Chapter Two
Given the unnecessary damage, this did not appear to be a professional job unless, of course, the excessiveness itself was a deliberate message for Graf. Even as I pulled out my phone to summon appropriate assistance, I absorbed the finer evidence of the scene and strode through the modest flat to ensure the perpetrators were no longer there. Had I found anyone, I would have given them to Dieter to play with, though the odds against any transgressors still being present were high. Clearly, whoever had done this had waited for both the Grafs and Ilse's babysitter to leave the apartment, which meant the building was under observation and was probably still being watched even as I stalked from room to room. Listening to Ilse being comforted by her father, I wanted to be furious but that was an unaffordable luxury. Instead, I allowed the cold clarity of analysis to settle over me, much better for thinking than hot rage. Bad enough that this needless act of mayhem took place on my watch, but that one of the targets was a child gave me a sour feeling. Returning to the front hall of the apartment, I'd seen everything I needed to see and had decided on the next step.
"Can you pack up your personal affects and be ready to leave in five minutes?" I asked Dieter, my eyes observing the child's tension as she huddled in his arms. "Obviously, you cannot stay here and I don't want you to have to deal with any more unwelcome guests."
"But where are we to be going?" I could see that Graf was still shocked. Despite his size and strength, the German was a writer, not a fighter. "Ein Hotel?"
A hotel, a nice one, would definitely be easier for all of us; however, short of placing twenty-four-hour security on both father and daughter, it wouldn't make much sense. Nor did I much fancy putting an ill child into any of the safe houses currently available; they were utilitarian to say the least. I wanted my guests to be somewhere safe, secure and comfortable. Somewhere with solid security yet with a less dismal ambiance than one of Her Majesty's prisons. This left me with only one clear alternative: Forty-two Pall Mall. My apartment was large enough and secure enough. It was also the only place I could think of where they'd be totally safe from any future unpleasantries.
"Pack your bags," I said. "Leave the rest to me," I smiled at Ilse in her father's arms. "And don't forget Gustav."
My people arrived just as Dieter dropped two suitcases at the door. Backup had not been as swift as I would have liked, but given the chaos of Christmas traffic, one had to be realistic. I had already given my team directions on the phone during my initial call and little more needed to be said. With practised professionalism, the small group of men and women swept into action, photographing and documenting everything, even as they began putting the flat back to rights. The Grafs' suitcases were taken down to the Jaguar. Fortunately, none of their clothes or personal possessions appeared to have been damaged, though Dieter's wardrobe had been thoroughly rifled. If the search had involved the man's clothing, then whatever was being sought was small or easily hidden. I wondered what it was. Given Graf's previous work, the options seemed limited.
"Where are we going, Herr Holmes?" It was the first thing I'd heard Ilse say since I'd prowled around the flat ready to wreak havoc on any remaining malefactor. I looked down in the dimness of the car and saw her pale little face staring up at me. The urge to promise her everything was going to be all right tugged at me.
"You and your papa are coming to stay with me for a little while," I lifted my eyebrows as her eyes widened. "I have an apartment on the top floor of my building and you can see all sorts of Christmas lights from there. Would you like to see them?"
"Can Gustav see them too?"
The earlier tightness in my chest threatened to return and I quashed it roughly. Now was not the time for anything less than cool-headedness. I stared across to Graf's unreadable expression. I hadn't told him of my plan before we left his ransacked flat so that he could not possibly leave any form of message for anyone who might be looking; I had not completely dismissed the notion that Dieter Graf might not be quite what he claimed.
"I think Gustav would enjoy the lights," my voice sounded softer than usual which immediately annoyed me. "You will both be very safe, I promise." Apparently, my need to affirm the child's safety overrode my own desire for professional detachment. I looked away.
"It is too much of us to stay with you in your home, Herr Holmes," Dieter finally threw off his shock-induced despond. "We are to be OK in a hotel, I am sure."
"And I am sure you will be even safer in my apartment," I met his eyes again in the dim light. "I am not prepared to take any risks," I added, dropping my gaze down to the top of Ilse's head and back. Graf got the message and shut up, holding his daughter close to his side, a look of deep thought on his face.
Pall Mall was only ten minutes away and the Jaguar pulled into the kerb with hardly a swerve. Not wanting to be out in the open any longer than necessary, I stepped onto the kerb, advising my driver he would probably not be needed further, but to remain alert until midnight just in case. Popping the boot, the Grafs' belongings were on the street even as I was about to open the main door of the building. Dieter had his hands full with the cases, which left Ilse standing on the cold pavement. My chest tightened again and I glanced at Graf, seeking his permission. Looking between his daughter, and me he nodded once as he shouldered the luggage. I held out my arms and looked down.
"I think this will be easier if I carry you," I said, holding out my hands, uncertain how to tell the child we needed to be quick. "Would you allow me to ..?"
Ilse simply opened her arms and it was the easiest thing in the world for me to bend down and gather her up, her small form resting naturally against my side as her hands clung to my coat. There was very little weight and I revisited the knowledge that the child was ill. If anything, I grew even more angry but it was getting cold outside and there was no time for any personal fit of temper. I held Ilse tight and kept silent.
Ronald Thomas, ex-boxer, ex-policeman, ex-security guard was on concierge shift tonight. It wasn't that the building's residents required much in the way of concierge assistance, as it was that I, according to Bonneville, needed someone trustworthy and secure at my front door. All the part-time staff who formed the building's twenty-four-hour security team had been thoroughly vetted and checked on Sir David's directions and a goodly part of their salary came from our department. There were five men in the squad, of whom Ronnie was one and one woman, Heather James, who'd been both a sharpshooter and a K9 handler. Heather usually brought Magnus, her current retired police dog, in on her shift; they made a formidable team. Tonight, however, it was Ronnie who took in the unexpected scene of me holding a small child in my arms as a very large man followed behind carrying two suitcases.
"Evenin', Mr Holmes," Ronnie stood, taking everything in. "Be needing any assistance with anything?"
"Thank you, Ronnie," I stabbed at the '4' button on the lift panel with my free hand. "I think we'll be fine tonight. Mr Graf and his daughter are going to be staying with me for a little while, so please let everyone know, if you would."
"Consider it done, Mr Holmes," Ronnie was also a father of three and his expression was eloquent. "Got everything you need for the little girl?" I had absolutely no idea what might be needed for a little girl, but I was almost too cross to speak civilly at this point.
"I'll let you know," I nodded at him as the lift doors closed and we ascended swiftly to my bachelor apartment where I unlocked the front door and welcomed two unexpected guests into my humble abode.
Of course, I had not planned on having visitors at all this Christmas. My parents had insisted on turning up last year, if only to check that I was, in fact, the owner of a central London flat. Last year, I had still been in the process of getting settled in, still finding pieces of furniture and pots and pans. Of course, I'd had some initial help with this from a very lovely North Korean spy but there had still been any number of things which, as my mother had smugly pointed out, needed 'a woman's touch'. My flat lacked frills and I was perfectly happy with this state of affairs. But Ronnie had been correct to ask if I had everything I needed for a small child because obviously I hadn't, though it was too late to worry now. If anything special was missing, I'd have one of my assistants worry about the details. It wasn't until I had the front door closed and locked behind the three of us that I felt an enormous pressure lift from me and I felt able to exhale.
Still carrying the child, I walked a little way down the open-plan hallway, opening the first door on my right. This was the guest bedroom that, thankfully, I'd had the foresight to decorate to a decent level for my parents' visit last year. While the view from this room was less than stellar, peering over rooftops towards the regimented windows of the Army and Navy Club, it was at least comfortable. I'd bought an extra-long king sized bed specifically to accommodate my father's height which was fortunate for Dieter Graf who would otherwise have had to sleep diagonally. There was no space in the room for a second bed, though I'd installed a dressing table and a small boudoir settee for my mother, which was certainly soft enough for Ilse to sleep on. The main bathroom was right next door, so they could have as much privacy as they wanted. The master suite and my office were at the front of the flat, overlooking Pall Mall itself, and I needed little else. This was fortunate, as I planned to work from my office here until I knew precisely what had happened and could be certain it would not happen again. Sliding open one of the wide doors of the built-in wardrobe, I showed Dieter where the bed linens and duvets were kept. Dropping his cases, he nodded, already unbuttoning his coat.
"Would you like a scotch?" I asked him, watching as Ilse walked to the sofa and sat daintily, pulling open her own coat. "And would you like something to eat or some hot milk?" I bent down awkwardly to her level, wondering what she ate and if she was even allowed to drink milk. I wasn't sure what I had in the cupboards; the company Bonneville insisted I use for my domestic arrangements not only took care of my cleaning but also did my grocery shopping and general laundry. This was fortunate; otherwise, I'd probably have nothing in the refrigerator at all. I was sure there'd be fresh milk at least, though I wasn't certain what other stores I might have.
"Cocoa, please, but I'm not hungry, thank you." Ilse looked up at me expectantly. Did I have cocoa? Thankfully, my flat was warm and I peeled off my heavy coat and scarf enroute to the kitchen as I started opening various cupboard doors in search of the small round tin I vaguely recalled from several months before. Success. Starting up my coffee machine for Dieter and I, I heated some milk in the microwave for Ilse. Following the instructions on the tin, I ended up several minutes later with an apparently acceptable result and poured it into an elegant Russian tea-glass my mother had bought. The coffee was also ready and I brought everything across to the living area where I also splashed out two very good measures of single malt.
Soft footsteps on the polished wooden floor was something of a relief as Ilse and Gustav skipped over, apparently none the worse for wear. The resilience of the very young was to be envied. I had no idea where she might want to sit, but Ilse took matters into her own hands, throwing a large cushion on the floor next to the coffee table and dropping onto it as she waited for me to serve her evening beverage.
"Nein, Ilse," Graf's tone as he walked into the living room was mildly admonishing. "It is not polite to be sitting on the floor in someone's house." About to apologise for his offspring's casual treatment of my property, I simply handed him a glass of scotch and shook my head at his concern. Ilse could do as she pleased as far as I was concerned.
"There is very little damage she can do here," I clinked my glass to his and pushed a cup of coffee across to him as I took one of the two leather settees that framed the low, square table. "Relax, you are safe here."
"Prost," Dieter perched on the edge of the facing couch, listening Ilse admiring the ornate silver holder and explaining to Gustav that the glass really belonged to a princess. Seeing that Ilse would be absorbed in looking around her new surroundings for a while, I felt able to begin the inevitable conversation with her father.
"Any idea what they were looking for?" I spoke casually but I saw Dieter's shoulders tense. Taking a sip of his coffee, he shook his head slowly.
"I have trying to be working out what anyone would think to find in our things," he paused and shook his head again. "I have no money, no documents of confidentiality, no special knowledge," he looked up at me and shrugged. "I have no clue why anyone would try and rob us."
Did Graf seriously think he'd been the target of a simple break-in?
"It wasn't a robbery," I tapped a thoughtful fingertip on my glass. "It was a search, and either it was a very poor search or a very good one."
"I do not understand," Dieter frowned. "Explain, please."
"If the damage in your flat was unintentional, then it was a poor search," I sipped the Ardbeg, leaving the rest of the equation to penetrate Graf's awareness. It didn't take long; his chin lifted slowly until he was staring me in the eye.
"You think it was done to tell me something?" he frowned. "But what? And why? And why to me?" He certainly sounded innocent, though I had already met many excellent liars in the course of my job.
"If it was a message," I mused. "Then it was to remind you about something you have or something you know," I paused, idly swirling the amber liquid in the lead crystal. "What do you know, Herr Graf?"
"Papa knows how to tie my shoelaces and how to make me porridge for breakfast," Ilse chipped in as she pushed her near-empty glass aside. She yawned widely. "He sings me songs at bedtime."
"Do you need extra bedding to make up a small bed on the sofa?" I looked at the big man who suddenly seemed as weary as his little girl.
"Nein, danke," he blinked tiredly. "The bed is very big enough for Ilse to sleep on one side; she will feel safer there, I think." And Dieter Graf would feel better with his child safe beside him, I could see. I nodded.
"I'll make something to eat while you put her to bed." I stood and walked to the 'fridge knowing there would be something cold I could heat up. Thanks to Bonneville's directions, edible things appeared each day and tonight it seemed to be lasagne. It was only later, after Dieter and I had eaten a slab of the stuff and after I'd spoken again to the head of the clear-up team, that we had another chance to sit with a drink. Graf opted for vodka as our conversation was renewed. I had turned off all but a few lamps; people talk easier in the dark and my mind was coming up with all sorts of questions.
"What did your wife do before she died?" I asked, watching my scotch sparkle lazily in the dimmed lights.
"Anna?" Graf sounded surprised. "Anna had been a sports coach," he said. "For a women's ice-hockey team," he smiled slightly. "She was sehr gut at the job," he nodded at his memory.
"Did she travel a lot in her work?"
"Oh, ya," Dieter nodded again. "All the time, all the places. She would always bring Ilse a present back from where she had been."
"Is that where she found the original Gustav?" I sipped my scotch and thought interesting thoughts.
"Ya. Anna and the team had been in Leipzig," he grinned suddenly and leaned forward. "There was a proper black market in Leipzig and Anna found Gustav for Ilse's birthday. It was a good time," he toyed with his drink as other memories crowded in.
"How did the fire start?" I asked gently. An idea had taken shape in my head but I needed more information before I could act on it. I had to know. I watched the big man shrink a little into himself as he recalled details he'd rather not. I held my silence and knew I was a bastard.
"Nobody was able to be telling me," he frowned down at the glass in his hand. "I was late at work and Anna was with Ilse at the hospital. When they got home, the apartment was on fire and my wife went in to save some family things," he shrugged dolefully. "She did not come out."
I let the silence ride for a few moments. After all, whatever else his Anna was, she had been the man's wife.
"Was anything recovered from the fire?" I asked, holding the bottle of Absolut out to him. He poured himself a generous measure and I was momentarily reluctant to press for more information. The feeling passed quickly.
"Not many things were found," he sighed wearily. "Some plates and some ..." he paused, hunting for the word. "Backpfannen?" Porcelain and baking pans, both typical survivors of a domestic fire. Not what I wanted to hear, though.
"There was nothing else? Nothing small or precious? No jewellery or ornaments? Schmuck oder Ornamente?"
Lifting his gaze to the left, I could almost watch the cogs turning in his memories. I disliked doing this to him. He was a pleasant enough man, and more importantly as I now knew, an honest one. I waited.
"There were some small things," Graf swigged back the clear spirit in a single gulp. "A few pieces of Ilse's books that did not burn so completely. Some old candlesticks that were on the floor, small things of no consequence," he stopped sadly, as grief reinstated itself. I saw I would get nothing more of use from him tonight.
"My people are looking for whoever broke into your apartment," I said, changing the subject. "We may have some answers in the morning. In the meantime, is there anything you or Ilse need?"
"I have a medical Rezept for Ilse's medicine that I must take to a ... an ... Apotheke?" he paused and looked at me for a response. The nearest chemist's was at Charring Cross but it would be easier to have one of my people pick up the drugs.
"I'll have it collected for you," I said. "You and your daughter will be staying here until I am confident of your safety."
"But my work ..?"
"You can still do your work," I replied. "I can have all your materials delivered here in the morning."
Graf looked at me assessingly. "You are important man, eh?"
"I work for an important man," I answered easily. "He told me to look after you and I am."
Dieter got to his feet and stretched. My flat has high ceilings but he made them look almost average. I decided to add more alcohol to the list of things I wanted delivered.
"Then, Gute Nacht, Herr Holmes," he nodded. "And thank you for your welcome hospitality," he picked up his empty glass from the coffee table and headed towards the kitchen with it. "Is good, but Leipzig Wodka is better, I think." He grinned over his shoulder and headed to the guest room, leaving me alone with my thoughts in the dim light.
###
The next day, it became clear that despite the disorder in the Graf's apartment, whoever made it was careful enough not to leave any trace of themselves; no fingerprints, no physical evidence and no DNA evidence either. This confirmed the non-opportunist nature of the break-in; it was a professional job, done by people who knew precisely what they were doing. This further substantiated my suspicions that whatever they had been looking for, it had not yet been located. Dieter and Ilse were not safe beyond my flat, so there they would stay for the time being. Fortunately, I had long ago had my own office set up, a duplicate of the Whitehall version, and given the increasing level of technological support, I could work as well here as anywhere else.
Ronnie Thomas had thoughtfully dropped off a box of old toys for Ilse who spent most of the day investigating everything with a determination that would rival my brother for its thoroughness. I'd had Dieter's reading materials brought over which gave him plenty to do, as well as requesting Ilse's prescription be picked up.
"There's a problem with the little girl's medication, Mr Holmes," I heard the words emanating from my phone but wasn't sure why I was hearing them.
"Because?"
"None of the chemists will fill a German prescription in case they get it wrong. It needs to be a UK prescription, signed off by a UK doctor, they say."
I sighed. "And?"
"And no British doctor will sign-off on this type of medication unless they first examine the patient," the man had clearly tried. Not that it helped much.
"Then get a doctor," I suggested.
"Yes, sir. Shall I bring them around to your Pall Mall address?"
I could almost hear my eyes rolling. "Yes, do that." I ended the call. Locking my office door, I went to advise Dieter that Ilse would need to be checked over by one of our own medicos before her medication could be obtained. It was a formality, but British laws were strict about such things and a doctor was on the way. On the return leg to my office, I stopped to watch Ilse who had all the toys lined up on one of the long settees; several dolls, a somewhat weary-looking elephant, a one-eared Panda and, of course, Gustav. There seemed to be quite a serious conversation going on though I couldn't make out exactly what was being discussed; undoubtedly something of international import.
"She has been most happy in your country," Graf had put down his papers and was watching me watch his child. "There is so much more here for her than in Berlin."
"Then stay," I turned on my heel, not realising what I was going to say until the words had already left my mouth. "Stay and live here in London," I said. "I'm fairly certain I could expedite permanent residency for you both." I turned back to watching a happy, quiet little girl playing with her dolls. It felt wrong to send her back to a country where all she had was bad memories and a limited future. "The medical services are very good over here," I added, meeting Dieter's gaze. We had not spoken about his daughter's poor health but it was an elephant in the room.
The internal phone rang to advise me that one Doctor Parker was waiting at the reception desk downstairs. I said to send him up and went to open the door. In seconds, the lift dinged, opening to reveal a conservatively-dressed woman of early middle age with hair already silvering despite her lack of years.
"Doctor Alex Parker, Mr Holmes," the woman extended her hand. "I was told you needed an urgent patient evaluation and prescription?"
"Indeed," I shook her hand and brought her into the flat. "Miss Graf is a German visitor who needs new medication but none of the chemists will accept a German script. If you'd be so kind ..?" I ushered her into the living room where Ilse was still chatting away with her new friends. I turned to Dieter to see if he had anything to say, but he shook his head, though his expression was vigilant.
"Ilse, Liebling, come let the lady doctor see you," he called, his eyes already scanning back to the papers in his lap. I decided to make some tea; the kitchen was a most useful place to hear everything in the flat while remaining conveniently out of sight.
"Hello, Ilse? My name is Doctor Parker. Can you understand what I'm saying?" the woman set her big black bag on the opposite settee and sat, waiting until her new patient turned and looked.
"I am making friends with my new toys," Ilse turned to sit one of the dolls up straighter. "I usually only have Gustav, so it will take some time, I think."
"And who is Gustav?" swiftly scanning the child's face, Doctor Parker opened her bag and began pulling out a number of items including a stethoscope and blood-pressure cuff. "Would you like to listen to his heart?" she held out an irresistible stethoscope. Showing Ilse how to listen to her own heart first, Doctor Parker was already well into the examination before anyone realised. I don't think Ilse ever did, so enchanted was she with all the real medical toys. Inside of twenty minutes, the deed was done. Parker packed her things carefully back into her medical bag and said her farewells to Ilse and the toys. Standing, she walked over to my side. I handed her the world's slowest-made cup of tea as she looked between me and Graf who had put his papers to one side for the moment.
"The child is very ill," Alex Parker spoke quietly though she pulled no punches. "She has significant issues with a congestive heart condition and needs some fairly intensive treatment," she paused and looked between us, her gaze resting eventually on Graf's face. "She should be in hospital for a thorough review."
Dieter looked stoic. "Our own Ärzte have done everything they can," he frowned down at the floor. "There is nothing more that is to be of help, I have also been told this."
"There are a number of new drugs we can try," clearly Parker was not one to give up at the first hurdle. "I could start your daughter on a regime of the latest ACE inhibitors which may alleviate a number of her problems," she looked from me to Dieter and back, as if seeing which one of us was most likely to agree. "It's hard to see anyone suffer unnecessarily, especially a child." I watched thoughts cross Graf's face as he tussled with this new information. I couldn't comprehend his indecision. If Ilse could be helped with new drugs, how could he possibly hesitate? Forcing myself to remain silent was not the easiest thing I ever did; I've never really understood how people manage to miss the blindingly obvious. Perhaps a night's sleep on the matter would help.
"In the meantime, is she able to continue with her existing prescription?" I asked, realising it would be unproductive to force the issue
"Yes, of course," Doctor Parker nodded. "It's a form of Furosemide and commonly used in these cases. I've already written a prescription for you, but Mr Graf, I strongly recommend you consider my suggestion; these state-of-the-art drugs can be very effective." The doctor looked Dieter squarely in the eye as if daring him to disagree with her. Murmuring my thanks, I escorted her out of the flat all the way down to the Concierge desk where I asked that the new script be filled as quickly as possible. Exhaling loudly in the returning lift, I realised I now had three separate responsibilities on my hands; Graf's work, the safety of he and his daughter, and Ilse's ongoing wellbeing. Of the three, I couldn't say which was the more problematic.
My flat was quiet as I let myself back in. The door to the guest room was closed and so I returned to my office and the work I'd left earlier. I'd asked for and received the police report about the fire that killed Anna Graf, and the resultant facsimile awaited my attention. In addition to the police report, I'd also asked for any photographs of the burned apartment and studied them first. The fire, as most fires do, had moved upwards, with the greatest damage at the ceiling level and the least, on the floor itself. All manner of small things in addition to candlesticks might have survived if they had been protected by falling plaster and masonry. A vague thought of black-market economics and the kind of things one might purchase through such an economy sat in my head. Anna Graf had travelled a lot and brought various things home, things that she wasn't able to find in East Berlin, things that had come from other places. Something she'd brought home had survived the fire and her desire to find it had almost certainly been the cause of her own death. I was convinced that Ilse's mother had been a spy. But for whom? And what had she been attempting to save from the fire?
###
The following morning I stared out of my bedroom window at dawn and was briefly puzzled at the curious colour of the sky. It took me a second to realise it was snowing and the air was thick with falling flakes. I wondered how Ilse felt about snow and if she had warm enough clothes. I needn't have been concerned as she turned up for breakfast dressed in a white woollen jumper and thick dungarees with small red boots. I saw Gustav now sported a matching white ribbon. I had no idea what to offer either of them for breakfast and made a very early call to an assistant who had departed my flat less than fifteen minutes before Ilse asked to be lifted onto one of the high stools at the breakfast bar. Fortunately, I was fully competent at turning an oven on and off and had been keeping everything hot. The kitchen was redolent with appetising smells and I smiled smugly as I took hot plates my assistant had put in the oven to warm.
Dieter arrived, freshly shaven though he looked tired. He had probably not slept well last night; too many important questions to be considered. Breakfast was a surprisingly leisurely affair, with both Graf and I making sure Ilse had everything she wanted to eat or drink, though even I could see her appetite was small. I felt an irrational anger flicker inside me again and wondered what I had to do to see it gone.
I'd arranged for Ilse's babysitter to come to my flat later while Dieter and I worked on our respective tasks. After completing her meagre breakfast, Ilse ran to the long windows to see the falling snow.
"Papa! Please can we go and see the snow?"
Graft smiled, but shook his head. "Nein, Ilse. It is too cold for you to be outside today. Stay in here with your toys and be warm."
"But please? Just for a little? I promise to come right back inside when you tell me. Pleeeaase, Papa?"
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Graf stood and reached for his coat. I was hardly able to deny the child a few moments in the snow, but neither could I allow them from my sight. Reluctantly, I collected my own overcoat from the hall cupboard. It was bitingly cold outside but it was still quite early and, while there were a number of people abroad, the morning rush hour had not fully commenced. I looked around and then looked down as a series of happy giggles suggested Ilse was enjoying kicking the barely piled snow into small drifts. I heard increased car traffic up and down the road telling me that the quiet was already over and was about to usher my charges back inside. The noise of a high-revving car engine caught my attention as a nondescript vehicle drew closer, itself fairly blanketed in obscuring snow. It was only when I saw the windows rolling down that I realised what was happening.
"Down!" I yelled. "Everybody down!" From the corner of my eye, I saw Dieter reach for his child, even as a burst of bullets raked the front of the building, the sound of ricocheting steel drumming like hail as we crouched beside a parked car. Ronnie Thomas rushed out with a gun suddenly in his hand, but by then the car had already careered off down the street. With luck, I'd have the details on CCTV within twenty minutes.
"Back inside now," I directed, about to tear a strip off my supposed security, when I realised Graf was not moving but held still on his knees. "Dieter?" I felt an ominous chill inside which had nothing to do with the snow. The big man turned slowly, his face ashen and panicked. He held Ilse in his arms, a small blossom of red on the chest of her white jumper.
"She is shot," he whispered harshly. "Meine Ilse ist erschossen."
At this time of the morning, an air-ambulance was imperative. I made the call.