In the days and weeks following a death-sudden or otherwise-the decision-making faculties may be badly impaired by the overwhelming weight of confusion and loss. Sad but true, there are plenty of vultures loose in the world who make their fortunes by finding and preying on such people.
Even knowing how unwelcome unsolicited advice can be, I was determined to give Else Gebhardt the benefit of my feelings in that regard. I stepped up onto the front porch and rang the bell.
Else answered the door herself, dust rag in one hand and broom in the other. 'Why, BoBo,' she said, 'what are you doing here?'
She seemed to be in far better emotional shape than I would have imagined, so there was no point in shilly- shallying around. 'I came to see if you'd lend me a sampling of Gunter's soldiers,' I said, going straight to the heart of the matter. 'I want to have it analyzed down at the crime lab to see if there's any way to trace the source of the metal.'
Else led me into the freshly cleaned living room where vacuum-cleaner tracks still lingered on the carpet. The furniture had been totally rearranged.
'Cleaning seems to make me feel better. I need to be doing something instead of just sitting around brooding,' she explained, putting the dust rag down and motioning for me to take a seat on the sofa.
'Now what's this about tracing the metal the soldiers are made of?' Else asked, once she was seated beside me. 'Why would that be so important? They're just made out of lead, aren't they?'
I couldn't bring myself to answer that question straight out. Else wasn't ready to hear about Sobibor, and I certainly wasn't ready to tell her. Before I spoke, I listened for the sounds of other people at home, but the house was quiet. We seemed to be alone.
'I'm not entirely sure, but it might be,' I hedged. 'We have to check everything.'
'Well,' Else answered, 'you're too late. They're gone.'
'Gone? What do you mean gone?'
'I sold them, not two hours ago. I wanted them out of my house. If they had asked for anything else of Gunter's, I would have sold that, too.' Else's voice was bitter.
'You sold them?' I must have sounded like a witless echo. 'To whom?'
'To some men who came by to look at the house.'
'What men? Who were they? Someone you knew?'
'Two men, an older gentleman and a younger one. They said they were driving in the neighborhood and saw my sign. I had just put it up half an hour earlier. The young man is getting married in a couple of months, and his parents are going to help them buy a house.'
'You showed the house to them, then. The whole thing? Even the basement?'
'Of course I showed them the basement. And while we were down there, they happened to see Gunter's soldiers. They both got very excited about them. Evidently, someone in their family collects miniature soldiers.'
'German soldiers,' I added.
'Yes, well, maybe the men are German, too, come to think of it. At least the older one might be. It sounded like it anyway. He spoke with what sounded like a German accent.'
'But the younger one didn't?'
'No. He's American. I'm sure of it.'
A younger man and an older; one with a German accent and one without. Else's description sounded more than vaguely similar to Michael and Kari's portrayal of the two Simon Wiesenthal operatives who had visited their apartment in Bellingham.
'Did the younger one happen to have brown curly hair?' I asked.
Else frowned. 'As a matter of fact, he did,' she answered. 'Why, do you know something about him?'
I did know some things, and I suspected much more. Why the hell hadn't I acted immediately on my hunch about those damn toy soldiers? They probably were solid gold.
Knowing I'd been totally outmaneuvered, I asked Else the bottom-line question, even though I didn't really want to know the answer. 'How much did you sell the soldiers for?'
'Five hundred dollars for the whole shebang,' she answered, with a smile that showed she was pleased with the bargain she'd struck. 'Cash and carry. The two of them loaded the soldiers into boxes and took them away. Now I'll be able to use those shelves to display stuff in a few weeks when I have my moving sale.'
That was probably the opening when I could have administered my prepared lecture about the evils of making too-hasty decisions; when I should have warned her that if she acted too quickly, she might be taken to the cleaners. I didn't waste my breath. There wasn't much sense in going to the bother when, likely as not, the cleaners had already come and gone.
Else was watching my face. 'You do know something about those two men, don't you?'
I nodded.
'Did they have something to do with Gunter's death?'
'It's possible.'
She paled. 'And I let them into the house when I was here by myself? I shouldn't have done that, should I?'
'No,' I agreed. 'You shouldn't have. Now, where's Kari?' I asked.
'She took my mother to have her hair done. I wanted to be here alone. I wanted to do some work-some real physical work…'
'I understand all that, Else,' I said. 'You don't have to explain, but you really shouldn't be here by yourself right now, and under no circumstances should you allow any more strangers into the house whether you're alone here or not, understand?'
'Yes.'
'And for the moment, I want you to take down the For Sale sign.'
'No,' Else Gebhardt said determinedly. 'I'm not taking it down for you or for my mother or for anybody else. Maybe people think I'm being disrespectful by trying to sell it when Gunter isn't even buried yet, but they don't understand. My husband betrayed me, BoBo. Gunter played me for a fool. No wonder he wanted my mother with us. As long as I was locked up here in this house looking after her, he could go about doing whatever he damn well pleased.'
She paused and then added, 'Well, that's over. Gunter's dead, and so is his girlfriend.'
The part about the girlfriend certainly wasn't entirely true since I now had proof that Denise Whitney hadn't perished in the Camano Island fire, but I didn't even attempt to interrupt Else Gebhardt's angry tirade.
'I'll do the right thing by Gunter, even if he didn't deserve it,' she continued. 'I'll play the part and see to it that he's properly buried, but I'm through being a doormat, BoBo. I want out of this house, and I want out of it now. This was my mother's house and Gunter's house. It's never been mine, and I won't stay here a minute longer than I have to.'
Else finally ran out of steam.
'In other words,' I interjected, 'you won't take down the sign?'
'No! I certainly won't! Why should I? If the soldiers are all those two men were after, why would they come back?'
'You're right,' I agreed. 'They might not. But somebody else might.'
'I don't think so,' Else returned.
I'm not very good at changing women's minds, and Else Gebhardt's mind was definitely made up-too much so for me to tackle the problem directly. I simply went around it.
On my way back downtown, I took a swing by Fishermen's Terminal. There was a single light on in Champagne Al's One Day at a Time. When I knocked on the galley door, he answered with a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
In the course of a five-minute visit, I didn't tell Alan Torvoldsen much, only that I was worried about Else Gebhardt being alone in her house up on Culpeper Court and that I wished someone, preferably a friend of the family, would keep an eye on her. Just to be on the safe side.
From the expression on his face when I finished, you'd have thought I'd just handed a lifepreserver to a drowning man. I left the boat a few minutes later. As I headed out the door, Champagne Al was already standing in front of the smoke-filmed mirror, carefully combing into place what little remained of his flaming-red hair.
