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“Tomorrow, I would be glad to,” the gallery owner said. “But I have a dinner engagement to attend, a birthday dinner actually. My lady friend’s.”
“Just one question,” Mattie insisted.
Ehrlichmann sighed. “One question.”
“Is Hermann Krüger a collector of masks? Have you sold any to him?”
“That falls under client privilege, I’m afraid. And that’s two questions.”
“You know he’s under suspicion in his wife’s murder?” Burkhart asked.
“That’s your third question, and I did read about that in the paper. Yes.”
“This could be part of it, Herr Ehrlichmann,” Mattie said. “Please, off the record, does Krüger collect masks? If he doesn’t, we’re on our way.”
The gallery owner checked his watch, going through some inner struggle before replying: “Herr Krüger has bought many masks from me over the years.”
“Any recently?” Burkhart asked.
Ehrlichmann paused and then nodded. “As a matter of fact, early last week he bought a valuable Chokwe tribal mask.”
CHAPTER 84
FORTY MINUTES LATER, the Chokwe mask showed on the big screen in the amphitheater at Private Berlin.
Before hurrying off to his dinner engagement, Isaac Ehrlichmann had told them where to find a digital photo of the mask in his online catalogue and promised to make himself available to them in the morning.
Jack Morgan had ordered take-out food and the entire Private Berlin staff and Daniel Brecht were in the amphitheater eating. Morgan sat next to Mattie and studied the mask skeptically.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “Hermann Krüger goes to brothels in disguise and then wears these masks while having sex?”
“That’s evidently the long, strange journey he’s on,” Mattie replied.
“And I thought LA was the world capital of twisted.”
Mattie laughed. “Berlin will definitely give LA a run for its money. What about Pavel? Does he have any interest in masks?”
“No idea,” Brecht answered. “He hasn’t surfaced in more than two days now. But I’m predicting he makes an appearance about an hour or two after Berlin’s game tomorrow night.”
“Why?”
“We’re setting up a little surprise for him,” said Morgan cryptically.
Staring once again at the Chokwe mask, Mattie felt lingering doubt. Did Hermann Krüger kill Chris, his wife, and the others? Or could Pavel be somehow involved? Were they in on it together? And where were they?
Mattie said, “I can’t believe Interpol can’t find Krüger.”
“They’ll find him,” Katharina Doruk said. “You can’t hide a billionaire for long, especially when his stock’s taking such a beating. In the meantime, call Frankfurt Kripo and give them a statement.”
Dr. Gabriel’s phone rang. He answered it.
“So, Burkhart,” Brecht said. “Explain again how he got away from you.”
Mattie laughed and said, “The story of the skimpy towel he had to wear at the FKK club is better.”
Burkhart frowned at her. “I thought we had an understanding about that.”
Mattie tried to swallow her grin. “I couldn’t resist. It was just so classic.”
