Spyder Web

29

The Northwest flight into Frankfurt landed in the early morning, which meant that it was still sometime the previous night by Cal Mosley’s watch, but months of following leads had finally paid off. Cross-referencing the sketchy records from the dive ship with Dominican Immigration’s tourist data, Mosley finally located the woman who dove with the Cole impostor.

Petra Spanhaur taught art history at a secondary school just outside of Frankfurt. She lived in a modest apartment with her husband and a pair of cats. They welcomed Mosley into their home, though they seemed wary of him. Mosley took a chair while Spanhaur and her husband sat on the couch.

‘Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,’ Mosley said in fluent German.

‘It was no trouble, Herr Mosley. How can I help you in your investigation?’

Mosley could see from the look on her face that the incident still troubled her. ‘As I said on the phone, I’m investigating the death of Michael Cole.We have reason to believe that it was not accidental.’

‘You don’t think my wife killed this man?’ Spanhaur’’s husband objected.

‘Absolutely not,’ Mosley replied. ‘No one believes that your wife had any responsibility for this man’s death. She is, however, a witness to what happened. Frau Spanhaur, could you please describe to me the events surrounding that day?’

‘Ja. Last Christmas, my husband and I were on holiday in the Dominican Republic. It was beautiful.’

As Spanhaur began her narrative, Mosley could tell that she’d relived it every day since. He felt sympathy for the woman, who was still visibly shaken by her experience. Holding her husband’s hand, she spoke of the wonderful time they had had in the Caribbean.

‘On the night before the dive, my husband ate something that made him quite ill. The next morning, he felt better, but not well enough to dive with me. I had just earned my dive card and he encouraged me to go on without him. The dive master was very helpful, and he paired me up with Herr Cole. The reef was spectacular — I had never seen such colors before, and the light was indescribable. I was having a wonderful time, but then I noticed that Cole was acting strange.’

‘How so?’ Mosley asked.

‘He was swimming erratically, bumping into things, turning abruptly for no reason.When I tried to assist him, he lashed out at me. The look in his eyes was crazy — he was a madman. He tore my mask off, and that was the last I saw of him. I was unable to find my mask, so I made a controlled ascent to the surface. I told the dive master what had happened, and the rest of the divers searched for Cole, but they never found the poor man.’

‘My wife did everything she could. For a novice diver, she performed admirably. I have been diving for many years, and I have seen what she’s described happen to other divers. It could have been nitrogen narcosis or drugs or any number of things.’

‘Could you describe the man you dove with?’

‘I can do better than that, I have a picture.’ Spanhaur retrieved a photo album from the bookshelf and flipped through the last few pages. ‘Here it is. My husband took this just before we dove.’

Mosley accepted the album and studied the candid photo of Spanhaur and the impostor on the trimaran’s jump deck. A woman, dressed for sunning on the main deck, was handing the man his fins. He looked at the photo for several minutes before setting it on the coffee table and opening his briefcase.

‘Frau Spanhaur, are you certain that this is the man you dove with, the man who attacked you before disappearing?’

‘Ja,’ she replied, a little confused to be asked such a question, ‘this man is Michael Cole.’

Mosley then handed a photograph to the Spanhaurs. ‘Actually, this gentleman is Michael Cole.’

‘This is not the man I dove with.’ Spanhaur gasped.

‘No, it isn’t,’ Mosley agreed. ‘This Michael Cole was murdered at least twelve hours before your dive.’ Mosley explained this slowly, letting the Spanhaurs grasp what he was saying.

Spanhaur’s husband held her close for several minutes as a tangled flood of emotion welled up inside her. She was shocked, angry, relieved, happy, and confused all at the same time. Mosley turned away until she had time to compose herself.

‘Is there anything else, Herr Mosley?’ she asked daubing away at a few errant tears.

‘If you don’t mind, I would like to borrow your photo. It’s the first solid clue we have in this investigation.’

Spanhaur tore the print from her album and handed it to Mosley. ‘This man used me to hide his crimes. I hope you find him and bring him to justice for what he has done.’

Mosley placed the photograph in his file. ‘That’s why I’m here. Thank you both for your help.’