He saw why Sterling liked her.
Verena marched over to his board and pointed out the photo of the blonde taken from her official ID.
“Right here. Madame Weiss,” she said, tapping her varnished nail against the picture and then turning back, casting him a defiant look.
Andreas spat a mouthful of coffee back into his mug, stifling a laugh. He didn’t dare comment about her eye again, but clearly, she was seeing things funny.
“Na, that’s David’s mother, Gertrude Goldfinch. Apologies—Frau Doktor DoktorGertrude Goldfinch,” he said.
Verena shook her head. “Detective, I’ve worked for Madame Weiss for over a decade. I know her when I see her.”
Oida.
Andreas lowered his mug slowly. He didn’t need the coffee, he was awake. He missed the desk as he set it down but barely heard the crack as the mug shattered against the tiles, spilling his last sip. His shoe splashed the shallow puddle as he stepped towards Verena, determination lighting a fire in his eyes, fueled by the wild idea burning behind them.
“How hard were you hit? We interviewed Weiss. She has a similar look, blonde, but she’s short and curvy,” he said, drawing her silhouette with his hands. He stilled. “Hold on. I’ve got a copy of her ID here somewhere.”
He flipped through a file, then held up their photo of Madame Weiss.
“That’s Madame’s assistant, Rosemary,” said Verena, jutting out her hip and crossing her arms. Not a hint of doubt on her face.
Andreas gripped the back of his neck, checking if his head was screwed on right. His eyes darted from the photo on the board to the photo in his hand to the woman staring at him.
Verena squinted at the board, her mouth hanging open. “So, if that’s the dead guy’s mother, then—”
Andreas shushed her. He was putting pieces together.Alter Schwede.He’d been in this city too long. He’d given too much credence to the validity of paperwork. He’d forgotten how easy it was to forge a name, to sign a business over to a false front man or, in this case, front woman.
Madame Weiss was Gertrude Goldfinch.
His thoughts raced. The woman they’d interviewed, the face Blanc de Noir presented as Madame Weiss, was actually her assistant, Rosemary. That explained why he’d seen Frau Goldfinch at Hedy’s funeral and why she’d avoided being questioned afterward.
“Oida.They’re the same woman,” he said.
“Holy shit,” said Verena. “Explains why Madame has David’s bracelet. That’s what I was here to tell you.”
“She does? Well, of course, she’s Frau Goldfinch. It’s a matching set,” he said.
Verena grimaced. Even she thought the mother-and-son bracelets were weird.
If Frau Goldfinch was living a double life, her husband must know. Maybe he used Weiss’s honeypots to entertain clients? Or blackmail them? That’s what everyone wanted in this case, control of Vienna’s secrets. And David’s mother was keeping one of the biggest.
He paced, thinking. Of course she couldn’t let her son install cameras all over the city. They’d have revealed her little side job. But to go so far as killing him? That was hard for Andreas to fathom.
“If Hedy was with David, maybe she learned the same thing we just did,” he said.
“And Madame took her out,” said Verena, nerves shaking her voice.
“The poison was meant for Hedy, and her son was collateral damage.”
He stretched his jaw, picturing Frau Goldfinch’s tears when they informed her, her theatrical wailing. It was real. But they weren’t tears of grief—it was guilt. Horror at the realization of what she’d done to her own son.
He paced. “How’d she hide it this long? How much do you know about your boss’s private life?”
“Nothing, and I didn’t dare pry. Didn’t even know Madame had a son.”
“And a husband. One of Vienna’s richest men. How didn’t any of your clients recognize Madame was his wife?”
“She manages the business from afar, Rosemary’s her heels on the ground,” said Verena.
