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“I don’t know.”
Weigel looked uncomfortable as she said, “This afternoon, the higher-ups put a lot of pressure on the Hauptkommissar about Agnes Krüger’s murder. They think that is the key to all of this. Dietrich thinks so too.”
Burkhart said, “You mean it’s more high-profile than, say, a nurse’s death?”
Weigel appeared even more torn, but then she nodded and told them that she had talked with Hermann Krüger’s secretary in person. Weigel had gotten the secretary to admit that five days before, the billionaire told her he was going to be off on personal business for the next week, and then quite simply he’d vanished. Berlin Kripo had intelligence specialists trying to track his finances, but so far they were as shadowy as the man.
No matter what had happened to Greta Amsel, Weigel believed the focus of the official investigation would be on Krüger until he was found and cleared.
“It’s the six children,” Mattie insisted to Burkhart as he pulled up in front of her apartment building. “They’re the key, not Hermann Krüger.”
“I agree,” Burkha
rt said. “But I can see how someone like Agnes Krüger being slain in broad daylight would have a way of distracting attention.”
“We have to find the other children from Waisenhaus 44. We have to warn them.”
“Gabriel said he was staying at the office until he found them,” Burkhart said.
Mattie nodded, but she felt insanely frustrated that they’d been so close to saving Greta Amsel. The killer had walked right by them, and then driven right by them!
She put her hand on the door handle and was about to pull it, when she stopped and looked at Burkhart. “Have you eaten anything?”
“Not since lunch,” he admitted.
“Feel like a home-cooked meal?”
“You’re gonna cook after the day you had?” Burkhart asked.
“My aunt does the cooking. When I get home this late, I warm it up.”
CHAPTER 67
CASSIANO ROARED IN Portuguese when his wife dropped her coat in the video Brecht had shot of the entrance to Pavel’s hotel room.
Hertha Berlin’s star striker leaped from his chair in the team’s conference room and lunged toward the door, shouting like a wild man.
Brecht grabbed the Brazilian and said something forcefully in his language. For a second Morgan thought Cassiano was going to pulverize Brecht, but then the striker softened and sat back down in his chair.
“What was he yelling?” demanded the team’s general manager, Klaus Bremen, who sat next to the coach, Sig Mueller.
Brecht said, “He wanted to get a machete, cut off Pavel’s balls, and shove them down Perfecta’s throat until she suffocated. I told him it was a bad idea for someone bound for the World Cup.”
“So he’s saying he had no idea about this?” the coach asked. “Or about the betting?”
Brecht posed the question in Portuguese. Cassiano shook his head.
“Ask him about those games where he played horribly,” Morgan said.
Brecht did so and the Brazilian began to shout at Morgan.
Brecht said, “He says he told you yesterday, he was sick. He did not take a dive and would like to slap you for saying so right after he found out his wife was having sexy-time with some old Russian bastard.”
Morgan said nothing.
Cassiano looked at his coach and babbled in Portuguese.
“You believe me, yes, Sig?” Brecht translated.
