Private Berlin (Private 5)

“Getting to be a regular thing with you guys.”

“Chris Schneider came to visit you last week?”

“That’s right,” Pavel said. “Why?”

Morgan said, “Soon after he came to see you, he was murdered and dumped in a rat-infested slaughterhouse that blew up about two hours ago, almost killing two more of my agents.”

That threw Pavel and he shrank a little. “Blown up? Schneider’s dead?”

“Uh-huh,” Brecht said. “Where you been this morning?”

“Driving in the countryside,” Pavel said. “It calms me.”

“Anyone able to vouch for that?”

“I’m sure if a real police officer asked I could find someone.”

Morgan said, “Did Schneider ask you about Cassiano?”

“I told him that I met Cassiano once at Dance, another of my clubs.”

“No other contact?” Morgan asked.

“Other than what I see on television, no,” Pavel replied.

“What about his wife, Perfecta?” Morgan asked. “You ever met her?”

The nightclub owner hesitated, but then said, “Once. That same night.”

“So they were together?” Brecht asked.

“That’s right,” Pavel said. “A handsome couple. But now I have to oversee rehearsal and attend to other business before tonight’s show.”

Brecht made to protest, but Morgan stopped him. “We appreciate your time, Herr Pavel.”

Pavel studied Morgan before smiling broadly. “You come back and see the show, Mr. Morgan. It’s on me.”

Morgan smiled coldly. “Drag queens aren’t my thing.”

“Cabaret is so much more than that,” Pavel said, not missing a beat. “The costumes, the makeup, the talent. It’s a great art form.”

“I’ll be in touch if I have a change of heart.”

Outside the club, the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

Brecht said, “Somebody’s lying to us, Jack.”

Morgan nodded. “I know.”

CHAPTER 32

AN HOUR LATER, Agnes Krüger exuded an almost regal bearing as she sat in the drawing room of her lavish townhome on Fasanenstrasse in the elite Wilmersdorf district of Berlin, and listened to Mattie Engel and Katharina Doruk give an account of her husband’s extracurricular activities.

“Three mistresses?” the billionaire’s wife said at last in a voice like an ill-tuned piano string. “And two prostitutes a day, you say?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Katharina said. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence. Mattie sat numbly on a plush couch, wanting to feel sorry for the woman, but all she could think of was how she was ever going to tell Niklas that the only man who’d ever been solidly in his life was gone.