The Amber Room Page 0,43

his files."

"I'll drop them off on the way home." His voice was filled with total resignation. "I'll call from Germany and let you know where I'm staying." She headed for the door. "Pick up the kids at day care tomorrow."

"Rachel."

She stopped but did not turn back.

"Be careful."

She opened the door and left.

PART TWO

TWENTY-ONE

Thursday, May 15, 10:15 a.m.

Knoll left his hotel and caught a marta train to the Fulton County Courthouse. The

KGB information sheet he'd pilfered from the St. Petersburg records depository indicated that Rachel Cutler was a lawyer and an office address was provided. But a visit to the law firm yesterday revealed that she'd left the firm four years earlier after being elected a superior court judge. The receptionist was more than courteous, providing the new phone number and office location at the courthouse. He decided that a call might bring a quick rebuke. A face-to-face unannounced visit seemed the best approach.

Five days had elapsed since he'd killed Karol Borya. He needed to ascertain what, if anything, the daughter knew about the Amber Room. Perhaps her father had mentioned something over the years. Perhaps she knew about Chapaev. A long shot, but he was rapidly running out of leads, and he needed to exhaust all the possibilities. A trail that once seemed promising was growing cold.

He boarded a crowded elevator and rose to the courthouse's sixth floor. The corridors were lined with crowded courtrooms and busy offices. He wore the light gray business suit, striped shirt, and pale yellow silk tie bought yesterday at a suburban men's store. He'd intentionally kept the colors soft and conservative.

He pushed through glass doors marked CHAMBERS OF THE HONORABLE RACHEL CUTLER and stepped into a quiet anteroom. A thirtyish black female waited behind a desk. The nameplate read, SAMI LUFFMAN. In his best English, he said, "Good morning."

The woman smiled and returned the greeting.

"My name is Christian Knoll." He handed her a card, similar to the one used with Pietro Caproni, except this one proclaimed only ART COLLECTOR, not academician, and bore no address. "I was wondering if I could speak to Her Honor?" The woman accepted the card. "I'm sorry, Judge Cutler is not in today." "It's quite important I speak to her."

"May I ask if this concerns a pending case in our court?"

He shook his head, cordial and innocent. "Not at all. It is a personal matter." "The judge's father died last weekend and-"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, feigning emotion. "How terrible."

"Yes, it was awful. She's very upset and decided to take a little time off." "That's so unfortunate, for both her and me. I am in town only until tomorrow and was hoping to talk to Judge Cutler before I leave. Perhaps you could forward a message and

she could call my hotel?"

The secretary seemed to be considering the request, and he took the moment to study a framed photograph hanging behind her on the papered wall. A woman was standing before another man, right arm raised as if taking an oath. She had shoulder-length dark brown hair, an upturned nose, and intense eyes. She wore a black robe, so it was hard to tell about her figure. Her smooth cheeks were flushed with a tinge of rouge and her slight smile appeared appropriate for the solemn circumstance. He motioned to the photo. "Judge Cutler?"

"When she was sworn in, four years ago."

It was the same face he'd seen at Karol Borya's funeral Tuesday, standing in front of the assembled mourners, hugging two small children, a boy and a girl. "I could give Judge Cutler your message, but I don't know if you would hear from her."

"Why is that?"

"She's leaving town later today."

"A long journey?"

"She's going to Germany."

"Such a wonderful place." He needed to know where, so he tried the three major points of entry. "Berlin is exquisite this time of year. As are Frankfurt and Munich." "She's going to Munich."

"Ah! A magical city. Perhaps it will help with her grief?"

"I hope so."

He'd learned enough. "I thank you, Ms. Luffman. You have been most helpful. Here is the information on my hotel." He fabricated a place and room number, no need now for contact. "Please let Judge Cutler know I came by."

"I'll try," she said.

He turned to leave but gave the framed photograph on the wall one last look, freezing the image of Rachel Cutler in his mind.

He left the sixth floor and descended to street level. A bank of pay phones spread across one wall. He stepped over and dialed