Read Online The Last Weynfeldt by Martin Suter - Free Book Online Page B

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    â€œThanks for coming so quickly,” Lorena said, and kissed him on the lips.

8
    S O IN THE END THERE WAS SOME ACTION THAT DREARY lunchtime. Frau Gabel got tough with the redhead and ordered her to open her handbag; the redhead refused point blank. Pedroni couldn’t hear exactly what was said, but you didn’t need lip-reading skills to grasp what was going on. He stood on the top step of the spiral staircase to see how the situation developed. If he’d had to choose, he’d have put his money on his boss. This customer was obviously brazen, but Gabel had seen it all when it came to shoplifting. The redhead wouldn’t get off lightly.
    Now Frau Gabel had waved Manon over, who had been watching the drama unfold from a safe distance. Gabel said something, and Manon went off toward the Prada rack. There she began searching, presumably for the black dress. Then she went into the changing room, stayed awhile, but emerged empty-handed.
    The result of the search produced nothing more than a shrug from the redhead.
    Gabel gave Manon new instructions, and she walked to the cash desk, probably to make the customer think she was calling the police, which she wouldn’t really do. Melanie Gabel wouldn’t want police in her store, certainly not during lunchtime.
    The redhead seemed to realize this, and kept her cool, waiting to see what happened next. Gabel seemed to be at her wits’ end. She looked around the store, caught sight of him and beckoned him down. Shit.
    Reluctantly he descended the stairs and joined them.
    â€œHerr Pedroni, we have a small problem. I have asked this lady to show me what is inside her handbag, but she refuses. A dress has gone missing, which she took into the changing room earlier. Please try to persuade her; perhaps you’ll have more luck than me.”
    The redhead stared at Pedroni in derisive anticipation. Taking a fatherly tone he asked, “Why don’t you want to open your handbag?”
    â€œBecause then she will think I wanted to steal the dress.”
    â€œSo it is in the handbag?”
    â€œNot because I wanted to steal it. I wanted to show it to my boyfriend.”
    Melanie Gabel weighed in again: “So why didn’t you take the other clothes too? The ones you asked us to reserve?”
    â€œThey wouldn’t all fit in my handbag.”
    Pedroni suppressed a smile. “So what now? Where do we go from here?”
    â€œDo you think I need to steal dresses? My boyfriend would buy up the whole store for me if I asked him!”
    â€œThere’s no need for him to do that,” Melanie Gabel said sarcastically, “I’d be delighted if he simply paid for the dress you have in your handbag. Three thousand, two hundred and fifty Swiss francs. I suggest you call him right away.”
    The redhead scrutinized her coolly. What she did next took Pedroni’s breath away: she opened her handbag. The dress, rolled up into a tiny bundle, could clearly be seen. She reached beneath it, retrieved a small wallet, searched briefly inside till she found a visiting card, which she gave to Gabel, replaced the wallet and closed the handbag. “Perhaps you’d like to call him yourself.”
    Melanie Gabel was speechless for a second, then took the card, read it, looked up and asked, “Adrian Weynfeldt is your boyfriend?”
    â€œYou know him?”
    â€œI know who he is.”
    They walked together to the telephone behind the cash desk. Melanie Gabel dialed Weynfeldt’s office number, was told that he would only be available after lunch and handed the phone to the redhead, who told Weynfeldt’s assistant this was an urgent, private matter. She was given the number of a restaurant, called it, and ten minutes later there he stood, in the store.
    He oozed money: his suit, shirt, shoes, all handmade. Pedroni noticed things like that. Weynfeldt was out of breath and very nervous.
    The redhead greeted him with a kiss