“Seen one European, seen ’em all. Including the girl Teddy supposedly offed.” He rubbed his face. “His vic was Helga’s sister, or a close friend. She comes to L.A. to get revenge, starts a shell firm for cover, looks for Teddy. Tries to find his local address by having Doreen—who she met through Backer, maybe on some anarchist chat line—comb through Masterson’s files.”

“Her primary goal was to kill Teddy, but she found out he was out of her reach in Sranil, either hiding in the palace or dead. So she settles for burning down his house. Pays Backer and Fredd fifty thousand to do the job.”

“Not much bang for all that buck, Alex.”

“If she banked on Teddy being dead, messing with his sutma would’ve been emotionally appealing. The sultan’s religious, so the thought of his brother dangling in perpetual purgatory would be unsettling.”

“You fuck with my family, I fuck with yours? With Backer and Fredd gone, Helga cases out the place herself, decides on a do-it-yourself?”

“Maybe she arrived this morning with her own bolt cutters, saw the gate open, and walked right through.”

“Meanwhile, Rutger’s snarfing bubbly and liver, making himself easier to ignite… so who killed Backer and Doreen? The sultan’s hit squad or Helga herself because she learned how to go kaboom from hanging with them, decided they were expendable?”

“If Helga is involved, I don’t see her acting alone. Overpowering two people by herself, even with two guns, would be tough for a woman, even a strong one. And using a gun to rape Doreen doesn’t fit.”

“Everyone says she hates people, Alex.”

“Even so,” I said. “That scene reeked of male.”

“Helga’s more social than she lets on, has a pal? Or this whole damn theory’s one big house—mansion of cards.”

He phoned Captain Don Boxmeister at the arson squad, left a message. Followed up with a call to Special Agent Gayle Lindstrom, connected, gave her a recap, asked her to research Helga Gemein.

She said, “Is she a Swiss citizen or Austrian? It makes a difference, tactically.”

“They both extradite, Gayle.”

“They do, but the Swiss make it a lot more difficult. Prying out a Swiss citizen is going to be hell.”

“I don’t know where her passport’s from.”

“Either way,” said Lindstrom, “she could be already gone.”

“Sitting in the International Terminal as we speak, Gayle. So how about dispensing some of your guys in dark glasses and walkie-talkies?”

“I’ll get an airport check going soon as I hang up. Including private charters, seeing as Daddy’s a money-mover. Give me the name of his bank.”

He flipped through his pad. “GGI-Alter Privatbank.”

Lindstrom said, “Sounds fancy. Soon as you snag those computers, make sure I get a full copy of the hard drives.”