Clues to a former life

Men conceal the past scenes of their lives.
Latin:  Vitae poscaenia celant.
Titus Lucretius Carus, De Rerum Natura

Promptly at nine o’clock the next morning, Mart was waiting outside the quiet apartment building in which Klaus Emmerich and his grandson lived.  Thanks to Natasha’s code-breaking key, Herr Emmerich’s former identity as Johannes Bauer had been revealed.  The old man had seemed eager for his grandson to have the information, and Mart wondered why a deception that had lasted for over sixty years was being discarded so suddenly, and with such apparent ease.  He was even more curious about what information might be stored in Johannes Bauer’s safety deposit box, located at the Deutsche Bank at 3 Avenue de Friedland.

Debating with himself whether or not he should enter the building and wait for Diana and Max in the lobby, Mart glanced around at the surrounding area.  His attention was caught by a short, stocky man in a dark beret and coverall, who was busily picking up bits of litter from the grassy swathe of the Parc de Bercy across the street.  Something about the fellow seemed familiar.  Mart narrowed his eyes and attempted to catch a better glimpse of the man’s face.  Just as the man looked toward him, Mart was distracted by a voice calling his name.

“Monsieur Belden!”  It was Natasha, hurrying up the paved walk from the nearby metro stop.  Her dark hair and green eyes were set off today by a sage-green swing coat and a long, fluttering scarf in a swirly print of green and salmon.  Her long legs covered the distance between them in the time it took him to process her garb.  A chilly breeze belled out her coat and blew her hair across her face.

“Monsieur, it is the time and the place we agreed to meet, is it not?”  A worried frown puckered Natasha’s forehead, and she pushed the cloud of dark hair away from her eyes.

Mart enjoyed her charmingly accented English and smiled a greeting.  “Yes, that’s right.  Miss Lynch and Herr Emmerich are to meet us here at his apartment building.  We’ll go to the grandfather’s bank together and access the safety deposit box of Johannes Bauer.”  He outlined the plan they had discussed the day before, trying to reassure the young woman who was trying to help Herr Emmerich and his grandson bring forth the real painting from wherever it was concealed.  

“What do you hear from Mademoiselle Lynch and Herr Emmerich?” she continued.  “Are we to await them here, or inside in the lobby?”

“We’ll go inside if they aren’t here in two minutes,” he said.  “But I had the feeling that both of them were very interested in moving quickly with this.  Max Emmerich said he wanted to clear up the whole situation so that his grandfather could have peace of mind.”  He dismissed the stocky garbage-picker-upper from his thoughts.  Of course the city of Paris keeps a staff of groundskeepers, he told himself.  Nothing mysterious about that man at all.  

“Parc de Bercy is a beautiful spot, is it not?”  Natasha’s green eyes sparkled and she clasped her hands together as she gazed across the street.  White flowering pear trees provided a lacy backdrop to a mass of yellow daffodils and blades of new grass.  Graceful iron benches flanked a paved walk that meandered through the green space toward a manmade stair-step waterfall, which gurgled and splashed faintly in the distance.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” Mart replied.  He shaded his eyes, absorbing her beauty even more than that of the park.  Only when she turned back to face him did he attempt to check his watch.  “Let’s go inside, Natasha,” he suggested.  “We can ring Max from the lobby.  Miss Lynch is normally very punctual.”

Just as Natasha closed the distance between them, Mart heard a door open and close.  He turned around to see Diana and Max Emmerich coming out of the building together, both chuckling over something.  Diana even accepted the young man’s supporting hand under her elbow as they descended the short fight of steps to the walkway.  As always, she was a ravishing vision in her eggplant-purple suit and heels.

Mart felt a stab of what he realized was completely irrational jealousy.  Di had said she was staying at Max’s apartment.  And what if she is? The rational part of his mind scolded him.  She doesn’t owe you a thing. 

It was a struggle, but he schooled his emotions and forced a smile.  “Good morning, Diana, Max.  It’s a lovely day to be in Paris, isn’t it?  Think we’ll learn anything new today?”

“It certainly is lovely,” Diana agreed.  “Natasha, it’s so fortunate that you arrived and had the code-breaking key that should lead us to Herr Emmerich’s secret hiding place.  Thank you for being so generous.”

“It is nothing.”  Natasha brushed off Diana’s thanks.  “My grandmother would want to see justice done after all these years.”

“Hello, Mart.”  Max extended a hand in greeting to Mart.  After a firm handshake, he bowed to Natasha, taking her extended hand in his and kissing her fingers in what Mart couldn’t help thinking a sissy continental way.  As he straightened up, he gazed into Natasha’s eyes as if she were the only creature on the planet.  Mart felt an even more irrational stab of jealousy at the way Max looked at Natasha.  Wasn’t one woman enough for the man?

“We’ll go in my car, shall we?”  Max extended an arm to each lady and the three of them started off in the direction of the parking area at the rear of the building.  “You don’t mind if I assist the ladies, do you, Mart?” Max asked.  “I know you have your briefcase.”

Disgruntled, Mart followed the trio.  He cast a final glance behind him at the Parc de Bercy, noting that the stocky groundskeeper was no longer in sight. 

Squeezed into the rear seat of Max’s sapphire-blue Mercedes Benz coupe, his knees nearly touching his chin, Mart reminded himself of why he was here – to get exclusive rights to a big story.  Next to him, Natasha didn’t seem nearly as uncomfortable, although she was behind Max, so had even less legroom than he had.  Normally, Mart was not a nervous passenger, but Max’s truly Parisian driving had him queasy as well as anxious before they had circled the Etoile Charles de Gaulle.  Like all of the other drivers, Max used aggressive horn blasts and kept his window rolled down – apparently the better to swear at everyone sharing the road with him.

“Connard!” 

“Fils de pute!”

Mart noticed several moped users driving the wrong way around traffic islands and weaving in and out of traffic to get ahead.  Once, he jerked his head around when a scooter driven by a stocky mustached man in a dark coverall slipped between Max’s car and the one in the next lane, slowing for the space of one breath before speeding ahead.  The man looked exactly like the groundskeeper at Parc de Bercy.

Why shouldn’t he be going the same way we are?  He might have more than one place to pick up trash, Mart reminded himself.  He couldn’t see the license plate of the scooter, but he filed the face in his memory … just in case.

By the time they arrived at 3 Avenue de Friedland and squeezed into an impossibly small parking space around the corner, Mart was thoroughly chilled as well as quivering inside.  Unfolding his long legs from the cramped space, he managed to climb out of the car and even to extend a hand to Natasha.  Diana and Max stood calmly on the sidewalk.  Both looked as if they had just stepped out of a bandbox.

Mart stretched and pasted a smile on his face.  No way was he giving Diana the satisfaction of knowing he was jealous of her relationship with Max.  They strolled around the corner to the main entrance of the bank, Max with Diana and Mart with Natasha.

“Is this your grandfather’s bank?” asked Natasha, coming to a dead stop and craning her neck at the imposing entrance.  “I was expecting something smaller, more old-fashioned.  It doesn’t seem like an old person’s bank.”

“The Deutsche Bank has had offices in Paris for many years,” said Max.  “This building is new, but the old building was located where the car park is now.  Actually, my grandfather has always used a smaller branch near his home for his everyday transactions.  I didn’t even know he had a safety deposit box here until yesterday.”

Mart stared up at the modern tower of steel and glass.  He wondered what surprises lay hidden in its vaults.  “I suppose we should go on inside and see what is to be found,” he suggested.

“Yes, there’s no time to waste,” Diana agreed.  She smiled at Mart, a real smile, for what seemed like the first time since he’d met her in Paris.  He smiled back, a kind of peace filling his heart.  Maybe – just maybe – she still had feelings for him, despite the evidence that she and Max Emmerich were involved.  Or maybe, he reminded himself, she just wants to be friends.  Old friends, that’s what we are.  The realization wasn’t as comforting as he believed it should have been.

Inside the imposing structure, the décor was sophisticated and equally sleek, the walls hung with modern art.  A shimmering chandelier of hundreds of tiny icicle-shaped pendants caught and reflected every glimmer of light from outdoors as well as from the skylight over the entrance.  An attractive young woman was seated at a reception desk just inside the vestibule.  She spoke to the quartet as they entered.

“Guten Morgen.  Welcome to the Deutsche Bank.  My name is Anne-marie.  How may I help you today?”

“Guten Morgen,” Max replied.  He drew an envelope from the inner pocket of his suit coat.  “My name is Max Emmerich, and I hold power of attorney for my grandfather, Johannes Bauer.  I’d like to access the safety deposit box held in his name.”

“Certainly, as soon as I can confirm the validity of your documents, Herr Emmerich.”  Anne-marie stood and accepted the envelope proffered by Max, as well as his driver’s license and ownership registration papers for his car.  “Please be seated,” she added, waving toward a sleek sofa and grouping of tub chairs in the lobby area.

Max and Diana took seats on the sofa, appearing relaxed and in no hurry to complete their business.  Mart wondered how they could act so blasé.  Although he sat in one of the tub chairs, he was filled with nervous energy and it was all he could do to keep from tapping his foot.  He wondered where the safety deposit box’s contents would take them in the search for the missing painting.  Natasha didn’t even pretend to be waiting patiently; instead she prowled about the lobby, studying each piece of art in turn.   

Mart had only checked his watch twice before Anne-marie returned, accompanied by a tall, distinguished-looking man with white hair.  Natasha made her way back to the group in some haste.  Mart, Max, and Diana stood to greet the new arrival.

“This is Herr Scholz.  He will take you to your safety deposit box, Herr Emmerich,” Anne-marie said, bowing and returning to her desk. 

“Walter Scholz.”  The white-haired man shook hands with Max and Mart and bowed to the two women.   “Herr Emmerich, come with me.”

“We are together, Herr Scholz,” said Max.  “I’d like to have the others with me as well.”

“Only the depositor and his legal representative may enter the vault, Herr Emmerich.”  Walter Scholz’s tone was firm.  “I’m afraid there are security considerations, and the space is very small, as well.  You may remove any items you wish, and take them away with you.”

Max had drawn Diana to his side, and she now showed a business card to Herr Scholz.  After a moment of scrutiny, the older man nodded.  “Very well, you may come too, Fräulein Lynch.  However, your two companions must wait here.”

Max, Diana, and Herr Scholz disappeared down a corridor and Mart and Natasha looked at each other.  Mart shrugged.  “I suppose we may as well walk outside for a few minutes.  Surely it will take fifteen minutes for Emmerich to access the box, go through its contents, and remove the necessary items.”

“You are right, of course.”  Natasha sighed, but followed him to the front entrance.  Mart stopped to leave a message with Anne-marie, just in case Diana and Max returned before he and Natasha did.

“Let’s walk toward the Arc de Triomphe,” Natasha suggested.  “It’s a lovely day and I’ve never seen the monument.”

Mart wasn’t sure about moving away from the bank, but the arch was within sight of the bank and he decided they could easily make it back within fifteen minutes.  He had to shorten his stride to accommodate Natasha’s smaller one, but the two of them talked companionably.  Natasha told Mart how her grandmother had supported herself by her artwork in Belgium, where Natasha grew up.

“So how did you learn of the Rembrandt exhibit?” Mart asked.

Natasha stopped and put her hands on her hips.  Tapping a high-heeled shoe, she retorted, “You Americans are Philistines!  Rembrandt – this is major news, a great find in the world of art.  And my grandmother was an artist.”  She looked totally disgusted with him, and Mart threw up his hands.

“I’m sorry!  It was a stupid question.”  He tried again.  “I suppose I was just surprised you’d travel all the way here to see it and to offer your services in order to help find the real painting.”  He smiled his most winning smile.  “After all, you did have to leave your home to come here.  I’m to get an exclusive story out of the experience.  What are you getting from it?”

Natasha tossed her head.  “The satisfaction of seeing justice done, of course.  In addition, I hope to be able to take the picture my grandmother painted – the copy – back home with me.”

Natasha had somehow moved closer to the space between the sidewalk and the street, where a large number of mopeds and scooters were parked.  A scooter’s horn bleated and a scooter carrying a stocky man in a dark coverall shot toward Natasha.

Mart jumped to pull her out of the scooter’s path, but she stumbled in trying to dodge the vehicle, and fell to the pavement.

“Fils de pute!” she shouted, shaking her fist at the rapidly disappearing scooter.  The driver raised his hand in a one-fingered salute, without even turning around.

“Are you all right?”  Mart leaned over and offered the young woman a hand to rise.  Natasha got to her feet and brushed off her coat and nylon-clad legs.  One stocking was laddered from knee to ankle, and Mart could see that there was a minor scrape on her leg as well.

“That bas– that guy could have hurt you,” he exclaimed, hot with anger.  “He should be reported.”  

“It’s nothing.”  Natasha appeared shaken but refused to admit anything was wrong.  “Let’s just walk back to the bank.  It was an accident – the drivers here are crazy.” 

Despite her protestations, Natasha was limping lightly, and Mart offered his arm for support. 

“Anyway, let’s go back,” he suggested.  “Surely Max has been able to go through the safety deposit box’s contents by now.”

“All right.  I’m anxious to learn what he has discovered.”  Natasha took the proffered arm with a light touch, and the pair started back.  Mart stayed on the outer edge of the walkway and kept an eye peeled for errant mopeds or scooters.

As they walked into the lobby of the Deutsche Bank, Diana rushed forward to meet them.  “Where have you two been?” she asked.  “We’ve been out of the vault for at least five minutes.” 

Mart smothered the retort that came to his lips and forced a conciliatory smile.  “We felt restless and cooped up in here, so decided to walk toward the Arc de Triomphe,” he explained.   “Some idiot on a moped nearly ran Natasha down on the sidewalk.”  He pointed to his companion’s leg, now oozing a bit of blood.  Natasha sat on the sofa and pulled a tissue from her purse, dabbing at the blood.

Max came closer and leaned down, peering at the scrape. “The bank may have a first-aid station,” he suggested.  “We should try to get it cleaned up and bandaged before going back.”  He moved to the reception desk to question Anne-Marie, and returned with a small first-aid kit.

“Natasha, let’s go into the ladies’ room to do that,” Diana advised.  “At least there will be running water and a trash container.”  She fixed Mart with a steely glare.  “And don’t go anywhere.  It’ll only take us a minute or two.”  She and Natasha approached the reception desk to get directions to the ladies’ room, and Mart and Max were left alone in the lobby.

“So Max, can you tell me anything you found?”  Mart wondered if Max would tell him anything at all, but the other man smiled.  

“Just another piece of the puzzle, I’m afraid,” Max replied with a deprecating smile and shrug.  He patted the small satchel on his lap.  “Once we go back to the apartment, we can sit down and as you say, brainstorm.  There are some papers that may help us, but we didn’t have time to go over them thoroughly in the vault.”

Diana and Natasha reappeared then, and the four left the bank and headed back toward Max’s car.  As soon as they turned the corner, Mart could see a cluster of people around the Mercedes, and he had a sinking feeling that trouble lay ahead.

“What’s happening here?” Max asked, directing his attention to a gendarme who was busily jotting data onto a notepad.  “I am the owner of this vehicle.  What is wrong?”

“Sir, a vandal has broken out your rear window.”  The policeman indicated the driver’s side, next to the seat where Natasha had been sitting.  “Were there any valuables in the car when you left it?”

“I had nothing valuable in the car,” Max said.  “The rest of you?”

Diana and Natasha shook their heads.  Mart peered into the vehicle, cursing himself for an idiot.  Remembering his briefcase with the laptop computer inside, he realized the sinking feeling had been a premonition.  “I left a briefcase under the passenger seat with a laptop inside,” he admitted.

Diana glared at him but said nothing.  Max looked annoyed and Natasha curious. 

“Fortunately I have insurance that will repair the window,” Max said.  “However, if the briefcase is missing I don’t know what can be done.”

“There’s a good chance your insurance will pay for a replacement.  However, getting the gentleman’s computer back – well, it doesn’t seem likely to happen.” 

The police officer shook his head.  “It appears the vehicle is not damaged other than the broken window.”  He stuffed his pad into a pocket.  “Come to the precinct headquarters to pick up the report for your insurance agent after twenty-four hours.”  The officer pulled his helmet down over his face and sped away after giving Max a business card.

“What were you thinking, Mart?”  Once inside the car, Diana did not trouble to hide her opinion of his actions.  “I hope the computer didn’t have any notes about the painting.”

“Di, it didn’t.  I know I should never have left it in the car, but I never thought we’d be inside for as long as we were, either.”

“At least, if this wasn’t a random act of thievery, they didn’t get any clues.  Believe me, this painting is a big deal in the art world, and although we haven’t publicized our search, it’s possible our actions are being watched by someone.”  Diana stared at Mart and Natasha in turn, her violet eyes boring a hole into Mart’s mind.  “All of us must watch ourselves and keep quiet about what we’re doing.  Otherwise, we could be in danger.”