“That’s the best of it. Or the worst, I guess I should say. The only other thing is a 1992 misdemeanor conviction in Nevada—possession of a loaded firearm in his car. Six months’ probation.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Jesus Christ, you want more?”
Nick bit his pen and considered everything he had just heard. “Anything else there about this firearm charge?”
“What? Two assaults and a murder charge and you’re asking—”
“Will you just answer the question please?”
“It says the guy was caught with—quote here—an unlicensed custom-suppressed McMillan M86SR rifle with tritium night sights and a laser-aiming device. That’s all it says.”
Nick closed his eyes for a moment and felt chilled. “What about employment?”
“You’ll love this. Phoenix police officer, 1974 to ’78. Just the kind of guy you want on the force, huh?”
“What else from employment?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“Nothing, Nick. No work, no taxes paid, no permanent addresses since ’78. Big zero.”
“What about voter’s and property? Postal atlas? How about credit and utilities?”
“I ran ’em all. He doesn’t show up anywhere. That’s absolutely everything, man.”
Nick continued chewing his pen. Absolutely everything wasn’t much. Outside of the arrests, William Brecker had ceased to exist in 1978. He found that very, very frightening.
“You talk to Von Rohr yet?” asked Doug.
“I’m a few miles from her place. It’s barely seven
P.M.
, so I’ll give it another hour before I approach her.”
“I slept like shit last night. This whole thing’s making me a nervous wreck.”
“Imagine how I feel.”
“Try and sign her, Nick. If you have to go through all this misery, you might as well get rich doing it.”
“I’ll call you later.”
Nick put the phone away and started the engine. He had no desire to walk away from this case rich; all he wanted to do was just walk away alive. He checked the rearview mirror. Whoever had tried to kill him at the apartment was not about to stop trying now. If anything, they were going to double—
triple
—their efforts.
He reached for the steering wheel and noticed his hand wasn’t quite steady.
He parked across from her house at 7:30. The front blinds were drawn, and he couldn’t see any lights on. The evening was clear and still. He decided he would wait a few minutes before ringing her front door.
He turned his attention back to William Brecker. The background report he had just gotten was more disturbing than he had anticipated. Assault and murder charges weren’t even that shocking. After the events of the prior day, he had almost expected them. It was the weapons charge that was really sticking in his head. He had heard of the M86SR rifle. It was a pro’s tool—accurate from long distances, powerful, deadly. It had not been made for duck hunting.
The employment information only made him more uneasy. From 1978 on, Brecker had dropped out of “normal” society—no work, no taxes, no address. The conclusion seemed obvious—Mr. Brecker made his living pulling discreet, cash-only jobs. Dirty jobs. How many others had he murdered?
Nick leaned his head back. The fact that a killer-for-hire had been sent for him was not nearly as frightening as
the cold knowledge that his breed was always disposable. William Brecker would be replaced, and probably very quickly.
He looked over at Jessica’s home. A dim light was suddenly turned on in the living room. He stepped from the car.
The cold reality of the situation swept over him when he was halfway up the walkway. He could barely believe the circumstances bringing him to her doorstep this time. He felt a touch of anger toward himself. The FBI had tried to tell him, had tried to warn him off, but no—Nick Merchant wouldn’t hear of it. Nick Merchant had to find heirs, Nick Merchant had to be so curious. That curiosity had come back to haunt him now, and it had killed a hell of a lot more than a damn cat. He had to do what he could to prevent another tragedy.
He pressed the doorbell. In five seconds’ time, the door swung open. Nick opened his mouth to speak but had to pause at what he saw. The face at the door was white, the eyes wide and frightened. Nick’s rehearsed introduction was instantly forgotten.
“My God,” he said. “Are you okay?”
Jessica Von Rohr looked beyond him wildly, scanning the front yard. “What are
you
doing here?” she asked, her voice charged.
“I . . . I need to talk to you,” Nick stammered. “Is something—?”
“I just got a call from a detective in Sacramento,” she said. “He said my brother’s been murdered.”
Nick blinked several times, then reached for a post to steady himself. For a brief moment, he forgot where he was.
“My brother’s dead,” Jessica said numbly, almost as if she were convincing herself of it. “He’s been murdered.”
Hearing her voice brought Nick back. He glanced furtively down both sides of the street, then stepped into her doorway. “We need to talk.”
“No,” she said, blocking his path. “What’s going on here?”
“Can I please step inside for a moment? I’ve got some information you need to hear.”
Her eyes were defiant. Nick spoke softly but firmly. “I’m not here to talk about inheritances, okay? We need to talk about what I’ve learned about your uncle.” His hand caught the door. “Dammit, Jessica—your brother isn’t the only one who’s been killed.”
He could see in her eyes that this statement registered. Slowly she stepped aside. Nick let a breath out and followed her in. They entered the living room but did not sit this time.
“What happened to Matt?” Nick asked.
“Someone broke into his home and shot him. I got the call half an hour ago. Can you possibly tell me what this is all about?”
Nick shook his head helplessly. “I’m not sure where to start,” he said, walking to the front window and sneaking a quick look out. “Last night, someone booby-trapped my home with an explosive. A friend of mine was killed.”
“Who? Who would do this?”
“I don’t know enough to give you an answer.” He walked up to her. “I need to know as much as I can about your uncle. These murders have something to do with him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m guessing, but I know I’m right. I need to find out more so I can prove it.”
She rubbed her forehead and abruptly sat down. She looked up at him, her face tired. Her skin was clean, her perfectly clear complexion exposed. She was dressed in a business skirt and white blouse. The call must have caught her just getting home from a Saturday workday.
“I don’t know
anything
about him,” she said. “My mother hadn’t spoken to him for years. He was kind of a . . . family outcast.”
“Your mother must have told you something.”
“We always knew that my mother had a brother, much older than she. She told us he was dead, killed back in Germany. She never went into much detail.”
Nick shook his head back and forth. He took a seat next to her. “There has to be more to it than that. Jessica, your brother and my friend are dead, and for all I know we could be next.
Think.
What else did she tell you? There’s got to be more.”
“There is no more!” she blurted out. “My mother’s family was from Germany. They were there at the start of the war. My uncle . . . I don’t know—he was in Germany the entire war. He might have been a Nazi or something, but I don’t see how that’s important.”
“Why do you think this?”
“My mother said he was in the military. I don’t know any more than that.”
“A Nazi,” said Nick emphatically, remembering Alex’s earlier theory. “But this was no run-of-the-mill Nazi.”
“I don’t know what he was. My mother told us he had a desk job. That’s all she ever said.”
“And this is absolutely everything you know?”
She frowned. “There’s one other thing . . .”
She got to her feet and stepped from the room. Nick felt deflated. He had somehow assumed she knew more. Much more. What this Nazi business added he couldn’t see.
Nick crept to the windows and peered carefully through the shades. Paranoia was working overtime. He did not want to be in that house for more than another ten or fifteen minutes.
Jessica returned momentarily, holding an envelope. She opened it and removed a paper. “Your visit the other day got me curious. I did some digging around through some of my mother’s papers and I came across something strange. I didn’t even know I had it.”
“What is it?” he asked, approaching her.
“A certificate of ownership to a box at Hahn and Konauer.” She saw his confusion. “A private bank in Geneva, Switzerland.”
Nick took the paper and noticed the date. The certificate had been issued two years ago. “You didn’t know your mother kept this account?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Was your mother mixed up with her brother somehow?”
“What do you mean,
mixed up
with him? She never saw him. Whatever business he was involved in, she had nothing to do with it.”
“So what business did she have in Geneva?”
“I don’t know, okay?” She glared at him. “Who do you think you are anyway—interrogating me in my own home. I’m the one who should be asking
you
questions. You’re the one who showed up at my door the other day talking about inheritances.”
Nick felt dangerously close to losing it. He instead kept quiet and forced himself to cool down. He needed her help, and she deserved his. He
had
been the one to first approach her.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m just trying to put things together here, that’s all.” He looked back down to the banking certificate and quickly said, “So you have no idea what might be in this box?”
“No idea,” she replied, a measure of calm returning in her voice. “I’d like to find out.”
Nick nodded but wondered if he was getting the full story. He looked back down at the bank document. It was no different than the ones he had found in the old man’s garage. Whatever dwelled in that box had been untouched for four years now.
He looked back up at her. “Does the name Otto Kranzhoffer sound familiar?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Why?”
The name on the greeting card he had found in her uncle’s
home. He hoped she wouldn’t ask how he had gotten the name. “I think he may have known your uncle. I’ve found a greeting card sent by him to Holtzmann. It sounds as if they may have been friends.”
“I’ve never known anyone by that name.”
He nodded and tried to organize his thoughts as he sat back down on the couch. “I was hoping when I came here that you might be able to shed some light on why the FBI would be so interested in this man.”
“The FBI? What? What are you talking about?”
He told her of his discussion with the FBI and their vaguely explained relationship with Jacobs. She leaned forward on the couch, her fingers wrestling with themselves.
“What business would the FBI have with my uncle?” she asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Why would they set him up so comfortably?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Holtzmann was worth twenty-two and a half million dollars. We’re not talking about any ordinary estate here. He obviously had some sort of . . . influence.”
“This estate is worth twenty-two million? My God, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You threw me out too quick.” He stared at her. “Why? Would it have mattered?”
“It might have, yes. I thought this was all a hoax.”
“No hoax, Jessica. Not after my friend gets blown to bits in the middle of my apartment.”
“When did this happen?”
“Last night. They tried to get me a few hours after that, but I got lucky.”
She seemed to bristle in her seat.
“Well, I’ve told you what I know. I don’t want anything to do with this anymore.”
“I’m afraid it may be a little late for that.”
She gave him a sharp look.
Nick tried to speak softly. This was getting tricky. “Someone doesn’t want your uncle being investigated. First they tried to kill me, but now they know I’m hiding. It looks like they may be changing strategies.”
Her eyes were steady, but her cheeks once again seemed to be losing color. “Keep going.”
“These people don’t want private investigators digging around this estate, but they have no way of knowing how many PI’s are involved. So they have an easier solution. If they can insure that there are no heirs, then they think that the heir finders will have no incentive to investigate the estate anymore. They think we’ll drop it—”
“But I didn’t sign any contract,” she said. “They must know I haven’t made a claim on the estate.”
“But they still feel threatened by the possibility of you suddenly deciding to
become
an heir. If you do, all this goes to court and everything I’ve learned about your uncle becomes public information. As long as you’re alive to sign another contract—”
“This is crazy,” she said sharply. She stood. “Look, I have to go. I don’t think we need to talk anymore.”
“Your life’s in danger,” said Nick, not budging. “They came after Matt, and they’ll come after you. Don’t try to ignore this, Jessica. You’ll end up dead.”
She sat back down out of necessity now. Her eyes were glassy and ready to tear up. Nick regretted being so blunt but saw little choice. He entered the kitchen and found fresh tissue. She pushed his hand away when he offered it.
“Why did you have to show up here in the first place?” she asked, not looking at him. “Why didn’t you just leave it alone? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t dug this up.”
Nick stood there and felt a twinge in his stomach. She was partially right. It could have been some other heir-finding firm that solved the case, but the fact was, it had been Merchant and Associates who had found her
brother and filed those papers. As much as he wanted to tell her it wasn’t his fault, the words just would not come.
“Fine,” he said. “I’m not blameless here. But it has to work both ways. If I have to take a measure of responsibility for your brother, then I also have to take responsibility for our lives too.”
She dabbed at her eyes a bit but didn’t respond. Nick walked to the front window and stood for two minutes, staring out at nothing. Alex had said Matt Von Rohr had been so excited when she’d told him of the inheritance. Young, engaged to be married, and now incapable of anything.