Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 63, No. 11 & 12, November/December 2018

Death of an Oligarch by Albert Ashforth

“Won’t he smell a rat?” I asked.

“And even if he does,” Jerry Shenlee said. “What difference?”

Jerry and I were in the Eagle Grill at the Army-Navy club, located just off Farragut Square in our nation’s capital. As usual, Jerry wanted to send me somewhere, this time to Switzerland to talk with one of our former colleagues. It was just after one, and the Tuesday lunch crowd was beginning to break up.

I first met Jerry Shenlee in Berlin, a couple of years before the Wall came tumbling down. At the time he was a spiffy Annapolis grad handling signals intelligence out of a windowless basement office at Tempelhof, the big Berlin airfield. In the years since, Jerry’s come a long way. Today, he’s a National Security Council staffer.

After taking a swallow of beer, Jerry eyed me thoughtfully. He has a round, ruddy face and wears his red-blond hair short, in the military style. “You and Purcell had neighboring desks, right?” When I nodded, Jerry said, “And you got along. But that was before he ran into his personal problems. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Purcell was apprehended selling secrets. I remember very well.”

“You knew the guy personally, Klear, at least a little bit.” Jerry was referring to the fact that he, Gil Purcell, and I had worked together in the Soviet-East European Division in Berlin, one of our country’s far-flung outposts during the Cold War years. Jerry gazed at me over the rim of his beer mug. “I thought of you because we’re kind of shorthanded at the moment.”

“What do you want me to do exactly?”

“Talk with Purcell. He still lives in Munich, but he spends a couple of weeks every year in Switzerland, in that spa town, Bad Ragaz. Which is where he is now. If I’m not mistaken, you were there a couple of times.” When I nodded, Jerry said, “So make it look like a chance meeting. Find out what you can. What I’m wondering, was he still tangled up with Gregorov?”

“I’m supposed to fly to Switzerland?”

“You’re retired, Klear. You flying over there and bumping into Purcell will seem like the most natural thing in the world. You’ll both be there for the same reasons. To enjoy the spa.”

“It doesn’t seem likely that he would still have been involved with Gregorov, does it?”

“When the Soviet Union went belly-up, a bunch of Russians suddenly became billionaires. Gregorov was one of them. People came to believe the guy could do anything, which is why everyone was so afraid of him. Now he’s dead, and no one knows who killed him. The last I heard, the New York police don’t have a clue.”

During the Cold War, Serge Gregorov had operated out of the Second Directorate of the KGB, and from all reports he’d been very effective in carrying out his espionage activities. One of the people he’d talked into spying for Russia was Gil Purcell. Then, when the Soviet Union collapsed in 1989, he’d dropped briefly out of sight. When he surfaced again, a year later, he was a billionaire businessman with holdings and property all over the world.

However, just two weeks ago, Gregorov was shot and killed while staying in the Hoover Towers, one of New York City’s most exclusive hotels. “We have a full-court press going,” Jerry said, “the FBI, the New York police, and now us. But so far no one’s been able to come up with anything. Gregorov owned businesses in damned near every country in Europe. People here in the government want to know in the worst way who killed him.”

Since he owned businesses in just about every country in Europe, it seemed logical enough for Gregorov to want to buy his way into America’s booming economy. There was even talk that he was a silent partner in two defense industry corporations. I imagined that fact alone would have made some business rivals very nervous. On top of that, he had an arrogant personality. At a press conference, he’d once blurted out, “Vsyo mogu!” which is Russian for “I can do anything.” And then he began pounding his chest.

“Whoever it was murdered Gregorov didn’t leave a trace. He or she just walked out of the hotel and disappeared into thin air.”

“Doesn’t the place have security cameras?”

“They got cameras all over. But they can’t find anything suspicious.”

As a retired case officer, I really don’t have to get involved in these situations, but Jerry is persuasive, and this sounded interesting.

“I suppose they’ve dumped this job in your lap.” I watched Jerry pushing a manila envelope across the table in my direction.

Before I could ask, he said, “This is your plane ticket. Also your reservation at the Grand Resort Hotel. I tossed in a few thousand francs. Don’t blow it all in the hotel casino. You fly direct to Zurich. From there, you can drive over to Bad Ragaz.”

“When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

“A married man only forgets his wife’s birthday once,” Gil Purcell said with a small grin. “If it happens, she makes sure it won’t happen a second time. The trip down here was Angela’s birthday present.”

Except that his face was a shade rounder and his hair totally gray, Gil Purcell’s appearance hadn’t changed very much. The biggest change was in his manner. Maybe I was only imagining it, but he seemed to have an air of resignation about him.

Along with a dozen other people, Gil and I were shoulder-deep in a large thermal bath, the attraction that brings people from all over the world to this quiet spa city. At the far end of the big room, thirty-foot high windows let in the morning sun.

“Like many people,” Gil said, “I find the mineral waters here relaxing.” As he made a gentle breaststroke with both arms, he added, “Seeing you here in the hotel, Alex, was a big surprise.” Purcell was referring to our encounter in the hotel lounge last evening. After a glass of wine, we’d arranged to meet today in the thermal bath.

As I made some waves of my own, I said, “You mentioned that Angela’s here with you.”

“She’s in the city shopping.”

Gil and I had been shooting the breeze for twenty minutes, small talk mostly. But we both knew we were avoiding the big topic — the recent death of Serge Gregorov, the individual directly responsible for Gil going to prison for five and a half years. I knew I was going to have to bring up his name sooner or later, so I decided to make it sooner. I said, “What did you think of Gregorov dying like that?”

“So that’s why you’re here, Alex!” Before I could answer, Gil said, “Someone sent you over to pump me, find out whether I shot Gregorov.” Suddenly, Gil sounded angry. “Is that it?”

“People are curious. You can’t blame them for—”

“I guess the sonofabitch wasn’t invincible after all. You can tell your bosses that. I didn’t expect it, and I don’t know anything about it. Okay?” He paused. “And it looks like no one else does either.”

After Gil calmed down, I said, “How much money did he have, anyway?”

“I doubt he knew himself. A hundred million? Two hundred? A billion?” Gil shrugged. “When the Cold War ended, he was still with the KGB. I assume he was in a good position to get his hands on whatever wasn’t nailed down.”

“Doing that, he would have made a lot of enemies.”

“I have an idea it won’t be easy trying to find who murdered the guy.” Gil paused, did some more splashing. “I’ll be honest, Alex. I don’t wish evil on anyone, no matter who it is and no matter what they’ve done.”

I figured Gil was referring to the fact he had plenty of reasons to be mad at Serge Gregorov. As an attractive young woman paddled by, I said, “I’m assuming you were home in Munich when Gregorov was killed.”

“Yeah, I was, and Angie was down here in Switzerland, skiing.” Gil grimaced. “But people have long memories. A few days afterward I got a visit from a couple of our former agency colleagues. They wanted to know where I was when it happened. Would you believe that one of them even wondered if I’d mind being ‘fluttered’?” Gil flashed a wry smile.

“They wanted to polygraph you?”

“I said no. They argued, but I refused to take their test. I guess I can’t blame them for asking.”

“Why not?”

“I certainly had a motive to murder the SOB. But life is short. During those five years in the slammer, I had time to think. I made up my mind that I’d never again do anything that would land me back in prison.” Gil pointed the way toward the end of the pool. “I’m going to put in some time in the exercise room. After that, I go to the sauna.”

I said, “Tomorrow is my last day here. I drive up to Zurich, then fly back home. What I’m wondering is, do Angela and you have anything planned for this evening? I’d like to invite you to dinner.”

“Where and when?”

“How does The Two Lions sound? Seven thirty.”

“Angie likes that place. And I know she’d like to see you. Okay, we’ll see you tonight.” As he headed toward the steps leading out of the thermal bath, Gil turned and said, “But I still don’t think that was a chance meeting last night.”

“Gil thinks someone sent you over here,” Angela Purcell said. Although I hadn’t seen her for years, with her blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, Angela seemed as attractive as ever. “And he’s not too happy about it.” A minute before, we’d each ordered an after-dinner cognac.

Looking across the table at Gil, I said, “I think the best thing for you to do is be cooperative.”

Angela said, “I agree. Why not tell Alex how it all happened?”

Gil looked mildly troubled for a second, then nodded. “The truth is, I found working in intelligence repetitious, different from what I thought it would be. As the job became more and more routine, I began thinking of other things. Ever since I was this high—” Gil put his hand about four feet above the floor alongside our table. “—I’d wanted to own my own business. But the biggest factor was Angela’s hobby. She used to design all these great outfits.”

“Suddenly, Alex,” Angela said, “we knew what we wanted to do. Design and sell a line of high-end women’s clothing.”

“And become rich,” Gil said, suddenly laughing. “Don’t forget that.” After pausing to take a sip of cognac, Gil’s face clouded over. “It’s one of the great disappointments of my life that it didn’t work out.”

Angela said, “One of my aunts had died and left me four hundred thousand marks. Gil was able to borrow some money. We took out a mortgage on our apartment.”

“You can’t believe what it costs to fund a business,” Gil said. “Anyway, for the next year and a half we worked at it, harder than either of us had ever worked at anything.”

“We did all the designing and arranged for the manufacturing to be done in Hong Kong. That required trips back and forth and all kinds of paperwork. On the basis of our samples, we had department stores and boutiques all over Europe ready to carry our new spring lines.”

“What happened?”

“What happened was, our stuff was held up by customs at the border in Hong Kong. And strangely, also at some European borders.”

“Why do you say ‘strangely’?”

“Because none of this should have happened. We’d arranged everything in advance. Paid the duty, done all the paperwork.”

“We didn’t have anyone in Hong Kong to represent us, but we were told we wouldn’t need anybody.” Gil sighed. When he raised his glass, we all clinked glasses. “Are you sure you want to hear all this?”

When I nodded, Gil said, “Long story short, Alex. Everything arrived late at the stores. Our competitors beat us out by three weeks, but in the fashion business, a couple of days is an eternity. All our advertising was pointless. We hardly sold anything, and then the bills started coming due.”

“We’d sunk every last penny into the business, and we didn’t have a dime. Our bills, all told, were over two hundred thousand dollars. I’d never been in debt before. I couldn’t sleep or eat.”

“Neither could I,” Angela said. “I hated to think we’d squandered my aunt’s inheritance.”

I said, “I’m assuming that’s when Serge Gregorov came into the picture.”

Gil nodded, his expression changing suddenly. “When he made his pitch, he was blunt. He offered me fifty thousand dollars if I could get him the directions for accessing one of our spy satellites. He seemed to have a good idea of the kind of work I’d been doing.” When I didn’t comment, Gil said, “I told him, jokingly, that wouldn’t be nearly enough.” Gil paused. “I thought that would be the end of it.”

Nodding, Angela said, “We both did.”

“A few days later, Gregorov showed up at the tennis courts where I used to play. After my match, he waved me over to a quiet corner. He asked again about the spy satellite, and I said, again half-jokingly, he’d need to double his original offer. I thought that would get rid of him.”

Angela looked at me, her face pale.

“Finally I said, still jokingly, triple your original offer...”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Angela said. “You were being funny, but he—”

“But he was dead serious. What he did was, he stuck out his hand. Maybe I could still have backed out, said it was all a joke. I didn’t shake, but he acted as if it was a done deal. The next time I saw him, he passed over the money, in bills. Marks and dollars.”

I broke the silence. “Enough money so you’d be out of debt.”

“I know I shouldn’t have taken it. But when I saw the bills, I told myself it would be a onetime deal. Boy, was I naive. After I delivered the access material, he wanted me to keep giving them stuff.”

“He even wanted you to go rejoin the agency,” Angela said.

Gil frowned, then flashed a rueful grimace. “I knew I had to break off with him.”

I said, “But by then they had you.”

“Yeah, they had me. I never should have taken that money. Afterward, when I wouldn’t play ball... well, you know what happened.”

“Someone tipped our people to what you’d done. Was it Gregorov?”

“I don’t know who it was. It could have been Gregorov. All I know is, I was arrested and carted back to the States. I was able to quietly plead guilty, so there was no trial. I got eight years, served five. I was lucky. Angie was waiting for me in Munich. So I picked up the pieces of my life and started over. From scratch. Angie’s been running her boutique. I work part-time here and there. We get by.”

“We were really surprised by the murder,” Angela said. “Gregorov was one of the KGB people who landed on his feet after the Soviet Union collapsed, I’ll say that much. He had his fingers in all kinds of pies.”

“Did he ever try to contact you?” I asked.

“You mean after the Soviet Union collapsed?” When I nodded, Angela and Gil both looked at each other, then shook their heads forcefully. “Why the hell would he do that?” Gil said.

I let a couple of minutes go by, then waved to the waitress for the check.

With Angela having said good night, Gil and I were seated in stuffed armchairs in the lounge of the Grand Resort Hotel, each of us with a glass of Riesling. I’d ordered a plate of cheese and crackers, but as we munched, I could tell there was something on Gil’s mind.

“As you can see, Alex, Angela’s had to put up with a lot over the years. I consider myself lucky having a wife like her.”

“How did you two meet?”

“I’d only been in Germany a short time. I went to a carnival celebration at one of the big restaurants. I saw this attractive young woman there and asked her to dance. She comes from Remsdorf, a village out in eastern Bavaria, not that far from Czechoslovakia. Like me, she’d only been in Munich a short time.”

“You had something in common right away.”

“Quite a bit, actually. It didn’t take me long to realize this was the girl I’d been waiting for all my life.” Gil paused to cut a piece of cheese. “I think those five years were worse for her than they were for me. She’s terrific. She really is.”

Gil looked troubled. After picking up his glass and gazing into it for a long moment, he said, “You know, Alex, I find it hard to believe that you and me meeting over here is just a coincidence.” Before I could comment, Gil said, “Who sent you over?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“I’m assuming that it’s someone who wants to find me guilty. Someone out to frame me, someone who can’t forget that I sold secrets.” Then he said, “I already mentioned that two of our former colleagues have dropped by already.”

“You can’t blame people for wanting to know who killed Gregorov. He was a troublemaker with a long history. People wonder what he was up to.”

“There were dozens of people mad enough at the guy to want to kill him. And you people pick on me.”

“No one’s accused you of anything, Gil.” As Gil got to his feet, I said, “You’re overreacting.”

“Maybe I’m naive, Alex, but back then, back in Berlin, I thought of you as a friend. I know I screwed up, and I knew there are a lot of people will never talk to me. I just didn’t think you were one of them.”

“Like I say, Gil, you’re overreacting.” My mind was racing, trying to think of the right thing to say, but I had an idea Gil had already decided on how he wanted to end not only the evening, but also our friendship. I got to my feet, and in the middle of the sedate hotel lounge we were standing two feet from another.

“Overreacting? I don’t think so,” Gil said quietly. “Good night, Alex! And goodbye!”

I could have let the matter end right there, but I had a feeling Gil might be right about having enemies in D.C., people who were unhappy that he’d served only five years in prison and who didn’t like the idea of his leading a quiet life overseas. Whether or not Jerry Shenlee would have gone along with an attempt to frame Gil I wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, particularly if Gil’s enemies were highly placed. I realized I still hadn’t spoken with everyone in the case.

“The cameras are all motion-activated,” Ben Mazzio said. Mazzio, who was director of security at the Hoover Towers Hotel, had thinning dark hair and was in his shirtsleeves. We were in his office, looking at the pictures flashing across his computer screen.

A picture showed a woman in a pantsuit pushing a laundry cart out of a suite. “That’s Gregorov’s suite,” Mazzio said. “And the woman is Greta Bentz. She’s the executive housekeeper for the hotel.” As we watched, one of the maids approached and the housekeeper directed her toward the far end of the hotel corridor.

We’d been watching pictures taken by the eighth-floor cameras for twenty minutes, but there wasn’t anything conclusive. The only picture out of the ordinary showed one of Gregorov’s bodyguards knocking on his door and entering. A minute later he came out of the suite running and waving his hands.

“That’s the guy discovering that Gregorov was murdered,” Mazzio said. He shrugged, then turned off the computer. “Let’s see. What else can I show you? The people we saw in the corridor were the maids, two of Gregorov’s bodyguards, and the housekeeper.”

I said, “How about the woman who came to visit?”

Mazzio waved dismissively. “I figured her at first too. Most every night he’d been here Gregorov’s had female company. But she couldn’t have done it because she left his room at six twenty-eight, and then we have Gregorov on the telephone ordering breakfast at ten minutes to seven.”

“Which means he was still alive when the woman left.”

“So it couldn’t be her. I talked with her, so did the police. She arrived at a little before ten thirty the previous evening. She didn’t notice anything unusual the entire time she was in Gregorov’s suite.” Mazzio paused. “One thing I should add. Gregorov’s bodyguards would escort the women upstairs. We didn’t want them coming through the hotel lobby, so they came upstairs from the basement on the freight elevator.”

“Why not come through the lobby?”

“There are cameras all over the lobby. People would see them.”

“Is there a camera in the freight elevator?”

“There is but the bodyguard makes sure it’s off.” Mazzio rolled his fingers through his hair, shook his head. “Oh, yeah, I said I was gonna show you everybody’s resumé.” After he brought a folder back from a file cabinet, I began leafing through the resumes of people who’d worked that shift on the eighth floor.

“That’s Mrs. Ramos,” Mazzio said. “She was the tall, brunette maid. She’s been here for over ten years. This is Mrs. Cleary, comes from Ireland. Also very good. Mrs. Gaines worked for hotels in Georgia before moving to New York.” I nodded, looking over the resumes but not seeing anything unusual. When I reached the last one, Mazzio said, “This here’s Ms. Bentz, the executive housekeeper. She’s been at the hotel twenty years, maybe more. Knows everything. A real stickler to make sure everything’s done right.”

“As executive housekeeper, that’s her job, I assume. Making sure all the rooms are in apple-pie order.” When Mazzio nodded, I took another careful look at Greta Bentz’s resume. And then I noticed she’d immigrated to the States from Germany, from a small town in Bavaria.

That evening, I gave Ms. Bentz a call. When I said I’d like to speak with her, she said, “I’m working all day tomorrow.” Her English was fluent with only a mild German accent. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I can meet you when I get off. Four o’clock.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

When Greta Bentz left the hotel at ten after four the next day, I was waiting next to a newsstand on East 55th Street, across from the hotel entrance. I caught up with her on the corner of Lexington Avenue.

“I’m Alex Klear,” I said. “Do you mind company?”

“I live uptown. I’m a fast walker.”

After we’d gone a couple of blocks, I suggested we stop somewhere for a cup of tea. When she shook her head, I said, “I’d like to talk... about the murder of Serge Gregorov.” Then she stopped walking and she shrugged. Finally, she said, “Okay.”

We found a table in the rear of a quiet café. After the waitress brought our tea, Greta asked, “Are you from the FBI? I’ve already spoken—”

“I’m not from the FBI or the police, Greta. I was a friend of Gil Purcell... and of Angela.” When she frowned, I said, “You know Angela Purcell, don’t you?”

She shook her head. “I’m... I’m not sure.”

I wasn’t surprised that Greta was stonewalling. Her responses led me to believe my suspicions were correct.

“You come originally from Remsdorf, in Bavaria. Angela also comes from Remsdorf.”

“I emigrated from Remsdorf twenty five... nearly thirty years ago. I can’t remember everyone...”

“No, but you should remember Angela. You saw her only a few weeks ago.”

Greta turned pale. She folded her arms, as though she was shivering. Maybe she was.

Speaking softly, I said, “I’ve already told you who I am, Greta. I’m a former colleague of Angela’s husband. You have no choice. If you continue to say you don’t know Angela, I will have to speak with the police — and tell them what I suspect.”

After a brief hesitation, she said, “Which is?”

“That Angela murdered Serge Gregorov. I will also tell them I think you helped her and how I think it happened. I would rather speak with you—”

“Then you will talk with the police?”

“I’ve already said that I’m a friend of Angela’s.” I emphasized “friend.”

“I know that Angela had a very good reason to kill Gregorov.”

Greta sighed, then said quietly, “Angela’s mother is my father’s sister. We’re cousins. Many people had good reasons to kill Gregorov.” Greta took a small sip of tea. “But no one had better reasons than Angela.”

“You made it possible. As the hotel’s executive housekeeper, you know how things are done. And you had the responsibility for the maids and their movements. You made it possible for Angela to enter on the eighth floor and to evade the security cameras—”

“When you know how the security cameras are positioned, it is not difficult to evade them. Other things were more difficult.”

“Like what?”

“Like getting her into Gregorov’s suite. I brought her in the previous evening, when his security guards were away. She hid in a closet overnight.”

“Angela shot Gregorov after the other woman left, is that it?” When Greta nodded, I said, “But then she had to get out of the suite without being seen by the cameras.”

“The laundry cart was already in Gregorov’s suite. Angela was in it, beneath sheets and blankets. Gregorov was already dead. I told the maid to make up another room—”

“And you pushed the cart down the corridor. That was on the cameras.”

“With one maid on her break and the other making up the room, I was alone. The third maid didn’t arrive until ten. I pushed Angela out of the suite in the laundry cart and hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ card on the door. Then I took the freight elevator down. It was important we go to the basement.”

“Why?”

“There are cameras in the lobby. And people might have noticed her. In the basement there’s a camera, but Gregorov’s bodyguard had temporarily dismantled it. The basement door and outside gate were unlocked because workers were bringing in empty garbage cans. No one noticed us. She was out of the hotel within twenty minutes. The body wasn’t discovered until two hours later.”

“It was found by one of the bodyguards. I saw the photographs when he came running out of the room.” Greta remained expressionless when I said that. Then I asked about the murder weapon.

Again she shrugged. “I bought it at a gun show in New Jersey using a false name. It wasn’t hard. After leaving the hotel, Angela took a ride on the ferry and threw it into the water.”

“I see.” I couldn’t say it, but I was mildly impressed by the precise planning that had gone into this murder. For a successful special operation, we used to stress simplicity, security, surprise, and speed. Gregorov’s murder had all these elements, and I supposed it was because Greta was so precise and well organized that she held down the job of executive housekeeper at an expensive hotel.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have helped Angela, Mr. Klear...”

“She was your cousin. I assume that’s why—”

“It was more than that. Much more. I meant it when I said that Angela had good reasons to kill Gregorov. If you’re a friend of her husband, you know how Gregorov tricked him.” When I nodded, she said, “Because of Gregorov, Angela lost her husband for five years. After he returned, his reputation was ruined. If you know him, you know he hasn’t been the same person since.”

“I know that.” I couldn’t help recalling my last unhappy conversation with Gil Purcell.

“While her husband was away, Gregorov tried to seduce Angela. Did you know that?” When I shook my head, Greta said, “He told Angela he was already a rich man.”

“That would have been after the Cold War ended.”

“Yes, it was. And then he told Angela how he had destroyed their business. Yes, he destroyed Angela’s husband, but he made Angela sick at heart for squandering her aunt’s inheritance. And he destroyed Angela’s dream. From the time she was a child, she dreamed of designing clothes, of maybe one day having her own business...”

“What do you mean? Destroyed their business.”

“It was part of Gregorov’s plan from the beginning. As a KGB colonel, he targeted Purcell. Because he knew people all over, he was able to arrange for the delay at the border in Hong Kong. And the further delay at the borders in Europe. Because of those delays, all their designs were worthless. He caused the business to fail in order to make Angela’s husband vulnerable.” She paused. “But then he was unhappy when Gil wouldn’t work for them.”

“So he turned Gil Purcell in.”

She nodded. “Yes. Angela said he seemed proud of having ruined their lives.” Greta paused to take another sip of tea. “I suppose you know how he once said, ‘Vsyo mogu — and everyone believed him. Yes, at times it truly seemed he could do anything’.” She paused. “But there was one thing he couldn’t do.”

“What’s that?”

“That’s come back from the dead.”

Four months later, I was back in Switzerland, again enjoying a holiday in the sleepy spa town. I’d won enough in the casino for an expensive hotel dinner and was relaxing in the thermal bath when I saw a man toss off his bathrobe and begin to descend into the pool. It was Gil Purcell, and although I knew he’d seen me, he went swimming by without a nod. Behind him was Angela, who smiled broadly and waved enthusiastically. I had an idea that at some point she’d spoken at length with her cousin.

I also had an idea she knew her secret was safe — from her husband and from the rest of the world.