“See you at nine in the morning,” Stone said. He hung up.
“What’s up?” Dino asked.
Stone explained the situation to him.
“I wish we could wrap this up before you have to testify,” Dino said.
“So do I.”
There was a knock on the door, and Andy Anderson came in.
“Sit down, Andy, and tell me what’s happening,” Dino said.
Anderson took a seat and got out his notebook. “Okay,” he said, “first, the apartment. We took it apart, but there wasn’t much there, except one more rent receipt in Erwin Hausman’s name—no IDs, no notes of any kind, only two sets of fingerprints, Erwin’s and one more.”
“Nothing at all that would help us find Mitteldorfer?”
“Nothing. If there had been a phone, we could have checked the records for numbers called.”
“That’s why there was no phone,” Stone said. “Mitteldorfer is very smart.”
“Now, on fingerprints,” Andy said. “Interpol got a match for Erwin. He had been arrested half a dozen times, all over Europe, for participation in violence at international soccer matches. He’s one of a lot of repeat offenders. The Hamburg police confirm this, and, more important, they confirm that he has a younger brother who has also been arrested a number of times for the same thing, name of Peter Hausman. I’m running the other set of prints with Interpol now, on the supposition that they belong to Peter. The only other sibling is Ernst, who works at the cigarette factory and who is, apparently, a solid citizen. The boys’ mother is named Helga, and she refused to speak more than a few words with the police. She wouldn’t answer any questions about the boys’ father, who, apparently, doesn’t live in the house with them.”
“Bingo,” Dino said. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Where are we getting?” Stone asked. “What have we learned that will help us find Mitteldorfer, or Hausman, or whatever his name is?”
“I checked the Hausman name against utility records,” Andy said. “There are only two Hausmans in New York City: one is an elderly, retired machinist who lives in Queens, and the other has been a cab driver for the past sixteen years.”
“Then we’re back to the pictures in the paper,” Stone said, “and we’ve had only the one report.”
“And it was on Hausman, not Mitteldorfer,” Dino said. “Andy, talk to the local TV stations and get both the photograph of Mitteldorfer and the sketch of Hausman on the air tonight, but have the Hausman sketch altered to show very short hair.”
“Right,” Andy said. “Anything else?”
“Concentrate on getting that done; we’re short of time.”
“Actually, Lieutenant, there’s something else I want to tell you.”
“Shoot.”
“It’s about the Bean murder; it didn’t seem important until now, and, well, Mick Kelly asked me not to bring it up. There didn’t seem to be any reason to, so I didn’t.”
“What is it?” Dino asked.
“When the three killings—Bean, Stone’s secretary and the Hirsch woman—happened so close together, I thought they were all connected.”
“We all did,” Dino said.
“Well, now I don’t think Bean is connected to the other two. First of all, Hausman denied any knowledge of her, and he seems credible, in the light of his confessing to six other murders.”
“Good point,” Dino said. “You got another suspect?”
Stone spoke up. “Not me, I hope.”
“Not you, Stone,” Andy said. “Tell me, is there any reason why someone in the DA’s office might want Susan Bean to be shut up?”
Stone sat up straight in his chair. “Very possibly,” he said. “Why do you ask?”