My doorbell rang. I figured I had the killer on the phone, so I didn’t have a second thought about whipping the door open.
Sylvia Winslow stood there, looking fresh and elegant in a peach suit and matching heels.
“Hello, Sylvia,” I said. “This is a coincidence.”
“Hang up the phone,” she said, lifting her hand to reveal a small but lethal gun pointed directly at me.
“Uh, good-bye,” I said into the phone, and put it down on the desk. She followed me inside and nudged the door shut with her hip.
She glanced around. “You’ve cleaned the place up.”
“Yeah,” I said as I carefully backed away from her. “Some slob made a real mess of things.”
“You’re pretty funny for someone facing the wrong end of a gun.” She waved it for emphasis. “Give me the letter.”
“I don’t have it.”
“We both know you’re lying.”
“Why do you think I have it?” I backed up another step, closing in on my worktable where I knew I’d left at least one knife and several bone folders I could use as a weapon. Not that a flimsy bone folder would be much of a match against a gun. And I had no illusions that she wouldn’t use it, since she’d already killed at least two people.
“Because you left a clear message on my husband’s voice mail,” she said. “Must we play this game?”
“You screen your husband’s voice mail?”
“Yes, I do. Otherwise, nothing would be done on time or correctly.”
“Why did you kill Enrico?”
She sighed. “Why do you care? The man was a pig.”
“I’m just wondering what he did to you.”
“He stole from me.”
“You could’ve called the police.”
Her laugh was laced with contempt. “That was Conrad’s solution. Men.”
“Yeah, men are funny.”
“Brooklyn dear, just give me the letter.” She smiled tightly. “I might decide not to kill you if you cooperate.”
“Oh, right.” My heel grazed the leg of the stool. “I hand you the letter and you go your merry way. Why do I not believe you?”
“No, I don’t suppose you should.” She waved the gun in a blasé manner. “But can you blame me? I don’t like being blackmailed.”
“And I didn’t like seeing my beloved friend die in my arms.”
“Ah, your beloved friend, the blackmailer. You saw how far that got him and yet, here you are, trying the same thing.” She shook her head in disappointment. “Just give me the letter now and let’s be done with this nonsense.”
Staring at the gun, I could feel my knees shaking. I could barely swallow, my mouth was so dry. I backed up slowly. She wouldn’t kill me without getting her hands on the letter first, would she?
“Why should I give you the letter when you’re just going to kill me anyway? Besides, do you think I’d be dumb enough to keep it here in my house?”
“You’ll give it to me,” she said.
“But I don’t have it.”
“You’re lying. It’s what you all do. Lies and blackmail. Do you really think I’d allow my family to be blackmailed by the likes of you and that big ape, Abraham? How dare you try to ruin the good name of my family with your little scheme?”
“Actually, I didn’t intend to blackmail your family,” I said as I sidestepped the stool and eased my way back against the worktable. “I just wanted to make you squirm awhile until the police arrested you.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” she said with a hiss. Her cheeks were turning an angry shade of red. “You didn’t call the police. You’re a grasping, greedy bitch, trying to make money off the pain of others.”
“I take it Abraham tried the same thing.” I was stalling, leading her on, waiting for a miracle. To keep her talking was all I could think to do.
“He tried-and failed miserably.”
In Gretchen’s letter to her sister Sigrid, she’d bemoaned the fact that Heinrich was putting his own family in jeopardy with his grandiose schemes to save mankind. “Jews, Sigrid, can you make sense of it?” Gretchen had written. “He risks our lives to help Jews!”
Gretchen had gone to Heinrich, insisting that he stop. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions. In the letter, Gretchen had suggested that the gardener’s shed held everything she’d need to complete a certain unpleasant but necessary task.
I’d Googled the details of Heinrich Winslow’s death and discovered that he’d died of arsenic poisoning. The date of his death was three days after the date of Gretchen’s letter. The poison was traced to a box of weed killer. Wikipedia claimed that Heinrich’s grieving wife and children went to live with her sister Sigrid in Denmark after his death.
Somehow, Gretchen’s letter had found its way into the secret pocket inside Faust. In my heart, I liked to think her sister Sigrid wanted the truth to be revealed someday.