“in flagrante or just having fun—it depends on the husband, of course—then the damage has been done. Why would the brother-in-law continue such a pointless threat?” The Brazilian, an expert on blackmailers, asked the question in a dismissive way, meaning Dean Arturo’s hold on the woman had already been neutralized.
I said, “I don’t know why. But his reasons won’t matter as far as the island cops are concerned. That’s the important thing. Personally, though, I’d like to find out. Cressa and her husband signed a prenuptial agreement. If we had a copy, it might explain his behavior. Hers, too.”
I had taken only a few sips from my beer, but now picked up the bottle and took a drink. The move gave Diemer time to sit in silence until he finally attempted to cloak his curiosity by saying, “I find Mrs. Arturo to be . . . sensual. For this reason, I’m interested.”
“An attractive woman,” I agreed. I took another drink and waited.
The man tapped the desk with an impatient finger, then pressed, “I don’t suppose you know where she keeps her valuables? If it is a local bank”—his expression read Impossible—“but her home’s another matter. People tend to entrust their cash, their jewels, et cetera, to the same hiding place. The videos and her personal papers might be there as well. But not actual videos, if I am right. She’s an intelligent woman. She would insist on having the original memory cards from the cameras. Not copies. My point is, if I . . . if a person found them, he would have no way of knowing in advance if the photographer himself is in a shot—and that’s the proof you need. Understand the problem?”
Diemer loved women and the adrenaline rush he got from stealing, so fretting about details didn’t disguise his willingness. Good. I placed my beer on the desk and tried to set the hook. The night I had gone to her house after she was asleep and found the cameras? I’d also done a little stealthy snooping in the house itself. Hadn’t found much, but I had found one thing. “At her beach house, there’s a hidden wall safe in the study. She doesn’t know I found it. A good one, modern, larger than most I’ve seen, and it’s wired into the security system. Even if it wasn’t too close to home, I don’t have the skills to breach something like that.” I gave it a beat before adding, “The son of a locksmith might be able to do it, though.”
For an instant, what might have been a knowing smile appeared on the man’s face but vanished when he said, “How would the locksmith’s son profit?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“Nonsense,” Diemer said. “I already have more contacts in South America than I can use. There is another way, though. Let’s assume there are other items in this safe, valuable items. Her husband is wealthy, you say. How wealthy?”
I looked in the direction of my living quarters, then got up and closed the heavy plank door I seldom use. When I was seated again, I kept my voice low. “She can’t know she’s been robbed. That should be obvious to someone like you.”
“Done properly, she won’t—not for a period of time. It depends, of course, on what’s in the safe. Gold coins and bars are an investment, not something to be fondled. I know women who seldom touch the actual diamonds they’ve had replicated for a ring. A matching necklace and bracelet, it’s common. Months go by, they never look.”
Was he serious? “Not only do you want to get the woman in bed,” I argued, “now you want to steal her jewels, too? That’s coldhearted even for a . . . Swissair pilot. No, you can’t touch her valuables. I’m after leverage, not profit.”
“The risk taker takes—it is always part of the deal,” Diemer shot back, then added in a tone that sealed the subject, “If your ethics don’t allow it, the solution’s simple: find someone else.”
I shook my head, frustrated, and tried to regroup by repeating, “She can’t know. You have to understand that or there’s no point in going any further.”
“And here is what you must understand,” Diemer countered. “I’ve been in the woman’s house only twice and I haven’t seen the safe. If I do this and anything looks wrong, or feels wrong, I will leave. My rules, not yours. You mentioned your local police—that’s another concern. I think it’s idiotic to involve some uneducated campesino