just an item, rather than a hot one. For instance, we’re not lovers, and most of Kurt’s colleagues know that. He’s thirty-four and looking for a wife, not a mistress.”
“Would his family be under the same impression?” asked Nick.
“It’s possible. Last night we had dinner together, and he dropped heavy hints about what kind of engagement ring I’d like. I flew right at him! I’d choose my engagement ring, I said-all my fiance had to do was pay for it. Typical Kurt, he took that literally. It didn’t even cross his mind that I might have been turning his proposal down.” Her eyes filled with sudden tears. “Oh, I’m hard!”
“If you don’t want him, hard’s better,” said Delia.
“Well, I think we have to assume that Kurt’s family deems you his future wife,” Carmine said. “If Delia’s right about the note, then the kidnapping is German-orchestrated.”
“The Swiss bank account confirms that,” said Nick. “How would an American gang of kidnappers get inside the fortress of a Swiss bank? Answer: they couldn’t. And ten million dollars? That’s a massive ransom! The kidnappers must know that we won’t get any information out of the bank. I mean, even Nazi gold is still sitting in some Swiss banks, even though everyone must know it will never be collected. Wow, the interest it must have accrued in twenty-plus years!”
“Have you accepted the fact yet, Helen, that if the finger belongs to Kurt, you’re going to have to call his family?” asked Carmine. “Is his father still alive?”
“Yes, the Graf is still alive, and I have realized it.”
“Is Graf a first name?”
“No, it’s a title. The English equivalent would be Baron. But I won’t be calling him, he’s too senile. Kurt’s sister, Dagmar, runs the family now,” said Helen.
“Fill us in a little on the von Fahlendorfs, Helen.”
“The Graf’s first name is Erich. After he escaped from the East he finally got a chance to do something with his Italian wife’s fortune-they kept very quiet while Hitler was in power. The Baroness financed the Baron’s first factory, in Munich. He was a genius chemist who invented a process for dying synthetic fibers. Now, twenty years later, Fahlendorf Farben has a dozen factories scattered all over West Germany.”
“How come the Baroness kept her money ungarnished through the Third Reich?” Nick asked, frowning.
“Her father deposited it in a Swiss bank, of course. The day after Mussolini signed the Pact of Steel with Hitler. The Milanese nobility seem to have run rings around Mussolini.”
“More Miss Procter’s history, Helen?” Carmine asked, smiling.
“Oh, definitely, sir.”
“Where does Kurt come into this?” Nick demanded.
“Helen’s getting there,” Carmine said softly.
“Kurt’s aptitude for mathematics showed very early, though he’s not musical, and as he grew older he inclined to physics. It was Dagmar took after the Baron, had the chemistry. She’s five years older than Kurt, and went from university into Fahlendorf Farben as a research chemist. She’s better than the old man, so Kurt was free to do what he loves-particle physics. The Baron consented when he was told Kurt was potential Nobel material.”
“Are they snobs, then?” Nick asked.
“Insufferable snobs,” said Helen without hesitation. “Old Prussian junker stock, very conscious of the bloodline. They were Catholic Social Democrats, hence the disapproval of Hitler.”
“Is Dagmar married?” Carmine asked.
“Yes. The Baron and Baroness dislike him-he’s low-born. More importantly, he’s not in Dagmar’s class when it comes to the chemical innovations Fahlendorf Farben must produce if it’s to stay ahead of the competition- insecticides, fertilizers, new plastics, oil substitutes. They met in Bonn, at university. In 1951, a year after they were married, Josef changed his name to von Fahlendorf, and struck a deal with the Baron, who wasn’t senile then. In return for changing his name, he’d be paid a fat salary, no questions asked, no accountability. Kurt loathes Josef, mostly because he’s hurt Dagmar so badly. No mistresses-fraud. She caught him selling her trade secrets in unpatented formulae to Fahlendorf Farben’s chief rival. Luckily she found out before the papers were handed over. Josef was sent to the Fahlendorf Farben equivalent of Siberia, though he still has an office and a fat pay check. That’s because his name is von Fahlendorf, as far as I can gather, and the old Baron tends to protect him for the sake of the grandchildren.”
“How many children do Dagmar and Josef have?” Carmine asked.
“Four. Two boys, then two girls. Aged between fifteen and seven. The youngest, a girl, is by far the most intelligent. The children have been taught to despise their father,” Helen said.
“What was Josef’s name before he became a von Fahlendorf?” Delia asked.
“I haven’t been able to find out, I think because the family is busy playing ostrich-they want the world to believe that the guy really is a von Fahlendorf cousin of some kind.”
“Could you find out, Deels?” Carmine asked.
“If it were in Britain, yes, sir, but not in either of the Germanys. Just what are you thinking?”
“If this could possibly be a family job.”
“Nothing would surprise me,” said Helen, trying to sound cool.
“Ten million dollars!” Delia exclaimed. “Can they raise that?”
“I honestly don’t know! How do I break the news?”
“As a cop does,” Carmine said. “Sympathetically, warmly, yet dispassionately.”
“But will they be able to raise the money, Captain?”
“It’s a perfect scheme,” said Delia. “Kidnappings inevitably disintegrate over payment of the ransom-it’s so difficult to retrieve from the drop spot undetected. Whereas here there is no drop spot, just a Swiss bank account number. The money never enters the U.S.A., and the Swiss will never divulge information about their clients.”
“Once the money’s deposited, we can’t touch anyone,” Nick said. “The whole thing sucks.”
Carmine slid out of the booth, reaching for his wallet. “No, this is on me.”
Helen didn’t speak until they reached Carmine’s office. “I’ve made up my mind, Captain,” she said then. “I’ll talk to Dagmar, but I’m not going to drop any hints that the kidnapping might be a family job. Dagmar is the logical one.”
“A good decision,” said Carmine, sitting down.
Nick came in on their heels. “The finger belongs to Kurt von Fahlendorf,” he said. “It’s been verified twice over.”
The phone rang: Paul Bachman. Carmine put it on the speaker. “There are no prints except yours and Helen’s on the package,” Paul said. “Patrick says the finger was amputated eight to nine hours ago. There are no drugs in the blood, so they cut it off cold turkey. No cauterization either. Kurt will have lost some blood, though not a major bleed. Patrick suggests that the only first aid might have been to pack the hand afterward.”
“They mean business,” Carmine said. “If we don’t find him, he’s a dead man. Payment of the ransom won’t alter that. They’ve taken a mature, highly intelligent man trained to look for things smaller than atoms. They daren’t release him.” The amber eyes stared into Helen’s soul. “You can’t betray this when you speak to Dagmar, Helen. The family has to make its decision as to payment or non-payment in the belief that there’s a chance Kurt will be found alive. You’re not empowered to communicate what we might know is fact, as fact. At this stage, nothing is proven.”
“I understand,” Helen said, staring at the railroad clock on the wall facing Carmine. “It’s nine a.m. here, which means it’s three p.m. in Munich.” She reached into her huge bag and drew out a black notebook: her own property. “I have Dagmar’s work number as well as her home one. Kurt gave them to me in case anything ever happened to him.” She laughed wryly. “He meant a car or a skiing accident, not a kidnapping.”
“Fred’s rigged up this red phone through a tape recorder,” said Carmine. “On speaker, we’ll hear every word said. The recorder switches on automatically the moment the receiver’s picked up. Go to it, Helen, and don’t let us put you off. We have to be here.” He handed her the red receiver.
Dagmar was at work, and answered the phone herself; the number Kurt had given Helen was a private line.
The von Fahlendorf daughter’s initial reaction was incredulity, followed by all the emotions associated with a practical joke. Only when they had worn themselves out did Dagmar begin to suspect that her caller was serious. At the same moment Helen reached the end of her tether.
“Listen, ma’am,” she said, “I’m handing you over to our chief of detectives, Captain Carmine Delmonico. Maybe
