Ron handed me the receiver.
“Hello, Mr. Gordon,” said Blecher in a slightly friendlier voice, perhaps feeling that I deserved better treatment after his city had caused me the mother of all headaches. “Are you OK?”
“Yes, I'm fine. What I really need to do is find out who attacked me and why.”
“Do you have any ideas of your own?” asked Blecher.
“I don't know, I could simply have been the victim of a smash-and-grabber looking for cash.”
“Or could it be that he was after you personally or after something he thought you had?”
“I don't know, I was hoping you'd find out.”
I decided not to tell Blecher about the safe-deposit box or the envelope I had retrieved.
“Mr. Gordon,” said Blecher, “I'm sorry that you received the wrong kind of hospitality in Munich. We will continue with our investigation. Do you remember any witnesses?”
“No,” I said. “I left the bank but while still inside the building was hit on the head with a dull object, a club or something. That's all I know. There were people who saw me on the floor and tried to help, but I don't know who they are or whether they saw who did it.”
“Can you come to the station so that we can take your complaint?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but not just now.” I had more important things to do.
“Yes, I understand you need some rest. Call me when you feel better.”
“Polizeidirektor Blecher, I thank you for your concern, but I also must tell you that I have information that can't wait. Ariel Peled was taken because her kidnappers thought she had something they badly want. I can give you some help in your investigation.”
“Go on,” he said.
“You know that Mina Bernstein received a ransom note at her pension, with a number to call for further instructions. It's a pay phone. I have the men who took the call on videotape, though from a distance. I also have another telephone number called by the two people, probably Latinos, after they thought they had spoken with Bernstein.”
“Thought they had?” he repeated, wanting to make sure.
“Yes, I recorded the conversation, and it was not Mina. It was some other woman. There are at least three suspects you should look for: the two persons who spoke with the woman who said she was Mina and their boss. I suspect that the boss is in a separate location from ‘the apartment’ they mentioned as the place where Ariel is being held.”
I decided not to tell him about the envelope Guttmacher was holding for Ariel. I wanted to get it first.
But I did tell him how I had recorded the conversations and gotten them on videotape. “I'm leaving the tapes here in this office. Please arrange for a pickup,” I said, and I also gave Blecher the telephone number they called. I thought he'd be appreciative.
“This is all very nice, but why didn't you seek the assistance of the police?”
“Because Mina was adamant that the police be kept out of it. Her only concern was her daughter, and her captors demanded in the note that she not call the police. I notified you about the kidnapping against Mina's instructions.”
I hung up and turned to Lovejoy “You can handle this, can't you?” He looked almost too cool.
“Of course,” he said, but it was clear that he was trying to stay as far away as possible from the whole affair.
I left the consulate and decided that my next move would be to visit Herr Guttmacher. Blecher could wait with my complaint. I had to see Guttmacher before the police finally found out about DeLouise's letter to Ariel. I went to the bank and asked the receptionist to connect me with the gentleman. I gave her my name and Guttmacher was on the line like a shot.
“Mr. Guttmacher, I'm sorry to come unannounced, but I have just spoken to my clients and I need to see you immediately.”
“I'll be happy to meet with you,” he said. “How about tomorrow at ten?”
“No, I mean today. Now.”
There was a pause. “Let me check my calendar,” he said. I thought he was pretending some reluctance. “I can see you in thirty minutes.”
I sat down next to the annoyed receptionist. I couldn't have cared less. Twenty minutes later I went upstairs to Guttmacher's office. His secretary showed me in. Whoever invented whiskey sour did so after seeing her face.
“Hello, Mr. Wooten,” said Guttmacher, getting up to shake hands.
“I'm pleased to see you again,” I said. “Thanks for finding time for me on such short notice.”
I got straight to the point. “My American partners just told me that a leading member of our group is missing in Munich and that you were his local contact.”
His smile froze. “Who is he?”
“Raymond DeLouise. They told me that he made some arrangements with you.” I emphasized the word arrangements.
That was it. I'd put my best cards on the table. If Guttmacher had a better hand, he would win. If DeLouise had introduced himself under any other name, I was finished with this guy. I couldn't do here what I did in the Grand Excelsior, when I had managed to get three bites of the apple until I discovered that DeLouise had used the name Peled.
“Yes, yes,” said Guttmacher absently, looking like he was collecting his thoughts. Then he said, “You never told me that you were connected with Herr DeLouise.”
Bingo.
My cards were better than his, but since I had no immediate answer, I ignored his question. “We're from the same group of investors. He was the first to come to Europe with some of our capital. I need to continue from the point he left off. Let's work on it,” I suggested.
Guttmacher was no fool. “Excuse me,” he said trying to take over the conversation, “but I need to be convinced that you are his partner. He never mentioned your name.”
“In our operation, we work independently, but the money comes from the same source. You can relax, Herr Guttmacher. I can give you details about certain activities that only you and DeLouise know. This should show you that he shared secrets with me.”
“And what details are those?” asked Guttmacher.
“DeLouise gave you an envelope for Ariel Peled.”
Guttmacher was weighing the information.
“Where is Herr DeLouise now?” he demanded.
“I don't know. DeLouise may have taken off with some young German woman for a beach vacation in North Africa for all I care. But business is business, and we must continue. You and I know the rules.” I hoped I sounded conspiratorial enough.
Guttmacher didn't seem to be convinced. “Please understand,” he said, almost begging, “I believe you, but German law requires that I get some written proof.”
The schmuck! Now he cared about the law.
“Fine,” I relented, “what do you need?”