any of this is to my daughter’s disappearance, Herr Hausner. But there were five of us. Bankers funding the Nazis in Argentina. Ludwig Freude, Richard Staudt, Heinrich Dorge, Richard von Leute, and me. And I only mention this because late last year Dr. Dorge was found dead on a street here in Buenos Aires. He’d been murdered. Heinrich was formerly an aide to Dr. Hjalmar Schacht. I take it you’ve heard of him.”
“I’ve heard of him,” I said. Schacht had been the minister of economics and then president of the Reichsbank. In 1946, he had been tried for war crimes at Nuremberg and acquitted.
“I’m telling you all this so you’ll know two things in particular. One is that it’s perfectly possible my previous life has caught up with me in some—some unfathomable way. I’ve received no threats. Nothing. The other thing is that I’m a very rich man, Herr Hausner. And I want you to take me seriously when I say that if you find my daughter, alive, and bring about her safe return, I’ll give you a reward of two million pesos, payable in whatever currency and whatever country you choose. That’s about fifty thousand dollars, Herr Hausner.”
“That’s a lot of money, Herr Baron.”
“My daughter’s life is worth at least that much to me. More. Much more. But that’s my business. Your business is to try to collect that two million pesos.”
I nodded thoughtfully. I guess it must have looked like I was weighing things up. That’s the trouble with me. I’m coin-operated. I start thinking when people offer me money. I start thinking a lot more when it’s a lot of money.
“Do you have any children, Herr Hausner?”
“No, sir.”
“If you did you would know that money’s not that important next to the life of someone you love.”
“I’m obliged to take your word for that, sir.”
“You’re not obliged to take my word for it at all. I’ll have my lawyers draw up a letter of agreement regarding the reward.”
It wasn’t what I’d meant, but I didn’t contradict him. Instead I took a last look around the room.
“What happened to the bird in the cage?”
“The bird?”
“In the cage.” I pointed at the pagoda-sized cage on the tall table.
Von Bader looked at the cage almost as if he had never looked at it before. “Oh, that. It died.”
“Was she upset about it?”
“Yes, of course she was. But I don’t see how her disappearance could have anything to do with a bird.”
I shrugged.
“I have a fourteen-year-old daughter, Herr Hausner. You don’t. As a result, and with all due respect, I think I can honestly say I know more about fourteen-year-old girls than you do.”
“Did she bury it in the garden?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Perhaps your wife does.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t ask her about it. She’s upset enough about things as it is. My wife holds herself responsible for the death of the bird. And she’s already looking around for reasons to blame herself for our daughter’s disappearance. Any implied suggestion that these two events might be connected would only add to the sense of guilt she’s feeling about Fabienne. I’m sure you understand.”
That might just have been true. And maybe it wasn’t. But out of respect for his two million pesos I was prepared to let the bird go. Sometimes, to take hold of the money, you have to let go of the bird. That’s what they call politics.
We returned to the sitting room, where the baroness had started crying again. I’ve made a close study of women crying. In my line of work it comes with the truncheon and the handcuffs. On the eastern front, in 1941, I saw women who could have won Olympic gold medals for crying. Sherlock Holmes used to study cigar ash and wrote a monograph on the subject. I knew about crying. I knew that when a woman is crying it doesn’t pay to let her get too close to your shoulder. It can cost you a clean shirt. Tears are, however, sacred, and you violate their sanctity at your
“I’ve heard of him,” I said. Schacht had been the minister of economics and then president of the Reichsbank. In 1946, he had been tried for war crimes at Nuremberg and acquitted.
“I’m telling you all this so you’ll know two things in particular. One is that it’s perfectly possible my previous life has caught up with me in some—some unfathomable way. I’ve received no threats. Nothing. The other thing is that I’m a very rich man, Herr Hausner. And I want you to take me seriously when I say that if you find my daughter, alive, and bring about her safe return, I’ll give you a reward of two million pesos, payable in whatever currency and whatever country you choose. That’s about fifty thousand dollars, Herr Hausner.”
“That’s a lot of money, Herr Baron.”
“My daughter’s life is worth at least that much to me. More. Much more. But that’s my business. Your business is to try to collect that two million pesos.”
I nodded thoughtfully. I guess it must have looked like I was weighing things up. That’s the trouble with me. I’m coin-operated. I start thinking when people offer me money. I start thinking a lot more when it’s a lot of money.
“Do you have any children, Herr Hausner?”
“No, sir.”
“If you did you would know that money’s not that important next to the life of someone you love.”
“I’m obliged to take your word for that, sir.”
“You’re not obliged to take my word for it at all. I’ll have my lawyers draw up a letter of agreement regarding the reward.”
It wasn’t what I’d meant, but I didn’t contradict him. Instead I took a last look around the room.
“What happened to the bird in the cage?”
“The bird?”
“In the cage.” I pointed at the pagoda-sized cage on the tall table.
Von Bader looked at the cage almost as if he had never looked at it before. “Oh, that. It died.”
“Was she upset about it?”
“Yes, of course she was. But I don’t see how her disappearance could have anything to do with a bird.”
I shrugged.
“I have a fourteen-year-old daughter, Herr Hausner. You don’t. As a result, and with all due respect, I think I can honestly say I know more about fourteen-year-old girls than you do.”
“Did she bury it in the garden?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Perhaps your wife does.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t ask her about it. She’s upset enough about things as it is. My wife holds herself responsible for the death of the bird. And she’s already looking around for reasons to blame herself for our daughter’s disappearance. Any implied suggestion that these two events might be connected would only add to the sense of guilt she’s feeling about Fabienne. I’m sure you understand.”
That might just have been true. And maybe it wasn’t. But out of respect for his two million pesos I was prepared to let the bird go. Sometimes, to take hold of the money, you have to let go of the bird. That’s what they call politics.
We returned to the sitting room, where the baroness had started crying again. I’ve made a close study of women crying. In my line of work it comes with the truncheon and the handcuffs. On the eastern front, in 1941, I saw women who could have won Olympic gold medals for crying. Sherlock Holmes used to study cigar ash and wrote a monograph on the subject. I knew about crying. I knew that when a woman is crying it doesn’t pay to let her get too close to your shoulder. It can cost you a clean shirt. Tears are, however, sacred, and you violate their sanctity at your
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