The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

Andy Winslow climbed from the Packard and walked once around the car. He let loose a string of obscenities that would have made a longshoreman’s ears burn. Jacob Maccabee climbed from the car, and the two of them jacked up its front end and replaced the destroyed whitewall tyre with the spare.

When Winslow and Maccabee climbed back into the car, Caligula Foxx said, “A pity, Andy. If only we’d acted a little sooner we’d have caught them before they ever got out of the parking lot.”

Winslow shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” He inhaled deeply. “All right, boss. What now?”

Foxx said, “Of course that was Konrad and Strauss. They’re probably headed for the German consulate.”

“Okay. We’ll catch them there.”

Foxx shook his head. “The consulate is technically German territory. We can’t enter without permission, and you can be sure that we’d not get that.” He looked dejected, a rarity for the huge detective. “Back to West Adams, Andy.” He laid a massive arm on the back of his seat and swung around to face Jacob Maccabee and Lisalotte Schmidt. “Reuter will fix us a light supper and we’ll plan our strategy.”

By the time they reached West Adams Place, an early winter dusk had fallen and the heavy, wet snowfall was turning streetlamps into glowing lanterns. They trooped up the steps to the old house, Foxx in the lead, and lifting the brass gryphon’s head to let it fall against the strike plate. He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and studied it.

“Where the devil is that fool Reuter? You’d think he’d know enough to answer the door.”

Andy Winslow said, “He’s probably busy in the kitchen, Caligula. You know when he gets involved in a new recipe, he just goes into a world of his own.”

“All right, all right.” Foxx slipped his watch back into his pocket. “Blast it, I never even carry a key. Why would I need it when I never leave the house? Andy, you must have one, the way you gallivant around all night and wander home at all hours like an alley-cat.”

“Right.” Andy Winslow tugged at his keychain and found a key to the front door. He inserted it in the lock and turned. The door swung open. They all entered.

The foyer was dark. “Reuter!” Foxx shouted again, “Reuter, confound you; what does it take for a man to be admitted to his own home!”

There was no response.

“All right.” Jacob Maccabee hung back, closing the door behind the others. Caligula Foxx advanced, followed by Andy Winslow and Lisalotte Schmidt.

Music was coming from Foxx’s study. The massive detective smiled. He turned to the others, said softly, “Liebestod. The Wagner piano transcription. Of course. One must credit even the monster Konrad with taste.”

He signalled Andy Winslow, pushed open the door to his study and took a cautious step across the threshold. He recognized Heinrich Konrad seated at Caligula Foxx’s grand piano. His touch on the keys was skillful and surprisingly sensitive. A Walther pistol lay on the music stand; clearly, Konrad knew the piece by heart.

Konrad looked up, an icy smile on his lips. He said, “Come in,” addressing Foxx by a name other than Caligula Foxx.

“You remember — ” said Foxx. He advanced several more steps. Again, there was a fire on the hearth, although a smaller one than on prior days. A man’s body dressed in a dark suit lay before the fire.

“Your chef is in the wine cellar, Soudruh. Or would you prefer Genosse? Or simply Comrade? We were comrades long ago, were we not, Herr …” Again, he used the name that was not Foxx.

“Call me what you will.” Foxx stood over the prone figure. “We were comrades at one time. I would not call you Comrade now, Pan Konrad. Herr Konrad.”

“No. Nor I you, save, perhaps, for old times’ sake. It is time for revenge, then, Soudruh. What is it that Monsieur Sue said in his novel? ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold.’ It has been twenty years, Soudruh.

Twenty years since you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed!” Foxx snorted. “You would have sold us out to the Serbs had I not stopped you.”

“They were advancing. We were outnumbered. To fight on would have made no sense!” Heinrich Konrad rose from the piano bench, reaching for the pistol that lay on the music stand. He lifted the pistol and pointed it briefly at Caligula Foxx but then he lowered his hand and sat once more, holding the pistol in one hand, caressing it with the other. “Too soon, Soudruh, too soon. We must settle our ancient grievance first.”

“There is nothing to settle, Heinrich. You fixed a handkerchief to your bayonet and started from the trench. I merely did my duty.”

“Duty. Pah! What duty? You toadied to the officers so they made you a sergeant and you became a veritable martinet.”

“I did my duty, Heinrich. I was a soldier in the Emperor’s army. As were you. And when I reached for your token of shameful surrender you — ”

“I know what I did, Soudruh. Yes, I turned my bayonet on you.”

Foxx made an odd gesture. “I carry the scar to this day.”