The Milan Contract Read online

  Hotel Castello, Milan, Italy

  Conza had heard enough. He needed to take notes. Katherine Harper was seated once more, long elegant fingers clutching at her upper arms.

  “Did Josef Schuman know that Lukas had informed on his father?”

  “He didn’t know before my father died, I’m certain of that.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I spoke to Josef in 1990. He called me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me he’d received a letter from my father’s solicitors. The letter told Josef the whole story about what my brother had done.”

  “But how had your father found out? How did he know his son was an informer?”

  “That, Raffy, is the saddest part. My father had always known.”

  “Always? Since when?”

  “Since Lukas started working for the secret police in Potsdam. When we met in Berlin, my father showed me original Stasi documents proving Lukas had worked for the Stasi since he was fourteen. There was an entire folder of accusations made by my brother concerning treason, treachery and dissent on behalf of his teachers, friends and even the local baker’s daughter. She was arrested because Lukas told the Stasi she’d complained about food shortages. And of course, there was also his statement about Felix Schuman acting as a spy for the British. There was no doubt. I saw the file with my own eyes.”

  “But your father never confronted his son about it? Why ever not?”

  “Because while Lukas was passing information to the secret police, my father could carry on helping families escape.”

  Conza stopped writing.

  “Don’t you see? Lukas was his cover. The family home was above suspicion. It was never raided because Lukas Stolz the informer lived there. My father was never suspected of acting against the state because he was the guardian of one of their best young sources. It was perfect.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “You begin to understand. We were both extras in our parents’ drama. Lukas and I were merely bit-part actors.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Lukas and Dieter, living together after your mother died. Father and son on opposite sides of the political divide.”

  “Secrets, Raffy. Always secrets. I try not to think about it. It’s too painful.”

  “But Lukas never knew about your parents’ involvement in the escapes?”

  “No, not at all. I didn’t know until the night my mother was shot. I’d been with her many times; meeting people, taking them to drop-off points, passing messages, that sort of thing. But I had no idea what she was doing. She always gave me plausible explanations, and I was a child. I believed what she told me. It was only afterwards, years later, that I pieced it all together. My father made sure that Lukas never knew a thing.”

  “When your father died, did you attend his funeral?”

  “No. When we met in Berlin, he told me he only had a few weeks, maybe days to live. It felt so cruel. He was being taken away from me once more.”

  She was at her mother’s graveside. Snow was falling. The petals of the roses were already crystallising. She was holding her father’s hand. His fingers were without strength, and he felt devoid of weight, of substance. She had to hold his arm as he leaned forward to stroke the cold granite.

  “He made me promise not to attend his funeral. He told me he’d asked to be cremated. We said goodbye that day.”

  She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. Conza waited.

  “So you never got in touch with Lukas because of what your father told you.”

  “How could I? What he did resulted in my mother being shot and I lost my entire family. I even blamed him for my father’s death, which was stupid, I know. But every tragedy in my life seemed to involve my brother. I despised him.”

  “But you did end up meeting. How did you and Lukas get back in contact?”

  “He found me. Found out I was still alive.”

  “How?”

  “He discovered my mother’s grave.”

  “And your name wasn’t on the headstone. He knew you hadn’t been killed.”

  “They opened a museum at Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin. They created a list of everyone who’d escaped from the east, and everyone who had died trying. The names were in all the papers. My name appeared alongside the Schuman family as an escapee. He must have seen it. After that, I imagine it was quite easy to track me down.”

  “So he made contact?”

  “In 1994. He wrote to me. I didn’t respond.”

  “And then?”

  “And then last year, I was diagnosed with cancer. I was suddenly faced with my own mortality. It turned out to be a false alarm, but in the intervening period, I found myself questioning everything I had once believed. Especially my inability to forgive. I was not kind on myself.”

  “So you decided to get in touch?”

  “Not initially, but I did open his letters. There were dozens of them. I have never cried so much, or for so long. I went from anger to utter shame in the same day. I wrote to him and we arranged to meet in Berlin last year, in May.”

  “It must have been a difficult reunion.”

  “Actually, it wasn’t. I’d convinced myself that my brother was the devil incarnate. The truth was far more painful. He was gentle, kind and painfully shy. Not what I was expecting at all. Clearly, he struggled with people, not just me, everyone. He was just made like that. It shocked me how vulnerable he’d become. Or maybe he always had been.”

  “There’s something I don’t understand. When Dieter told Lukas that you and your mother had been killed in a car accident, didn’t he wonder why there was no funeral? He must have asked.”

  She sat forwards, leaning her elbows on the arm of the sofa.

  “I’d never thought of that. I don’t know, I’m afraid, but that is a good question.”

  Conza made a note and Katherine looked at him quizzically.

  “You know, Raffy, other than when I was very young, I only met my brother once, but I think he would have believed anything my father told him. When I said he was vulnerable, that’s not quite right. There was more to it than that. Lukas was actually quite naïve. There was something very childlike about him. I think he would have believed anything if it met his idea of logic – and that was certainly not founded on his understanding of how human beings behave. Does that make sense?”

  “I think so. He was emotionally unaware.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I imagine many people would see him as being cold and defensive. But I don’t think he was really like that. He just had no idea how to express himself.”

  “Did you talk about his work for the Stasi?”

  “Not at first. We were both so happy to have found each other. But I knew it couldn’t be avoided, it had to come out. When I told him how our mother had died, I also told him that I knew he had betrayed Felix Schuman.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. I think it came as a terrible shock. I’d just told him he was responsible for the murder of his mother. He just stared at me.”

  “And said nothing?”

  “Eventually he did. He was crying. Despite everything I’d once felt, I actually felt guilty. He just kept saying sorry and that he was young and impressionable at the time.”

  “It must have been terrible for both of you.”

  “It was a truly miserable day, Raffy. It broke him, I think. After my disclosure, he withdrew into his shell. I couldn’t get through to him. I found and lost my brother in the space of a single day.”

  The incongruous sound of laughter trickled in from outside.

  “Tell me about the conversation with Josef Schuman after he received your father’s letter in 1990.”

  Her back stiffened. The time had come.

  “Well, that is why we’re here, I suppose. Why I needed you to understand our background. I’m sure Josef didn’t mean it. It was just anger and it was so long ago.”

/>   Conza watched her face contort in memory of a past wound.

  “What was?”

  “Josef Schuman told me he was going to kill Lukas.”

  54

  15th January 1990

  Michaelbrücke, Berlin, Germany

  Dieter Stolz died less than a week after meeting his daughter in Berlin and in accordance with his will, he was cremated.

  Lukas was mildly irritated that his father had left instructions for his ashes to be scattered into the River Spree from the bridge at Michaelbrücke.

  And so for the second time that month, Lukas found himself back in Berlin, standing at a point where East and West had once been divided.

  He shook the urn over the parapet and the bitter, northerly wind danced with all that remained of Dieter Stolz. Lukas sighed in relief. He felt no compunction to cry. It was over. He threw the empty ceramic pot into a bin and turned east.

  Behind him, a few flakes of ash settled on the embankment, where twenty-two years before, an East German soldier, looking for the body of the woman he’d shot, found only a pool of her blood.

  55

  Guardia di Finanza Headquarters, Milan, Italy

  Conza returned from the Castello Hotel just after eleven. ‘Still two more hours until Kadin’s call.’

  He knocked on the colonel’s door.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve just interviewed the sister of Lukas Stolz and I need your advice.”

  ◆◆◆

  Conza left the colonel’s office an hour later.

  He found it difficult to concentrate but read the updated case file anyway. Stolz’s bank cards had been used at the airport to withdraw 500 euros, in the Hotel Napoli to pay his bill, in a restaurant on Saturday evening and three times at a café near the Skyguard offices.

  The forensics report on Sami Ricci stated he was dead before he entered the river and had been killed between twenty-four and thirty-six hours before his body had been discovered. The report included a map showing tidal flows and time of death. An arc had been drawn fifty kilometres upstream from the barge bridge. It was calculated that from somewhere inside that arc, Ricci had been dumped into the water. Starting at the bridge, Conza traced his finger along the river up to the curved line, but it was hopeless. There were just too many places the river could be accessed via an adjacent road, path or track. He gave up and picked up a report drafted by Sergeant Moretti. Conza shook his head when he read that Mazaa and Nyala Abebe had been aboard the 21:10 flight from Malpensa Airport to Birmingham, England. But he smiled when a triangulation of her mobile phone showed its signal ceased just after the call she’d made to him. Either she switched it off or dumped it.

  “Clever girl.”

  Sergeant Moretti returned from the safe house at half past twelve. He provided Conza with a summary of his conversation with Jamila Bennani.

  “Overall, seems like a nice family,” said Moretti when he’d finished. “Pretty frightened, of course, but otherwise just normal.”

  “What about the father?”

  “Oh yes, I didn’t tell you about him; Issam Bennani. Sounds a bit of a deadbeat. Drinks too much. Crippled from a work-related accident some years ago. Jamila wasn’t comfortable talking about her husband, that was obvious.”

  “We should check to see if he’s got a criminal record. It took Mrs Bennani a week to report her husband missing. That may tell us something.”

  “Already put in a request,” said Sergeant Moretti without a flicker of satisfaction. “They’ll send it over in the next hour.”

  “You don’t miss much, do you, Georgio?”

  “Says you,” said Moretti in feigned defence.

  Conza walked over to the board and replaced the ‘????’ with the name ‘Kadin Bennani’. In the ‘Nyala’ column he added ‘Mazaa Abebe’ and ‘Birmingham, UK’.

  “Sorry, Raffy,” said Moretti, but Conza didn’t respond.

  “She dumped her phone,” Conza said as he returned to his desk.

  “So I see, that’s pretty streetwise don’t you think?”

  “She’s not a criminal, Georgio. I know I’m right about her.”

  “I know, Raffy, ‘she’s just a good girl’.”

  Moretti braced himself, but Conza suddenly laughed.

  “You bastard, Georgio.”

  “Changing the subject while I still can, how did you get on at the Castello?”

  “Well, that ended up being a bit of an eye-opener, in truth.”

  Conza summarised his meeting with Katherine Harper and the threat made by Josef Schuman.

  “Bloody hell, Raffy. That’s pretty explosive stuff.”

  “I went to the colonel with it. I had to. I’ve no idea what to do with information like that.”

  “No, you’re right, Raffy. May even be above the colonel’s pay-grade.”

  “Funnily enough, that’s more or less what he said. He’s going to speak with somebody in Germany. Told me to keep it to myself for now, so don’t mention it to anyone.”

  “Do you think Schuman’s threat to kill Stolz was serious?”

  “No, not really. Ex-vice-chancellors don’t go round bumping off people to settle old scores, do they?”

  “Who knows? But if true, it would cast doubt on the mistaken identity theory.”

  “Not yet. That’s still my best guess at what happened. The Schuman thing was probably just an idle threat. It was almost thirty years ago. He was angry. We’ve all said things we don’t mean.”

  Moretti looked at his watch.

  “Fifteen minutes until the witching hour, Raffy. Do you still think Kadin will call?”

  “Shut up, Georgio.”

  56

  In the five minutes before the planned time, Conza and Moretti sat in total silence, checking their watches and idly leafing through documents from Conza’s desk. They both knew but wouldn’t speak about the consequences of the phone not ringing.

  The call from Kadin Bennani came at one o’clock, exactly as Nyala said it would. Conza couldn’t resist a smug grin.

  He had rigged up a splitter plug so they could both listen in. When his mobile vibrated, Moretti grabbed the earpiece and Conza waited until his partner gave him a ‘thumbs up’ before answering.

  “Lieutenant Conza, Finance.”

  “Lieutenant Conza, my name is Kadin Bennani, Nyala’s friend.”

  “Hello, Kadin.”

  “She told me she trusts you. I hope she’s right.”

  “She is right.”

  “So this call isn’t being traced?”

  “No Kadin, it isn’t. I’ve taken a big risk for you. I hope I can trust you too?”

  “Is my family safe?”

  “Yes Kadin, they are in a secure location, although your mother is worried sick about you.”

  “But she’s safe. Where are they?”

  “Kadin, you have my word they will come to no harm. Only one trusted colleague knows where they are. Absolutely no one else. They’re being guarded by two skilled professionals. Nobody can get to them.”

  Conza thought he could hear the youth crying, so he waited.

  “Thank you,” Kadin said eventually.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “It would take too long,” said Kadin, making Conza look up at Moretti in alarm. “You need to come here – to see for yourself. Afterwards, I will go with you. I know what I’ve done is very bad. I understand, but I won’t run anymore.”

  Of all the things Conza thought he would hear; this wasn’t one of them. He tried to think of why he should not trust this young man, but his instinct wouldn’t let him try too hard. Moretti looked shocked but nodded furiously.

  “Fine Kadin, I’ll come to you but I’m going to bring a colleague. Just me and him.”

  “Can’t you come alone?”

  “Kadin, you need to understand I’ve already broken a hundred rules by speaking to you like this. I must have my colleague with me. I would trust him with my life.”

  “It’s not
your life that’s on the line, Mr Conza,” Kadin said sadly. “But I realise I have no choice; you can bring your friend.”

  They agreed to meet in Genoa at six o’clock.

  Before hanging up, Conza asked, “Kadin, your father wasn’t with your family. Do you know where he is?”

  Conza heard Kadin take a deep breath.

  “He’s dead, Lieutenant. He died to save me.”

  ◆◆◆

  When the call ended, Moretti removed the earpiece.

  “Wow, that was a shock. He didn’t take much persuading.”

  “No, Georgio, he didn’t. Clearly, he wants to come in. So, for the time being, we do things his way.”

  Moretti called up train times on the computer.

  “There’s one in forty minutes, they run every half-hour to Genoa during the week. Fancy getting there early?”

  “I’m just going down the corridor to let the colonel know what’s happening. In the meantime, chase up the criminal record check on his father. We’ll head off once we’ve squared everything here.” Conza was already halfway out the office.

  ◆◆◆

  By the time he returned, Moretti was reading a copy of Issam Bennani’s criminal record.

  “Captain Brocelli called, he didn’t seem very happy and wasn’t overjoyed to hear me answer your phone. Accused me of disloyalty!” Moretti said with a wry smile. “It would appear that he’d like you to contact him when convenient.”

  “Were those his words?”

  “More or less.”

  “Well, well. Mr Bennani has been busy,” said Conza, reading the report over Moretti’s shoulder.

  “Handling stolen goods, selling counterfeit merchandise. He also escaped a count of breaking and entering.”

  “All pretty minor stuff, though. Never served time. He’s hardly Capone, Raffy.”

  “Al Capone was only ever convicted of tax evasion. Come on, let’s go meet the son.”

  Conza grabbed his jacket and a new notepad from the drawer and they set off for the station.