Free Triple Identity by Haggai Carmon Page A

hunch they weren't far away. I decided to stay in Munich for a serious looksee. I suspected that Mina and Ariel must have been here and had left their mark. Did they have anything to do with DeLouise's death? Or were they potential victims?

    Lovejoy left me no information about whether he had contacted the German police. It was too late to call him, so I decided to go to the local precinct and find out what I could. If DeLouise died of natural causes then the police would not be involved. But I had to find out what they knew. I asked the man at the desk if I might speak to the officer in command. My basic workable German, even if not fluent, could help. A few moments later, I was shown to a small office.
    “Good afternoon,” I said as I entered, in the friendliest tone I could muster and politely showing my ID. “My name is Dan Gordon, and, as you can see, I'm with the U.S. Department of Justice. I have an interest in Mr. Dov Peled, who I understand is in the Munich city morgue. Is there a police investigation into the cause of his death? Could I help you out with anything?”
    The officer looked at me with ice-cold eyes, as if I had just vomited on his best suit, and said in excellent English, “I am sorry, sir, this is a German criminal investigation. If your government has a relevant and parallel criminal investigation, I am sure it can find out more through INTERPOL when I send my report to my superiors.” The sarcasm virtually seeped through his pores.
    Hell, I thought, he was right. You wouldn't get a different answer from an American police detective investigating a homicide in Cleveland or Miami. But national sovereignty or not, I had to know Raymond DeLouise's movements and activities after he had left the United States. Besides, the officer confirmed that there was a criminal investigation. I left the police station and returned to the Grand Excelsior.
    A mild-looking, middle-aged man dressed in a ridiculous uniform, too much pomp and circumstance, stood behind the cashier's counter. I told him that I'd come to settle Dov Peled's hotel bill. I sensed he was not about to object.
    “By all means, sir, by all means,” he said quickly, and rattled the keyboard to get the printout.
    The printer started spewing out a surprising number of pages. The clerk stapled them and handed me the lot.
    “Twenty-one thousand, six hundred thirty-two marks and seventy pfennig, please,” he announced coolly.
    I put the packet in my briefcase and said casually, “Thank you, I'll forward it to the family's attorney for his review,” and walked away without waiting to see his astonished look.
    The bastard probably thought I was about to pay this hefty tab. That's all I needed: give the bean counters in Washington yet another reason to climb all over me.
    On my way out I calculated the dollar equivalent. It came to roughly fourteen thousand dollars. I tried to figure out how long he'd had to stay there to amass that charge, given the hotel's top mark rate. Quite a tab for a short stay. It would be interesting to see the details when I reviewed the bill.
    Back in my hotel I started working on my loot. On the top left corner of the invoice appeared his name: Herr Dov Peled. No address. Citizenship: Israeli. Date of check-in: September 20,1990. He had taken the Bavarian Suite at a rate of one thousand German marks per day. Payment method: cash. Manager's note: “Herr Peled is a VIP who has patronized our hotel in the past. He insists on his privacy. Do not discuss this guest with anyone inquiring about him.”
    The invoice listed charge items for minibar use, restaurants at the hotel, dry cleaning service, and more than one hundred phone calls. I pulled out my laptop, keyed in my user name and password, and went directly into the investigative telephone database. People usually have a pattern of calling. If you analyze it you can discover amazing facts. Identify all the numbers called, then let the software pick up the pattern. It's