Voices of the Dead (33 page)

Joyce said, “What does that have to do with it?”

Tambke said, “Severed line triggered the alarm.”

“Can you fix it?” Joyce said.

“Not till morning, I’m afraid,” Cloutier said.

Joyce said, “Are you saying the system won’t be on?”

“I’ll hang around till daylight,” Tambke said. “Keep an eye on things.”

“Just stay out the pool house,” Cordell said, giving him a look.

The security men left.

“I see you’re feeling better,” Harry said. “Got some energy back.”

“Have some cracker rent-a-cop cuff you down, try to break your wrists see how you do.” Cordell still charged up, angry.

“Why do you think he’s a racist?”

Cordell grinned. “Don’t think, Harry, I know. Been dealin’ with motherfuckers like him my whole life.”

“Stay here?” Joyce said. “God knows we’ve got room.”

“I’m cool where I’m at. See you in the morning.”

Cordell went out the door. Harry locked it and walked Joyce back up to her room. It was 4:18.

The lights from the security vehicle were still flashing red and blue off the estate wall when Ted Tambke moved through the gate to his car, pissed off and embarrassed by the way the scene had played out in front of his boss. Fact was, you saw a black guy in the middle of the night he usually was involved in a crime.

Tambke saw something out of the corner of his eye, someone coming around the side of the house, aimed the flashlight, unsnapped his holster and put a hand on his .38. It was an older man wearing a cap and a yellow golf shirt, moving toward him.

“Excuse me,” the man said. “Is there a problem? I live right there.” He pointed to the property directly south.

Tambke glanced over the hood at him. “Sir, you scared the bejesus out of me. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“I heard the alarm,” the guy said.

“It’s all over. You can go home now.” He didn’t say it mean but just about. “Everything’s under control.”

“What happened?”

“Wind severed the phone line and that triggered the alarm.”

“I am interested in a security system for my own home,” the neighbor said. “Do you have a card?”

“Yes sir,” Tambke said, trying to shift gears, be friendly now. Employees got ten per cent of the net for any new business they brought in. One of these Palm Beach mansions, it could be ten grand. Cloutier made fifteen thousand dollars one time.

Tambke opened the door, sat behind the wheel, reaching in the console between the seats, grabbed a couple business cards. When he turned back the neighbor was standing next to the car. “Here you go.” He reached out, handed the cards to him.

“So nobody broke in?”

“No sir.”

“The neighborhood is safe?” the man said, smiling.

“Yes sir. I’ll be here till morning just to make sure.”

“Let me ask you something,” the neighbor said. “What size is your jacket?”

Tambke‚ puzzled‚ said‚ “Extra large. What do you want to know that for?”

Earlier, Cordell had been standing at the window looking out, listening to the alarm, thinking there was a fire but dint see no flames. The door opened, dude looked like a cop shined a light in his eyes, aiming a gun at him.

“Freeze,” the cop said. “Put your hands up.”

“Be cool. It’s okay. I’m stayin’ here.”

“Sure you are. Get on your knees, put your hands behind your back.”

He did. Cordell, fugitive from justice, wondering how they found him. Thinking it had to do with his trouble in Detroit. Dude cuffed him but soon as they were outside Cordell could see he was a rent-a-cop, and relaxed.

Now he was back in the pool house wide awake, 4:30—nothing on TV, wonderin’ what to do when he saw something move by the window. Got up for a better look, saw the cracker rent-a-cop heading toward the house. There was something different about him‚ but Cordell couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Hess shot him once in the chest at close range with the silenced Walther PPK, the round bouncing around inside him, tearing up vital organs. He removed his cap and jacket, took the house keys, flashlight and sidearm, turned off the flashing lights, pulled the security man out of the automobile, and dragged him by his feet across a narrow strip of grass, hiding the body in the dense foliage on the south side of the house.

Hess unlocked the gate and entered the property, walked by the pool and pool house, across the lawn to the door that led to the kitchen. He tried several keys until he found one that fit the lock, opened the door and stepped in, listening—not a sound. He gripped the Walther, starting through the house, enough light to see where he was walking. Made his way through large rooms with high ceilings to the foyer, looking at the winding stairs, and started up.

Joyce was almost asleep when she heard the door open and saw the security guard come in. Now what? She sat up. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

He closed the door and came toward her, took off the cap and now she recognized him.

“You were expecting me,” Hess said. “Were you not?”

Joyce was so afraid she couldn’t talk, couldn’t get a word out.

Hess smiled at her. “You were on the last truck that day in the woods, a teenager with fair skin and red hair. How old were you?”

“Eighteen.”

“That is a good age. I remember when I was eighteen,” Hess said, smiling, sounding sentimental. “Were you in school?”

“I had just graduated from the gymnasium.”

“Were you planning to attend the university?”

“Jews weren’t allowed.” Who was this lunatic? Came to kill her and he was making small talk. But she tried to keep the conversation going.

“That’s right,” the Nazi said. “I enrolled in the Technische Hochschule.”

“You must be very smart.”

He brought his hands up in slight embarrassment, the right holding the gun. “You know, I didn’t do too bad.” He paused. “Do you miss Munich, Bavaria?”

Harry heard voices, picked up the Colt, went out to the hall, moving toward Joyce’s room. Stood next to her door and listened, tried the handle, it was locked. He went back to his room, moved out to the balcony, crouched low, going toward the master suite. Looking in the windows but couldn’t see anything, the shades were pulled. Harry squatted in front of the French doors. The drapes were closed but not all the way. He could see a narrow slice of the room: the rug, part of the bed and armoire. Now he saw a khaki leg, yellow shirt, the edge of a face in profile.

Hess moved out of view and came back, arm extended. Harry couldn’t see what he was holding, but knew what it was, imagined Joyce in bed, scared to death. Hess was about thirty feet away, the same distance as the paper targets he practiced on at the shooting range. But the paper targets were lit up and straight on and nobody’s life was at stake if he missed.

Cordell followed the rent-a-cop, saw him open the door, go in the house. What was up? They got more trouble with the alarm? Then it occurred to him, something wasn’t right about him ’cause it wasn’t him. This dude was wearin’ khakis. Other one had on blue uniform pants.

He stepped in the kitchen, pulled a serrated knife with a long blade out of the holder on the counter, slid it in his belt and went up to where the bedrooms were at, movin’ slow with his bad leg. Walked down the hall. Didn’t see the Nazi but had to believe he was up here. Pulled the blade, went into a room, door to the balcony open. Saw Harry squattin’, lookin’ in the next room like a peepin’ Tom. “Yo, Harry—” he whispered.

Harry squeezed the trigger twice, glass exploding, pushed the French doors open, and went in the room, aiming the Colt. Hess was gone, Joyce was sitting with her back against the headboard, afraid, but alive. “You all right?”

She was staring at the gun in his hand. “I think so, Harry. But don’t do anything, please! Let him go. We’ll call the police.”

No way. He was going to end it right now. He ran down the hall to the stairs, saw Hess at the bottom and went after him. Raced through the living room and dining room, caught him in the kitchen, Hess moving past the island counter halfway to the door. “Take another step you’re dead.” Harry aimed down the gun sight, arms extended, two hands on the Colt. “Put it down, and do it slow.”

Hess stopped, glanced over his shoulder. “You think I am a fool? I put the gun down you will kill me.”

Harry had been thinking about this moment, but didn’t see it happening this way. He wanted Hess looking at him when he pulled the trigger. “All right,” Harry said. “We’ll both do it. Put them down at the same time. But I’m telling you, make a move it’s all over.” He lowered the Colt, resting it on the countertop. Hess reached back and laid his semiautomatic on the black granite, turned, facing him.

“I have been wondering, who is this Harry Levin? And finally it occurred to me. You must have been the boy hiding in the woods. How did you get off the truck? The prisoners were counted as they got on, and then again when they arrived. But somehow they missed you.”

“I’ve been thinking about you‚ too,” Harry said. “I remember you shooting my father, showing your men how to kill Jews.”

“I should have paid more attention to you.”

“Then passing out bottles of schnapps to celebrate,” Harry said.

“It was not to celebrate but to relax the men. I underestimated how they would react. To my surprise many of them broke down. Some were deeply shaken. They needed relief.”

“You killed six hundred people,” Harry said, “you were worried about relaxing your men?”

“I was following orders,” Hess said.

“Whose orders were you following after the war?”

He didn’t answer.

“I saw your souvenir collection. You’re still at it, huh? Can’t stop yourself.”

“You think the world is going to miss a few more Jews?” Hess said. “Killing your daughter was a bonus, Harry. What can I say? I was just lucky.”

“I am‚ too,” Harry said, picking up the Colt.

Hess went for his gun, and Harry fired. Hit him in the upper chest, just left of center, the velocity blowing the Nazi backward off his feet, gun flying. Harry walked across the kitchen, stood over him, Hess looking up, eyes open. “Help me.”

“You’re not going to make it,” Harry said.

“We have to call the police,” Joyce said, staring at Hess on the kitchen floor, blood pooling under him.

“You want to be involved in the killing of a Nazi war criminal?” Harry said. “Bring all that attention to yourself? Have the nuts come out of the woodwork, looking for you?”

Joyce said, “We don’t have a choice. We are involved.”

Cordell at the kitchen table said, “Harry, what you sayin’?”

“Get rid of the body. Bury him.”

Joyce frowned. “You’re not serious?”

“You have a better idea?”

“Harry, somebody has to have heard the gunshots and called the police,” Joyce said.

“If the police were coming, they’d be here by now.”

“What about the door upstairs?” Joyce said. “And the bullet hole in the armoire? How’re we going to explain that?”

“You picked up one of those terracotta planters on the balcony,” Cordell said, “broke the glass by accident.”

Harry glanced at him. “That’s not bad.” He paused. “I wouldn’t worry about the bullet hole. Who’s going to notice it?”

“Got another one, Harry,” Cordell said. “What about the security dude?”

Harry’d found him dead in the bushes behind the south wall. “Somebody shot him. We didn’t hear it. We don’t know what happened. We don’t have to explain anything.”

“And Hess’ rental car,” Joyce said.

Harry’d found it parked on the neighbor’s property to the south. “We don’t know anything about that, either. Name on the rental agreement is Gerd Klaus.” It was also the name on his passport and international driver’s license. “You know someone named Gerd Klaus? I don’t. Nobody knows he’s really Hess except us. All the police have is a rental car. Without a body there’s nothing to connect us.” Harry had searched him and found a ring of keys and a room key to the Breakers Hotel.

Joyce said, “What if he told somebody what he was going to do, and they come after us?”

“Why would he?” Harry said. “If you were going to kill someone, would you talk about it? For Hess it was personal. He was taking care of the last connections to his past.” He looked at his watch. It was 4:53. “We don’t have a lot of time. Somebody is going to come looking for the security guard, and then the police are going to be involved.” He glanced at Cordell. “What do you say?”