Positano
‘You’ve been very obliging,’ said Blume, now fully dressed.
The manager stood back as he opened Konrad’s room and waved a generous arm to usher Blume in. Konrad had left his room not just empty but spotlessly clean. He had even made the bed and folded the towels. The manager then helpfully announced, ‘I heard the camper van very early this morning. But it is not my policy to check on the comings and goings of guests, even if they haven’t paid.’
‘You’ve got a credit card number for surety,’ said Blume. ‘I’m sure that helps you sleep through the sound of departing vehicles. What time was it?’
‘Around four.’
‘Right.’ He pushed his arm under the mattress, and swept his hand back and forth. It touched something, a remote control? No, a phone. To lull his controllers into thinking he was still here. Well done, Konrad.
The manager was watching him with interest.
‘Oh, listen, I almost forgot,’ said Blume, ‘I left my weapon in my room. My spare weapon.’ He winked as if this had meaning. ‘It’s in a top drawer…’ He did not even have to bother making up the rest. The manager had almost squealed in delight as he promised to fetch it for him.
When the manager had gone, Blume pulled out the phone from under the mattress. It was switched on. The Telefonbuch contained a short list of contacts, most of them consisting of shortened versions of first names: Max, Rob, Hlmt, Kris, Greg, Bea, Tri, none of which meant anything to him. He pocketed it, and headed to his room, where he told the manager, who was peering under the bed, that he had been mistaken about his weapon. The manager looked up from the floor, his eyes full of disappointment and suspicion as Blume set about stuffing his backpack with his dirty clothes and the copy of the documents he had lifted from Konrad. He then remembered that his suitcase, which should never have left the safety of his home, was in the damned camper van.
He went up to the lobby with the manager, who positioned himself defensively behind the reception desk and glared at Blume. A crackle of gravel outside told Blume, without looking round, that a car had arrived. How many had they sent?
‘Those are my colleagues arriving now,’ he told the manager. ‘Two people, am I right?’
The manager refused to look up.
‘Are they armed?’ whispered Blume in urgent tones, and the effect was immediate. The manager’s eyes lit up and he craned his neck to look behind Blume.
‘I can’t see. Two of them,’ he started retreating towards the back office.
‘They are police not assassins,’ said Blume. ‘I want you to take them down to Konrad’s — the German’s room. Don’t give any indication that I have been confiding privileged information to you. Can you do that?’
The manager winked.
The door opened behind them.
‘That means not even mentioning that he’s missing,’ added Blume quickly.
‘I understand,’ said the manager, helpless in the face of a confidence and willing to trust Blume one more time.
Blume turned around, and was both relieved and annoyed to see who had been sent. The two men standing there hardly made up his age between them. The one closer to him, a mop of jet-black hair, ankle boots, broad shoulders, momentarily assumed a defensive posture as Blume turned round, then relaxed. His partner, smaller, thin fair hair, wearing a puffed-up Japanese-style windbreaker to give himself some heft, was still twirling the car keys in his fingers.
‘Shh,’ said Blume, looking at the small one with the keys. He flashed his badge. ‘You’re not BKA? The person we’re looking for is downstairs.’
‘BKA?’ said the smaller man. ‘No, we’re…’
‘You armed?’ said Blume. He took out his Beretta, offered it to the same man.
The larger man stepped forward. ‘Of course we are armed, but we were detailed just to pick up two colleagues… nobody said nothing about a situation developing.’
‘OK,’ said Blume, holstering his pistol. He pointed to his backpack. ‘Let me throw this in the back, then I’ll need to explain..’ He took the car keys from the young man’s hand, then turned to the larger one. ‘I don’t think it’ll be a problem. The person you’re looking for is unarmed. Do you think you’ll be able to handle it, or shall I call in backup?’
‘What’s his problem? He’s supposed to be some sort of colleague, right?’
‘We had a falling out. I’ll call in some regular police support if you want.’
‘He’s not armed, you said.’
‘No. He’s never even worked in the field. Old guy. Older than me, even. Frail. Spent all his life behind a desk.’
The man turned to his nervous colleague. ‘Come on, let’s go get him.’
Blume nodded to the manager, who was bobbing up and down on the periphery and was overjoyed to be included in the action. ‘He’ll show you the room.’
Blume watched the three of them descend the stairs out of the lobby, reach the landing, turn and pass out of sight.
‘Be right down,’ he called after them. He pressed the button on the car key as he reached the front door, walked five paces and hopped into the driver’s seat of the car, tossing his backpack on the seat beside him. He put the key in the ignition and reversed out of the hotel courtyard blindly on to the curving coastal road.
Luckily, no one was coming from either direction.