Stark wiped his mouth with a napkin, took his cigarettes out, tapped one out of the pack and lighted it and left the pack on the table. Benson amp; Hedges 100s.
“My biggest concern from a legal point of view,” Stark said, blowing out smoke, “you bring charges against Hess, a solid citizen, politician, successful businessman, Huber could tie you to the three neo-Nazis you shot. And he’s got the murder weapon.” Stark placed his cigarette on the edge of the glass ashtray.
“How do you know they found the bodies? And what connects them to the gun?” Harry said.
“That’s the chance you take.”
“What about the mass grave?”
“How do you put Hess at the scene?”
“Joyce and me.”
“It’s been thirty years. How can you be sure he’s the right guy?” Stark picked up his hamburger and took a bite.
“I remember him.”
“But you didn’t recognize him when the DC cop gave you the mug shot,” Stark chewing while he talked. Stuck his finger in his mouth and dislodged a piece of hamburger, looked at it and put it on his plate. “And you didn’t recognize him in the restaurant, sitting at the table.”
“I was distracted,” Harry said. “Had a few things on my mind.”
“You went to Munich to the man’s house and didn’t recognize him,” Stark said. “When did this light bulb of recognition go on?”
“There was something familiar about him, but I didn’t put it together till I saw him in a Nazi uniform.”
“I have to tell you, it doesn’t sound very persuasive.” Stark put his napkin over what was left of the hamburger and picked up his cigarette. “And since we’re on the subject, here’s another concern. Hess is a war criminal. He’s supposedly killed or had killed anyone with a connection to his past. Am I right? You think he’s just going to forget about you?”
“It’s crossed my mind.”
“I hope so.”
Harry brought the Colt Python out and laid it on the table next to his plate.
“Jesus, put that away. Are you fucking nuts?”
He picked up the gun, slid it back in his sport-coat pocket. “Here’s something I didn’t tell you. The night Sara was killed a Jewish couple were murdered in Georgetown, shot in the back of the head. I saw photographs on Taggart’s desk. Martz and Lisa were killed the same way. Nine-millimeter Parabellum shell casings next to the bodies. Fired from a Luger.”
“What’re you saying, Harry?”
“Hang on, it gets better. Before Hess hit Sara he’d been at a strip joint called Archibald’s. Dancer named Coco said she was sitting next to him, touched his leg.”
“Probably copping his joint,” Stark cut in.
“Hess had blood on the front of his pants.”
“Spatter from the Georgetown couple?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You tell Taggart?”
“Yeah. He thinks I’m crazy.”
“I can see why.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. Hess has diplomatic immunity.”
A waitress came and took their plates, asked if they wanted anything else, another beer? Stark shook his head. “Just the check,” Harry said. “It’s on me.”
“Okay, big spender, thanks.” Stark lit another cigarette. “Were the Georgetown couple survivors?”
“Taggart didn’t know.”
“How old were they?”
“He was forty-five. She was thirty-six.”
“Maybe the parents crossed paths with Hess at one time. Knows their names?”
“Why would he go after the son or daughter? Doesn’t make sense.”
“When did it happen?” Stark said, flicking his cigarette ash.
“August 2nd, the night Sara was killed.”
“All right. Let me see what I can find out.”
Stark called him at the scrap yard the next day. “The Georgetown couple are Mitchell Goldman and Sherri Shore. He was a dentist, successful practice, recently divorced and engaged. She was his fiancee and former receptionist.”
“Why would he get remarried so fast?”
“Maybe she was pregnant. Or maybe he’s a glutton for punishment. I don’t know. Both the dentist and the fiancee were born and raised in Baltimore. Both sets of parents also born and raised there. I dug a little deeper. Mitch Goldman’s ex moved to Florida after the divorce and took her maiden name.”
“What’s so unusual about that?”
“Nothing unless her name happens to be Joyce Cantor. That the connection you’re looking for?” He paused. “She works for Sunset Realty, lives in the Winthrop House. Condo, corner of Worth Avenue and South Ocean Boulevard. Trendy neighborhood. Phone number’s 407-642-3655.”
“She saw Hess coming out of a restaurant in Munich, recognized him, and went after him,” Harry said.
“How come she recognized him, you didn’t?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hess flew to DC to kill her. Shot the fiancee by mistake. Did the dentist, I’m guessing, ’cause he happened to be there. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got the same thing in mind for you, Harry.”
“We know Hess is good at shooting unarmed people,” Harry said. “Let’s see how he does against someone with a gun.”
30
Hess flew first class Munich-London, London-Detroit with a passport identifying him as Gerd Klaus from Stuttgart. Going through United States customs, a dark-skinned agent-Hess would have guessed was Hispanic- studied his passport, taking his time, in no hurry even though there were many people in line behind him.
“What is your purpose for coming to the United States, Mr. Klaus?”
“Business,” Hess said, friendly and polite even though it was demeaning to be interrogated by this Mexican.
“What type of business are you in?”
“Automotive parts.”
“Do you have a business card?”
“Sure do,” he said in his best American English. Hess had come prepared, handed the man one of his freshly printed cards that said he was Midwest sales manager. He had been speaking English for thirty years. He loved American cinema and had even perfected a Southern accent.
“Welcome to America,” the Mexican said, stamping his passport and handing it back to him.
He had reserved an automobile at Avis, waiting for a bus outside the terminal with the other salesmen in suits and ties. He rented a silver Chevrolet Malibu, two doors and a long hood, that drove like a truck, the steering sloppy and loose. If this car was any indication of American innovation, they had a long way to go before they would catch up to the Germans.
He drove to Detroit. He had booked a room at the Statler Hotel on Washington Boulevard, handed his car keys to the valet, checked in and was escorted to a room on the seventh floor. He made an overseas phone call to his secretary, Ingrid, asking if Rausch had phoned. Rausch had gone to Bergheim the day before to dispose of Colette Rizik and her mother.
