Nightwork (35 page)

The assistant manager translated and Police Officer Brugelmann nodded stiffly in satisfaction. Then he motioned for me to stand up.

“What does he want now?” I asked.

“He wants to look at the chair.”

I stood up, admiring, despite myself, the talent for his profession of Police Officer Brugelmann. Naturally, if the necklace was hidden in the chair, I would immediately sit on it. I moved away and watched the police officer run his hand over the cushion, then pick it up and poke down into the upholstery. Then he put the cushion back, patting it neatly, and motioned politely that I could seat myself again.

After that, he went swiftly through all my belongings. When he had gone through the closet, he took out my ski pants and held them up, saying something to the assistant manager, obviously, from his tone, a question. The assistant manager fidgeted nervously with the button of his jacket as he translated. “Police Officer Brugelmann wishes to know,” he said, “if these ski trousers are the only ones you have brought with you.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Where it wass you wass before?” The police officer was getting impatient with the business of translation and now showed that he could speak a variant of English.

“St. Moritz,” I said, “Davos.”

“St. Moritz? With only
these
?” The police officer sounded incredulous. “And now Gstaad, too?”

“They do the job,” I said.

“How long you plan the entire holiday iss to endure, Mr. Grimes?”

“Three weeks. Perhaps more.”

Solemnly, the police officer hung the pants back in the closet. Then he turned back to me, taking out a black, plastic-covered pad as he did so, and seating himself at the small desk, so that he could write comfortably. “Now I am afraid I must some questions ask,” he said. “Permanent address in the United States?”

I nearly said the Hotel St. Augustine, then gave him the address on East Eighty-first Street. It was as permanent as anything else and if Interpol, or whoever it might be, inquired, at least they couldn’t accuse me of lying.

“Profession?” The police officer kept his head down as he laboriously wrote in his pad.

“Private investor,” I said briskly.

“Bank?”

From the expression on his face I knew that sooner or later I would have to explain this more fully.

The water was getting deep. “Union Bank of Switzerland. Zurich.” I thanked Miles Fabian in my heart as I said this for having insisted on our opening separate accounts in each of our names there for what he called walking-around money.

“In America?”

“I’ve given up banking in America,” I said. “I’m considering moving to Europe. The economy …”

“Have you ever been arrested before?” The police officer said.

“Now, see here,” I appealed to the assistant manager. “I’m a guest in this hotel. It’s supposed to be one of the best hotels in Europe. I don’t have to answer insulting questions like that.”

“It is only standard police procedure.” The button on the assistant manager’s coat was almost off by now. “It is not personal. Others are being questioned, too.”

The policeman didn’t look up from his pad, writing and talking at the same time.

“You know Mr. Miles Fabian, don’t you?” I said.

“Of course. Mr. Fabian is an old and honored guest of ours,” said the assistant manager.

“Well, he’s my good friend. Why don’t you call him and ask him about me?”

The assistant manager spoke in swift German. The police officer nodded and said, “Before haff you ever been arrested?”

“No, by God!”

“One thing more.” The police officer stood up. “I would like your passport.”

“What do you need my passport for?”

“To make sure you remain in Switzerland, Herr Grimes.”

“What if I don’t give my passport?”

“Then other measures I would have to take. Like confining you. Swiss prisons are of a good reputation. But they are still prisons.”

“Please, Mr. Grimes,” the assistant manager said.

I went over to my wallet and took out my passport. “I am going to see a lawyer,” I said to Officer Brugelmann, as I gave him the passport.

“You are at liberty,” he said, stuffing the passport into an inside pocket of his black coat. “Please, keep yourself free for other questions. I belieff that iss all for the moment.” He nodded, working the stiff hinge of his powerful cantonal neck, and went out.

The assistant manager wrung his hands. “I offer you the sincere apologies of the management. This is terribly embarrassing for all of us.”

“Us?” I said. I had no intention of making things easy for him.

“It is these careless rich women,” he said. “They have no idea of the value of money. They leave eighty thousand dollars worth of jewelry in the train and then there is hysteria for days while we try to recover it. Luckily, we are in Switzerland …”

“You have no idea how lucky I feel to be in Switzerland, brother,” I said. I now regretted bitterly the option we had taken on the land for the condominium the day before.

“Anything the management can do, Mr. Grimes …” the assistant manager said piously. “We will leave no stone unturned.”

“The management can get my passport back,” I said. “That’s what the management can do. I want to leave the country. Fast.”

“I understand.” He bowed. “The foehn is blowing.” He touched his forehead as though ascertaining the degree of fever he was running. “The south wind. Everybody behaves curiously. Let me say something personal, Mr. Grimes. I, myself, do not believe you are a criminal.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Enjoy your day’s skiing,” he said automatically.

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

He backed out, twisting at his button.

Fabian was waiting for me in front of the bank in his dapper Tyrolean outfit. He was as healthy-looking as ever and no one could have suspected that he had sat up half the night losing thirty thousand dollars. He smiled charmingly as I walked up to him, then frowned at what must have been the expression on my face. “I say, old man, is something wrong?” he said.

I didn’t know where to begin, so I said, “Everything is dandy.”

“I heard about Eunice. Leaving, I mean, I imagine that was a blow to you.” He was the essence of discreet sympathy.

“First things first,” I said. “Let’s do our banking.” I would discuss Eunice with him another time, when I had cooled down and there was no danger that I would hit him on the jaw.

“Sorry about that,” he said, as he took me by the elbow and guided me into the bank. “Sloane had a lifetime’s worth of luck last night. I gave him an IOU. He wants it all in cash. I promised it by four this afternoon. I’ve already called Zurich to send it over, but there are certain formalities …” He shrugged. “Swiss bankers.”

We went in and were quizzed by a young man in a back room, who then called our bank in Zurich and spoke lengthily in German. He kept looking up from the phone at Fabian and myself, and I gathered that he was describing us minutely. He asked me for my passport number and luckily I remembered it. After about fifteen-minutes’ conversation with Zurich, he hung up and said, “Very good, gentlemen; the money will be ready at four o’clock.”

When we were out of the bank, Fabian said, “I promised Lily I’d ski with her this afternoon. No need to let her in on the drama, is there?”

“No,” I said.

“I could use a little air and exercise after last night,” he said. “It wasn’t exactly a health cure.” It was the one intimation that the hours of play had not been completely enjoyable. He stopped as we reached the car, which he had parked a few yards away from the bank. “I say, Douglas, I’m concerned about you. You
do
look glum. It’s only money, after all. We’re still far ahead of the game …”

“That’s not why I look so glum,” I said, and told him about the visit of the policeman. I didn’t tell him about Didi Wales or Eunice or prowling around the halls.

He chuckled, as though I had told him a mildly funny story. “
Did
you take the necklace?” he asked.

“God damn it, Miles,” I said, “what sort of man do you think I am?”

“I’m only beginning to know you, old boy,” he said. “And after all, you
have
been around hotels for quite a few years.”

“One hotel,” I said. “And the most anyone could pick up there would be a pair of dime-store cuff links.”

“May I remind you that you did better than that?” he said coolly. For the first time I realized that he could believe that I might have done it. “Considerably better than that.”

“Oh, shit,” I said. “Let’s go skiing.”

We didn’t speak in the car driving back to the hotel. It was not the happiest day of our partnership.

Fabian skied fairly well, making the right movements just a little bit wrongly. He had obviously had a good deal of instruction. He was not reckless, and I kept far enough ahead of him and Lily so that there was no conversation possible between us. Lily had started to ask me about Eunice. “Really, Gentle Heart,” she said, “what in the world did you do to my poor little sister to make her skulk away like a thief in the night?”

“Ask your sister,” I said. “If ever you see her again.”

“Oh, this foehn,” Lily said. “It makes everybody so grumpy.”

She, too, with the south wind.

Sloane came into the club while we were eating lunch. He came over to our table promptly, his ski boots making even more noise than ski boots usually make. His face was florid and triumphant and he looked as though he had been drinking. I could hear his heavy breathing two yards away. I put down my knife and fork. Any desire to eat had suddenly left me.

“Hello, folks,” Sloane said. “Isn’t this a great day?”

“Great,” Fabian said, sipping at his wine.

“Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down with you for lunch?” Sloane said.

“No,” said Fabian.

Sloane grinned, his eyes eternally, congenitally hostile. “That’s what I like,” he said, “a bad loser.” He dug into his pocket and dug out a piece of the hotel stationery, with a few lines written on it. “Fabian,” he said, “you’re not going to forget this, are you?”

“Don’t be rude,” Fabian said coldly. “There’s a lady present.”

“Good day, ma’am,” Sloane said, as though he was noticing Lily for the first time. “I believe we met. Last year at St. Moritz.”

“I remember you well, sir,” Lily said, abruptly eighteenth century.

Sloane folded the sheet of paper carefully and put it back into his pocket. Then he turned his attention to me. He tapped me heavily on the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here, Grimes? I thought you broke your goddamn leg.”

“It was a mistaken diagnosis,” I said.

“Break into any more hotel rooms lately, Smart Boy?”

I looked around uneasily. Sloane’s voice was loud and clear, but nobody seemed to be listening. “Only last night,” I said.

“Full of jokes, this boy,” Sloane said. “He’s a shoe fetishist.” He laughed hoarsely, his eyes venomous and bloodshot in their wrinkled pouches. He was the sort of man who could destroy relations between friendly nations in the space of a half hour. The thought of our having to hand over thirty thousand dollars to this American peasant at four o’clock that afternoon made me ache.

“How’s the watch trade, boy?” he boomed, “Just as thriving as on the other side of Switzerland?”

“Fuck off, Sloane,” I said. As I spoke, I felt new blood coursing happily through my veins and my appetite returning.

He laughed, uninsultable, at least for today. “Be careful of this feller,” he said to Fabian. “He’s quirky.” He laughed hollowly. “Well,” he said, “if I’m not invited to the party, I might as well ski. I stayed up late last night and I have to blow the cobwebs out. See you at four o’clock at the hotel, Fabian.” His tone was no longer joking.

He clumped out of the room. Fabian sighed. “The people you have to do business with,” he said.

“Americans,” Lily said. Then she put her hand on my arm. “Forgive me, Gentle Heart. I didn’t mean you.”

“Americans are like anyone else,” Fabian said. “Some don’t export well. I’ve seen some English in my time …”

“As have I,” Lily said.

“I forgive everybody,” I said. “Don’t you think we ought to have another bottle of wine?” My nerves needed some soothing, and, if I was going to ski after lunch, a good dose of alcohol might prevent me from breaking something. Also, sitting at the table with Fabian and Lily, calmly and composedly working at their food, I felt myself on the verge of launching into a bitter harangue against them both, blurt out the confession of the meeting in Florence, the details of what Eunice had told me in her cold room the night before. The temptation to tell Fabian that I was through with him once and for all was strong and would have given me immense immediate satisfaction, but our affairs were so hopelessly intertwined that to disentangle them would probably take years, if it ever possibly could be done. The gesture would only make it more difficult. So I concentrated on my food and on the new bottle of wine when it came and hardly listened as Fabian and Lily chatted away.

“Mr. Fabian, Mr. Fabian …” It was a young ski instructor hurrying into the restaurant, his voice strained and high. Ordinarily the ski instructors did not eat in the same room with the guests, and the people at the other tables looked up in nondemocratic disapproval from their meals as the ski instructor ran down the aisle.

“Yes?” Fabian motioned for the boy to keep his voice down. “What is it?”

“Your friend,” the instructor said. “Mr. Sloane. You’d better come. He was just bending down to put on his skis …”

“Not so loud, please, Hans,” Fabian said. He knew everybody’s name. It was one of the things about him that made him so popular with waiters and concierges. “What is it?”

“He just went
poomp
,” the instructor said. “He dropped like a log. I think he’s dead.”

Fabian looked across at me, a peculiar expression in his eyes. I could have sworn it was amusement.

“Nonsense, Hans,” he said sharply. “I believe I’d better take a look. Lily, I think perhaps you should stay here. Douglas, may I ask you to come along with me?” He got up and walked swiftly, his face grave, with all eyes upon him, toward the door. I followed. Our ski boots sounded like a company of infantry crossing a bridge. A drum roll for a loud American, with an IOU for thirty thousand dollars in his pocket.