what had happened, only that Salettl, at the last moment, had sent he away without even giving her a chance to say goodbye to Elton Lybarger. The doctor had entered Lybarger’s room and taken her aside only moments after the police left.
“Your relationship with Mr. Lybarger has ended, Salettl had commanded. He seemed nervous and very jittery. Then in an abrupt turn of character, he became almost kindly. “It’s best for both of you if you think no more about it.” Then he handed her a tiny package that had been wrapped as a gift. “This is for you,” he said “Promise me you won’t open it until you get home.”
Shocked and confused by his abruptness, she vaguely remembered agreeing and thanking him, then absently putting his present in her purse. Her mind had been on Lybarger. They had been together for a long time, and shared a great deal, not all of it entirely pleasant. The least Salettl could have let her do was to wish him well and say goodbye. Gift or not, what he had done had been curt, even rude. But what came next was even worse.
“—I know you expected to spend this last evening with Von Holden,” Salettl said. “Don’t act as if it’s a surprise that I know. Unfortunately, Von Holden will be occupied with duties for Mr. Scholl and will be leaving with him for South America immediately after the dinner.”
“I won’t see him?” She suddenly felt heartsick.
“No.”
She didn’t understand. She was to have spent the night at a Berlin hotel, then fly out to Los Angeles in the morning. Von Holden had said nothing about leaving with Scholl. He was to have come to her after the ceremony at Charlottenburg. The night was to have been theirs together.
“Your things have been packed. A car is waiting downstairs for you. Goodbye, Miss Marsh.”
And that had been that. A security guard had taken her downstairs. And then she was in the car and gone. Turning to look back, she could just see the palace. Barely visible in the thick fog, it slowly faded from sight. It was as if it, and everything she had done leading up to it, Von Holden included, had been a dream. A dream that, like Charlottenburg, simply vanished.
“
From his seat next to the pilot, Schneider could just make out the fog lamps of the BMW as it circled out of the field and turned left toward Charlottenburg Palace. Leaning back, he tightened his shoulder harness, then unbuttoned his coat and lifted out the handkerchief-covered prize he was taking to the fingerprint laboratory at Bad Godesberg: the water glass Elton Lybarger had used to swallow his vitamin pills.
123
“SEVERAL DAYS before Doctor Osborn’s father was murdered”—McVey had taken a small, dog-eared notebook from his jacket, and was half looking at it as he talked to Scholl—”he designed a scalpel. A very special kind of scalpel. Designed and made for his employer, a small company outside Boston. It was a company you owned, Mr. Scholl.”
“I never owned a company that manufactured scalpels.”
“I don’t know if they manufactured scalpels, I only know one was made.”
McVey had known from the moment Goetz went upstairs, to advise him what had happened, that Scholl would leave his guests and come down to meet him. His ego would make him. How could he pass up the chance to meet the man who had just survived a deadly ambush and still had the hubris to invade his private arena? But the curiosity would be fleeting, and as soon as he had seen enough he would leave. That is, unless McVey could take that same curiosity and run with it. That was the trick, working the curiosity, because the next level was emotion and he had a gut sense that Scholl was a lot more emotional than he let on to anyone. Once people started reacting emotionally, they were apt to say anything.
“The company was called Microtab and based in Waltham, Massachusetts. At the time, it was controlled by a privately held company called Wentworth Products Limited, of Ontario, Canada. The man who owned it was”— McVey squinted at his handwriting—“Mr. James Tallmadge of Windsor, Ontario. Tallmadge and the board of directors of Microtab—Earl Samules, Evan Hart and a John Harris, all of Boston—died within a half-dozen months of each other. The Microtab people in 1966. Tallmadge in 1967.”
“I never heard of a company called Microtab, Mr. McVey,” Scholl said. “Now, I think I’ve given you enough time. Mr. Goetz will entertain you while I return to my guests. Within the hour the proper attorneys will be here to answer your warrant.”
Scholl pushed back his chair and stood, and McVey could see Goetz sigh with relief.
“Tallmadge and the others were involved with two other of your companies.” McVey kept on as if Scholl had never spoken. “Alama Steel, Limited of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and Standard Technologies of Perth Amboy, New Jersey. Standard Technologies, by the way, was a subsidiary of a company called T.L.T. International of New York, which was dissolved in 1967.”
Scholl stared in amazement. “What is the purpose of this recitation?” he said coldly.
“I’m simply giving you the opportunity to explain.”
“Just what is it you wish me to explain?”
“Your connection to all these companies and the fact that—”
“I have no connection to these companies.”
“You don’t?”
“Absolutely not.” Scholl’s retort was crisp and edged with anger.
Good, McVey thought. Get mad. “Tell me about Omega Shipping Lines—”
Goetz stood up. It was time to stop it. “I’m afraid that’s all, Detective. Mr. Scholl, your guests are waiting.”
“I was asking Mr. Scholl about Omega Shipping Lines.” McVey’s eyes were locked on Scholl. “I thought you
