They exited the car and marched to the entrance.
Rosemary, whom they’d once believed to be Madame Weiss, stood behind the counter, toying with the rotary phone’s spiral cord. She wore the sullen expression of an impatient woman awaiting a call from an inconsistent man.
When they entered, a bell chimed, drawing her attention. She adopted a hospitable smile.
“Good evening, sir, how can I—” Recognizing him, she interrupted herself. “Oh, hello, Detective.”
“Hello,Rosemary.We’re here to see Madame Weiss, or, should we say, Frau Goldfinch,” he said.
“Frau Doktor Doktor Goldfinch, to be exact,” said Beate smugly.
Rosemary dropped the act, the smile, and the telephone cord. Her hands disappeared behind the counter.
An ominous beep sounded. Metal rattled behind him. He looked back. A security gate slammed down, barring the door. The shop lights went out, traded for red security-system lamps, staining everything the pale crimson of diluted blood washing off dirty hands.
Andreas reached for his gun.
Too late.
Because Rosemary was already pointing a revolver at him.
— 49 —Neunundvierzig
The detectives raised their hands in the air. Andreas eyed the clock. Three thirty. His plan was already in motion. But it wouldn’t work if he and Beate were dead. He needed to stall.
“Whoa there, no need to move so fast. How about a little conversation before you cut to the chase?”
Rosemary answered with a scornful sneer, then called out, “Madame. We have company.”
Stilettos clicked against tiles as Gertrude Goldfinch emerged from the back, decked head to toe in white, her winter coat’s dramatic fur collar brushing her ears. She clutched a cream-colored snakeskin train case and rolled a matching suitcase. She paid no mind to the gun in Rosemary’s hand, though its ivory-and-pearl handle had a style that showed it must be her boss’s.
“Good evening, Detectives. Lovely to see you again,” she said with eerie courtesy, calm as if they’d stopped by for tea.
“Going somewhere, Frau Doktor Doktor Goldfinch?” asked Beate.
“Please,Goldfinchis my husband’s name. You’re in my housenow. Call me Madame. But, yes, I’m on my way, just awaiting an important phone call first. Sorry I can’t stay and chat.”
The phone chimed. “Ah, perfect,” said Madame, setting her train case down, then answering curtly, “Blanc de Noir. She’s speaking.” She sucked in her cheeks as she listened. “Is it done?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “What’s the issue? I see. Hold on a moment.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Rosemary, be a dear and attend to our guests.”
Rosemary’s grip on the gun tightened as she neared Beate.
Madame uncovered the mouthpiece. “We made a deal. You’ll collect your fee when you’ve finished the job. Or would you rather spend your life skulking behind a bar counter? Stop wasting time. I want it done within the hour.” She hung up. “Apologies for the interruption. Work never stops. It’s hard to find reliable help these days. I don’t know what I’d do without Rosemary.”
Rosemary’s lip curled proudly.
Andreas’s face was stony. “Who was that?” he asked.
“A contractor who’s helping me with a side project. Nothing for you to worry about. Why are you here, exactly?”
“To arrest you both,” he said.
Madame chuckled. “It’s adorable, really, how bold you are. Tell me, Detective, have you run this by your commissioner?”
“He’ll be happy to see this case wrapped up neatly.”
Andreas knew he wouldn’t. He’d be happy to see Andreas buried in a basement office filing reports until he retired, broken.
Madame cackled, her veneers white as her outfit. She wiped a gleeful tear. “Oh, that’s precious. You fool, this is so much bigger than the death of one insignificant whore who thought she was more than a pawn. You’re not arresting me, I’m taking a vacation, and when I return, this matter will have been forgotten—along with your careers.”
