Trojan Gold - Elizabeth Peters [75]
“But the murder of Freddie—” Schmidt began.
“Schmidt, there is no way anybody could suspect I killed Freddie.”
“But the gold—” Tony exclaimed.
“What gold? We’ve built up a fabric of guesswork and surmise. We haven’t the slightest clue, and there is nothing more we can do here.”
“Not true,” said Tony. Schmidt nodded vigorous agreement.
“What can we do?”
“Inspect Hoffman’s papers.”
“Lots of luck, buster. You can be sure Friedl has already been through them with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I don’t know why you are so prejudiced against the poor woman,” Tony said. I rolled my eyes in speechless commentary. Tony reddened. “Even if she is—er—up to no good, which I consider unproven, I may find something she overlooked. I hope you won’t accuse me of vanity if I suggest I am slightly more intelligent than she.”
“No,” I said. “I won’t.”
Tony wasn’t quite sure how to take that, so he decided to let it pass. “We should also interrogate our colleagues.”
“Now, Tony—”
“Look here, Vicky,” Tony said in a kindly voice. “Let me spell it out for you, okay? You and I both got copies of that photograph of Frau Schliemann—”
“It wasn’t Frau Schliemann.”
“Well, Helene Barton of the Classics Department said it was.”
“Helene Barton is a jerk. She doesn’t know her—”
“Please, Vicky. The point is, if you and I got copies of the picture, maybe the others did, too—Dieter and Elise and Jan Perlmutter. My being here is a coincidence; I have to admit I didn’t give that photo a second thought. Maybe Dieter just happened to fix on Garmisch for his holiday. But you can bet Perlmutter wouldn’t be hanging around, and in disguise, at that, if he weren’t up to something sneaky.”
“Tony,” I said desperately, “if your—my—our—theory is correct, one of them is a killer.”
“Precisely. Therefore it behooves us to find out which one.”
“It is Perlmutter who is the killer,” said Schmidt. “He is in disguise. Or perhaps the one we have not seen—D’Addio. It is very suspicious that she has disguised herself so well we have not even seen her.”
The brilliant illogic of this took my breath away for a moment. “There’s another possibility, just as logical,” I said. “Nobody we know is the killer. The photos were sent as a bizarre practical joke, or the delusion of a sick old man. Freddy’s murder is unrelated to the hypothetical gold of Troy.”
“Then why was his body left in your garden?” Schmidt asked.
“I don’t know. Which is precisely why I intend to return to Munich this evening and make a full confession. I’ll tell my friend Karl Feder the whole story and let him laugh himself sick at my girlish delusions of buried treasure, and then the police can get on with their investigation.”
“She is speaking out of despair,” Schmidt explained to Tony. “She is easily discouraged. We will find a clue and then she will change her mind. Vicky, let us go to Garmisch and give Dieter the third degree.”
“Sorry, I didn’t bring my rubber hose. Besides, I have an errand to do this morning.”
“Ah—to find Perlmutter. Perhaps that is better. I will come with you while Tony reads the old gentleman’s mail.”
“You can come if you like. I’m not going to look for Perlmutter.”
“What, then?”
“I’m taking flowers to a dead man.”
We were still arguing in a desultory, unproductive sort of way, and finishing the food the cat hadn’t eaten, when the phone rang. It was Friedl, summoning us to The Presence. I agreed to accompany the delegation, provided I was allowed to get dressed first.
“There, you see, Tony,” Schmidt remarked. “She is recovering. She will not abandon the quest.”
“I’m going along to make sure you two don’t dig yourselves into a deeper hole,” I snapped. “And to keep you from committing me to a project I’ve no intention of pursuing. Now listen, both of you. You may not agree with me about Friedl’s character, or lack thereof, but for God’s sake don’t volunteer any information. What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”
“But of course,” said Schmidt. “That is a basic principle of criminal investigation.”
Tony