Roy locked the doors to his study and checked the phone one more time. Pathetic, having to worry about such things in one’s own home, but that was what the world had come to. Satisfied it was clean, he eased into his recliner by the fire and dialed Helmut’s number.
He answered with a tired “Good evening.”
“And to you,” Roy said. “I trust your bird is covered for the night?”
“I am afraid he is not yet ready to settle down.”
Flames rose from the sweet, dry alder. A puff of ashes drifted against the screen. Roy stared at the glowing sparks. Helmut was expecting the call, why hadn’t he cleaned house for the night? “Speaking of pets. I saw the fattest cat sitting on my fence when I got home.”
“Ah. My neighbor has a striped one.”
“Fatso is snow white.”
Helmut greeted the disclosure with a long, drawn out pause. The sound of ice cubes snapping against glass cracked over the line.
All had gone well at the accounting firm. Will’s file—make that Bristol’s—now reflected a passionate boating hobby. But instead of relaying the good news, he had to sit here like some idiot British spook, making up code.
He crossed to the fireplace, stirred the charred logs with the poker. Maybe the Kraut was faking it. Pretending the line wasn’t secure so he’d have an excuse to misread the night’s activities. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Amazing how much cats hate water,” he said.
“Yes. But they are able to swim.”
Roy tossed another log on the grate. “Unless they’ve been injured before hitting the water, of course.”
When the local police got around to conducting their brilliant investigation, there’d be no question as to the manner of death. John Bristol had simply hit his head and fallen overboard. Boating accidents were a dime a dozen on the river, even for experienced sailors.
“How long before it would come to float on the surface, I wonder?” Helmut asked.
Roy tapped the receiver with his finger. Finding a body was the easy part. Making it resemble Will would be more difficult, but a head injury would cut down on the time frame. “A day, two at most.”
A loud click snapped across the line.
Roy’s pulse quickened. “Helmut?”
“Sorry, my friend.” His soft laugh floated through the receiver. “My housekeeper. She must always bid me a ‘good night and sleep well.’”
Frowning, Roy poured a glass of brandy from the liquor cabinet in the corner.
“You are fortunate to have Ida,” Helmut said. “It is a rare situation, to trust the help so completely.”
“She’s part of the family.”
“Of course.”
Helmut wouldn’t trust his own grandmother, which was exactly why he made the perfect partner. Roy took a sip of the warm brandy, rolled it over his tongue, swallowed. “I assume the bird’s now dark for the evening?”
Helmut laughed again. “Yes, my friend. We may speak freely now.”
“The dock workers have been taken care of. When the body is pulled from the water, they’ll ID him as a regular.” Laborers always came cheap, and they were surprisingly loyal.
“You realize I am not entirely comfortable with this. Continuing to withhold Will’s absence from Groves is risky. If he starts, how do you say, poking around—”
“He won’t. I’m compiling a report that explains everything.” With Will’s signature on it, of course. It had to appear as if things had been handled by the book. “Under the circumstances, Groves won’t have any reason to be suspicious. It’s hardly uncommon to pull an agent from an assignment if his cover’s in jeopardy.”
Helmut sighed. “I hate to mention this, but…surely you have considered the possibility that is exactly what happened? The boy has been missing for nearly a week. For all we know, he may be floating in the Hudson at this minute.”
Roy emptied his glass. Talk about diplomacy. A pity that for all of Helmut’s intelligence, he understood nothing of family. “If that proves to be the case, naturally I’ll want to ensure his reputation remains intact.” He cleared his throat, touched the damp glass to his brow. “And that the people responsible for his demise will be…very regretful.”
“Of course, my friend. On that, you may be certain we agree.”
...taken from "Winter Heat."
Copyright 2006 by Connie Kirchberg