Authors: Stephen Douglass
Suppressing an overwhelming urge to run, she lowered herself to her knees and crawled to the briefcase and examined the contents. She found a hundred thousand dollars in cash, documents relating to a numbered account in the Banco Privata Svissera, the deeds to Visconti’s Manhattan apartment and his Connecticut estate, the corporate seal and share certificates of Forta Equitas, S.A., an itemized list of Visconti’s personal investments, and a copy of the agreement he had made with her before leaving for Europe.
She forced herself to wash her finger prints from the drill, and to replace them with those of Visconti. She stuffed the cash, the banking documents and corporate seal and share certificates of Forta Equitas into her bag, then escaped from the bathroom. After dressing in clean clothing, she left the hotel, took a taxi to the Banque de Monte Carlo and returned the stolen items to her safety deposit box. As soon as she returned to the hotel, she called the police.
CHAPTER 96
Horst Ullman, the detective in charge of the investigation, subjected Kerri to an intense interrogation. A tall muscular Arian with deep blue eyes and close cropped blond hair, he spoke reasonably good English, accented with what Kerri thought was a German dialect. He stopped his questioning as soon as she told him of the rape. “You should be taken to the hospital immediately. Please don’t worry. Monaco’s medical facilities are among the finest in the world. As soon as I finish with my investigation here, I will join you at the hospital. There are a number of questions I would like you to answer.” He took her by the arm and led her to the door of the suite, then asked one of his assistants to take her to the Princess Grace Hospital Center.
After a thorough examination, semen samples taken and facial cuts treated, Kerri was allowed to take a shower. She was invited to watch television in the doctors’ lounge while she waited for Ullman to join her.
When Ullman arrived an hour and a half later, he led her to a private room to continue the interrogation. “May I call you Kerri?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I have found it necessary to quarantine your hotel suite pending further investigation. I assume you would prefer not to return to that suite in any event. We have made arrangements with the hotel to have you moved to a different suite. The transfer of all of your belongings not critical to the investigation will be completed by the time you return to the hotel. Of course we will provide you with a complete list of everything we confiscate.”
“Thank you,” she said, attempting to smile.
“Now I must ask you an extremely personal question. I am curious to know why Mister Visconti raped you. It seems a rather odd way to treat a woman who was living with him voluntarily.”
“I really wasn’t living with him voluntarily,” she said, then proceeded to tell Ullman the entire story of her father, Alfred Schnieder, the trust, and finally, her relationship with Visconti. “Shortly after we arrived in Monte Carlo, Louis discovered that I’m Mike King’s daughter. It didn’t take him long to figure out that I was a serious threat to his retirement plans.”
“How did he make this discovery?”
“He found a photograph of my father and mother in my luggage. He wanted to know why I had a picture of Mike King. I told him I had kept the photograph because it was of my mother. When he…”
“Excuse me,” Ullman interrupted. “Was it your mother?”
Kerri nodded.
“Please continue.”
“When Louis asked me if I knew the man with her, I told him I didn’t. There was no way I wanted him to know. I thought he believed me, but evidently he didn’t. Then he found my birth certificate and went crazy. He hit me and started to rape me. He said he was going to kill me when he finished. I think it was his idea of sadistic closure.” Kerri lowered her head and covered her face with her hands. “You know the rest of the story,” she said as tears filled her eyes.
Ullman nodded. “And the electric drill? Perhaps you could explain that.”
“The lock on Louis’s briefcase was jammed. He used the drill to open it,” Kerri lied.
“Were you aware of the contents of the briefcase?”
“No.”
“Did you touch any of the items in the briefcase?”
“No,” she lied again.
“Do you know why Alfred Schnieder was in your suite?”
Kerri proceeded to tell Ullman the story of Schnieder’s arrival, of their argument and of the confrontation resulting in Schnieder’s murder.
Ullman stood and extended his hand. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. I regret to inform you that you will be detained in Monaco at least until we have completed a full investigation of this matter. We will return your passport once the investigation is completed and you are cleared. I have a car waiting outside. You will be driven back to the hotel. If you think of anything else you should have told me, please do not hesitate to call me.” He gave her his card, then locked his eyes on hers. “By the way, did you ever find the money?”
Kerri shook her head. “Believe me, I tried. I searched through every inch of that suite. I couldn’t find a single thing to suggest Louis even had it.”
Ullman smirked. “Hiding money is our national sport. Please come with me. I’ll take you to the car.”
Ullman’s statement served as a powerful reminder to Kerri of what she still had to do. Even though Louis Visconti no longer stood between her and the money, her father still faced an enormous problem. She now knew where the stolen millions was, but she had to hide it before the police found it. Irrespective of how much remained, it represented the physical evidence the Feds needed to convict her father.
Kerri entered the lobby of the hotel, looked around to make sure no one was watching her, then hurried to a pay telephone and called the operator. “I want to place a collect call to Mike King, in Ontario, Canada. She gave the number to the operator, then her heart pounded as she heard the phone to ring seven times.
“I’m sorry,” the operator said. “There’s no answer at that number. Do you wish to try a different number?”
“Yes. I’d like to place a collect call to Dan Turner, in Toronto.” She gave Turner’s number to the operator.
Turner’s secretary accepted the charges, then transferred the call to Turner.
“Kerri, I’m so glad you called,” Turner said. “I presume you tried to call your father.”
“Yes. Is he still on the island?”
“No… Unfortunately, he was arrested early this morning. Someone saw lights on the island last night and called the police. They checked out the lead and found your father. He’s been jailed and charged with obstructing justice. I hope to be able to get him out soon, but I’m going to have a little difficulty explaining his behavior. He left his car at Pearson Airport before he went to the island, presumably to make the police believe he had left the country. Of course they found it. That, together with Phillip’s latest statement, makes him look very guilty. In that connection, I’m scheduled to meet tomorrow morning with a heavy hitter from Ottawa. Doubtless he’ll have a team of lawyers and they’ll all be breathing fire. You have to understand that these people are convinced that your father knows exactly where the money is, and that he’s been hiding it since Jim Servito died. ”
“Damn! So what do you think is going to happen?”
“He’s in deep trouble, Kerri, and I’m running out of options. Unfortunately, he’s going to spend some time in prison.”
“Is there any way I can talk to him privately?”
“Only one. Through me.”
“Then please give him a message. Both Louis Visconti and Alfred Schnieder are dead.”
“What! How did that happen?”
Kerri told Turner the story of her traumatic experience in the Hotel de Paris, and of her rescue of the cash and banking documents related to Visconti’s numbered account at the Banco Privata Svissera in Geneva.
“That’s breathtaking!” Turner declared. “You certainly are your father’s daughter. I think you’re both genetically attracted to excitement. I’ll definitely give him your message, and I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear it. When will you be returning to New York?”
“I don’t know. The police have my passport. I can’t leave until they’ve completed the investigation.”
“Surely they don’t suspect you.”
“I don’t know if they do or not. They didn’t say.”
“Are you still at the Hotel de Paris?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there. I’m going to have a lawyer from our Geneva office contact you. His name is Pierre Lambert. He’s one of the best criminal lawyers in Europe. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the importance of doing exactly as he says and keeping the location of the money a secret. Doing so is your father’s only hope. If the Feds find it, he’ll have none.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Keep your chin up, Kerri. We’re going to get you out of there.”
“Thanks, Dan. There’s one more thing I want you to tell my father.”
“What’s that?”
“Before Louis died, he told me he had Philip killed.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that… If you don’t mind, I’d like to delay giving your father that message. At this point, I don’t think he needs any more bad news.”
CHAPTER 97
Monaco. September 21. 9:00 A.M.
A brief but heavy rain had drenched the principality earlier that morning. The streets were still wet when Pierre Lambert eased his shiny black BMW to a stop in front of the Hotel de Paris. A young valet changed places with Lambert and whisked his car off to the parking area.
Lambert, a sharp featured dark haired man in his early forties, hurried into the hotel and proceeded directly to Kerri’s suite. He knocked on the door, then fastened the middle button of the jacket to his dark blue suit and straightened his blue and yellow striped tie. He took a half a step backward when Kerri opened the door. “Hello,” he said, offering a polite smile and forcing himself to ignore the swelling and cuts near her mouth. “… Are you Kerri Pyper?”
Kerri gave him a slow expressionless nod.
“I’m Pierre Lambert. Dan Turner has asked me to represent you.”
“Hi. Please come in,” Kerri said with a big smile, then opened the door wider. “You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until noon.”
“I’m sorry for that. I didn’t expect to finish with the Monaco police so soon.”
Kerri poured a black coffee for Lambert, then led him to the living room, anxious to hear what he had to say.
“This is good coffee,” he said as he lifted the cup and took a second sip. “May I call you Kerri?”
“Only if I can call you Pierre.”
“It’s a deal,” Lambert said, leaning back and appearing relaxed. “With considerable difficulty, I was able to convince the police to allow me to review the contents of Louis Visconti’s briefcase. I want to discuss those with you shortly, but first I want to talk about what wasn’t in the briefcase. Dan Turner told me you removed several items.”
“Yes. A hundred thousand dollars in cash, some banking documents, share certificates, and a corporate seal.”
“Where did you put those items?”
“In a safety deposit box.”
“Are you confident the police are unaware that you are in possession of those items?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think they suspect you’ve hidden something?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you leave the hotel with them?”
“Between the time I killed Louis and when I contacted the police.”
“How much time elapsed between those two events?”
“Less than two hours.”
“Can we go to your safety deposit box? I’m not interested in the cash, but I want to see the banking documents as soon as possible. I’m sure you’re aware of their potential importance.”
Kerri removed the documents from her cotton bag and handed them to Lambert. “I assumed you’d want to see them, so I picked them up earlier this morning.”
“Smart girl,” Lambert quipped, then put on his spectacles and started to read. After no more than thirty seconds, he peered over the spectacles and smiled. “If the money is in the account specified here, you are an extremely wealthy woman.”
“Why?”
“One of the items in the briefcase was an agreement, signed by both you and Louis Visconti. It contains a reciprocal survivorship clause entitling you to one hundred percent of everything he owns, in the event of his death. There were no other conditions.” Lambert held up the banking documents. “These documents certify Louis Visconti’s ownership of a numbered account in the Banco Privata Svissera.”
Kerri’s frown blossomed into a broad smile. “Are you telling me that I own all the money in that account?”
Lambert nodded. “Aside from the fact that it makes you an accessory to theft and tax evasion, that’s what I’m telling you. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to access the account until we can get our hands on that agreement. That won’t be until the police have completed their investigation into the deaths of Louis Visconti and Alfred Schnieder. At the earliest, it could be weeks from…”
“I have a duplicate copy.”
“You do? Where?”
“In New York. I left it with my lawyer.”
“Wonderful. Please arrange to have him fax me a copy of it, I’ll get a death certificate for Louis Visconti. Then with that agreement, a directive from you, and a death certificate for Louis Visconti, I can access the account. In the event we find any money, what would you like me to do with it?”