The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [1]
'It was reported in one of the Lima newspapers that a man died here Monday. Dropped dead in the plaza, right outside your front door. It rated a mention because the police found 50,000 dollars in cash in his suitcase and passports in three different names.'
'Ah, yes, Senor Bauer. You are a friend of his, senor?'
'No, but I might know him if I see him.'
'He is with the local undertaker. In such cases they keep the body for a week while relatives are sought.'
'So I was informed.'
'Lieutenant Gomez is Chief of Police in charge of the affair and police headquarters are on the other side of the plaza.'
'I never find the police too helpful in these affairs.' I laid another ten-dollar bill beside the first. 'I'm a journalist. There could be a story in this for me. It's as simple as that.'
'Ah, I see now. A newspaperman.' His eyes lightened. 'How may I help you?'
'Bauer - what can you tell me about him?'
'Very little, senor. He arrived last week from Sucre. Said he expected a friend to join him.'
'And did anyone?'
'Not that I know of.'
'What did he look like? Describe him.'
'Sixty-five, maybe older. Yes, he could have been older, but it's difficult to say. He was one of those men who give an impression of vitality at all times. A bull of a man.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Powerfully built. Not tall, you understand me, but with broad shoulders.' He stretched his arms. 'A thick, powerful neck.'
'A fat man?'
'No, I don't remember him that way. More the power of the man, an impression of strength. He spoke good Spanish, with a German accent.'
'You can recognize it?'
'Oh, yes, senor. Many German engineers come here.'
'Can I see the entry in the register?'
He turned it round to show me. It was on the line above mine. There were the details from his passport entered by the clerk, and beside it Bauer's signature, a trifle spidery, but firm, and the date beside it, using a crossed seven, continental style.
I nodded and pushed the two bills across. 'Thank you.'
'Senor.' He snapped up the twenty dollars and tucked them into his breast pocket. 'I'll show you your room.'
I glanced at my watch. It was just after eleven. 'Too late to visit the undertaker now.'
'Oh, no, senor, there is a porter on duty all night. It is the custom here for the dead to be in waiting for three days, during which time they are watched over both night and day in case ...' Here, he hesitated.
'... of a mistake?' I suggested.
'Exactly, senor.' He smiled sadly. 'Death is a very final affair, so one wants to be sure. Take the first street on the left. You will find the undertaker's at the far end. You can't miss it. There's a blue light above the door. The watchman's name is Hugo. Tell him Rafael Mareno sent you.'
'My thanks,' I said formally.
'At your orders, senor. And if you would care to eat on your return, something could be managed. I am on duty all night.'
He picked up his newspaper and I retraced my steps across the hall and went outside. The procession had formed up and started across the square as I paused at the top of the steps. It was much as I had seen in Mexico. There were a couple of characters in front, blazing torches in hand, dressed to represent the Lords of Death and Hell. Next came the children, clutching guttering candles, some already extinguished in the heavy rain, the adults following on behind with baskets of bread and fruit. Someone started to play a flute, low and plaintive, and a finger drum joined in. Otherwise, they moved in complete silence.
We seemed to be going the same way and I joined on at the tail of the procession, turning up the collar of my trenchcoat against the heavy rain. The undertaker's was plain enough, the blue light subdued above the door as Mareno had indicated. I paused, watching the procession continue, the sound of that flute and drum strangely haunting, and only when they had turned into another alley and moved out of sight did I pull the bell chain.
There