“Is this David’s ID card?”
“My God, it can’t be,” said Herr Doktor Goldfinch, tears welling in his eyes.
His wife’s expression was a mixture of affront and fury. “Impossible. What would he be doing at a place like that with some harlot?”
Andreas eyed Beate. They hadn’t mentioned Hedy was an escort.
Frau Goldfinch slowly lifted David’s ID, her shaky grip on thebag tight enough to blanch her fingers. She covered her mouth. A pained squeal slipped from behind her classic-red fingernails.
After letting them process, Andreas continued. “We have a photo of the body. If you’re able, we kindly ask you to confirm identity. When you’re ready.”
Frau Goldfinch grasped her husband’s arm. He laid a hesitant hand over hers, like it had been so long since they’d touched, he’d forgotten how. Andreas showed them a photo on his tablet.
Herr Goldfinch winced, nodded, then stared glassy-eyed out towards the rolling vineyards. His wife pressed her face into his shoulder, smearing a patch of ivory makeup on his blazer. Her wails echoed against the vaulted ceilings.
Andreas had seen his share of grieving mothers. The memories bled together, like tearstained letters, into a blurry montage of weeping women collapsing on couches, each indistinguishable from the next.
Tragedy had a predictable routine. The mother’s cries swelled, then ebbed. They’d offer her water. She’d decline but accept the glass regardless, resting it on her knee while staring dazed into the distance. After a few jittery sips, she’d set it down, too nervous to finish. Then she’d ask the same thing every mother did. Not who had done this. Not why. But if her child had suffered.
Andreas couldn’t lie, but ambiguity was a kindness.
Frau Goldfinch’s sobs cooled. She shot up. Andreas readied for her question, his answer prepared.
“Must there be an investigation?” she said.
“He likely just fell asleep—” He stopped himself, jarred, then reoriented. “Uh, yes, of course we’ll investigate.”
“You suspect foul play?” said Herr Goldfinch.
“We do. He was with a woman, also deceased,” said Andreas.
Frau Goldfinch’s lip curled in disapproval at his mention of the woman.
“Her name was Hedy Delacroix. Did you know her? Were they lovers?” asked Beate.
Frau Goldfinch’s hand lit on her neck. “I don’t recall the name. David didn’t date. He was singularly focused on his work.” Her tone was convincing, but her body language said she was lying.
“Perhaps that’s why he hired an escort? Hedy was a professional girlfriend,” he said.
The couple didn’t reply. Andreas changed the subject. “A witness saw him enter the Hotel wearing a diamond and sapphire Cartier Love bracelet. When we found him, it was gone. Did he own one?”
Frau Goldfinch nodded, swallowing hard.
“You said he didn’t date, but it’s usually a romantic gift. Perhaps from a former girlfriend?” asked Andreas.
Frau Goldfinch sucked in her cheeks, peeved.
“Or boyfriend?” added Beate.
Herr Goldfinch glared, affronted. Beate raised her hands in apology. Frau Goldfinch cleared her throat and lifted her sleeve to reveal a diamond and sapphire Cartier Love bracelet.
When she spoke, her voice was choppy, fighting restrained tears. “It was from me. We… had… a matching… pair. Oh, my baby, my sweet boy!” she cried, falling into sobs again.
Oida.Matching jewelry was a lot of motherly love.
“David visited the Loos Bar last night with the escort. He was acting strange and bought several rounds of drinks for the house.”
“How is our son’s generosity strange? We raised him well,” said Frau Goldfinch.
