accentuating high cheekbones and caramel skin, petite body making her seem younger than she was, girlish.
“My German friend told me to ask for you.”
“What German friend you talkin’ about?”
“He was in last night.”
She gave him a big friendly smile. “My man, Fritz.” Gave his arm a light squeeze. “What I call him. What’s his real name?”
“I can’t tell you,” Harry said. “It’s sensitive due to his-” He led her and she picked right up.
“Don’t have to say no more.” Coco touched his arm again. “Fritz okay?”
Harry said, “Yeah, I think so.” No idea what she was talking about.
“Thought he was hurt.”
“Why’s that?”
“Had blood all down his pants.”
“You saw it?”
“Felt it. Was all wet.”
“What happened?”
“Dint say. But when he leave I went to the ladies, washed my hands. Was red blood come off in the sink.”
4
Harry took a cab to the Four Seasons, checked in and called his office. It was 3:38 in the afternoon.
“Harry, where are you? People have been calling for you all day, including some detective from the Washington DC police,” Phyllis said. “Is everything all right?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Harry said. He didn’t want to get into it right now. “How about the guy from the IRS?”
“Haven’t heard a thing. Harry, you coming in today?”
“I’m not feeling well.” Which was not far from the truth.
“Can I do anything for you? Pick up some medicine?”
“I’ll be okay,” Harry said and hung up. Phyllis Wampler had worked for him for ten years. She was forty-two, never been married, lived in Ferndale with her dog, a little shorthaired, two-toned thing named Lily. Harry had stopped over one time to drop something off. He rang the bell, Phyllis opened the door with the dog in her arms.
“Lily, this is Harry, the man I work for,” she’d said in a baby-talk voice. “Look at her‚ Harry, she just had a baffer. That’s a pretty girl. She’s a good girl getting her baffer, all pretty girl now. Aren’t you?” The dog barked and she grinned. “Yes her is.”
Phyllis had dates periodically, but if the guy didn’t like Lily it was all over. Some people liked dogs more than people and Phyllis was one of them.
He took Detective Taggart’s card out of his shirt pocket and dialed the number, heard him identify himself.
“It’s Harry Levin.”
“I’ve got something for you. But I’d rather not say it over the phone.”
“I’ve got something for you, too.”
They agreed to meet in the Four Seasons bar in thirty minutes.
“I was investigating a double murder in Georgetown‚” Taggart said. “Didn’t get to the station till seven. By then, as I told you, the diplomat had been released.”
He drank Budweiser from the bottle, fingers wrapped around the neck, looking out of place in the swank mahogany-paneled room in his light green shirt, brown tie at half mast, brown plaid sport coat, and brown hat on the seat next to him. Just the two of them sitting at the empty bar, bartender working, mixing drinks and serving customers at tables.
“What I didn’t know, he’d been read his rights. Printed and photographed before anyone knew about his diplomatic status. He’d caused an accident and he was drunk. Looking at involuntary manslaughter at the very least.”
Harry picked up his vodka tonic and took a sip. The glass was sweating, so he wrapped a cocktail napkin around the bottom. Taggart reached in his jacket pocket, took out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to him. Harry opened it, studied the face in the photo. Drunk eyes staring at him, mustache and goatee, dark hair flecked with gray, early fifties. Something familiar about him.
“Name’s Ernst Hess,” Taggart said.
“Who is he?”
“German diplomat. That’s all I know.”
“Was he hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“There was blood in the car and blood on his pants.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve got my sources.” Harry sipped his drink.
“What do you mean you’ve got your sources?”
Harry told him about Coco.
“You investigating this on your own now?”
“I’m trying to find out what happened.”
Taggart looked offended, like Harry was stepping on his toes.
“Look, I appreciate everything you’re doing,” Harry said. “I’m not trying to get in your way. But I’ve got to find out who he is and where he is.”
“My guess, on a plane back to Germany. Get out of town, avoid any further embarrassment. What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. Taggart’s conclusion made sense but he wasn’t so sure. Taggart picked up the beer bottle and drained it.
“Another one?” Harry said.
Taggart shook his head. “Got to get back to the office. What about you?”
“I have to go to the hospital get the medical examiner’s report, official cause of death, and have Sara’s body shipped home.”
“Take care of yourself.” Taggart slid off the bar stool and they shook hands.
Harry went back up to his room. Found a phonebook in the drawer of the bedside table. He looked up the German Embassy, got the phone number and made a call.
“German Embassy, how may I direct your call?” a woman said, Berlin accent.
“Will you connect me with Herr Ernst Hess, please?” Harry said in German.
“I am sorry, Herr Hess is out of the building. May I take a message?”
“I’ll call him back,” Harry said.
Harry dialed the front desk and asked where the nearest car rental place was, and found out there was an Avis office right down the street. He rented a black Mustang with tan interior. He studied a map of DC that came with the car, and found Reservoir Road. It ran east and west just north of Georgetown University.
He stopped at a sporting goods in West Village and bought binoculars. Then he drove to the embassy and parked across the street in a metered space in front of a redbrick colonial. The embassy was nothing like he expected. It was a modern six-storey steel and glass building inside a gated complex. There was a guard shack with a security gate, and a wide sweeping driveway that extended from the street to the building. Harry watched visitors drive in, have their ID checked by a security guard, then drive up to the entrance and park.
