Zoo Station

the police praesidiumthe Alex, as all Berliners called itthe southern side. Russell walked past entrances 4, 3, and 2the latter housing the morgue where McKinleys body was presumably residingand in through the doors of 1, the all-purpose entrance.

The whole Berlin detective force, around 1,800 strong, worked out of this building, and Russell imagined some of them were still waiting for their offices to be discovered. He was gestured toward one of several staircases, and then spent about ten minutes pacing down a succession of identical-looking corridors in search of Room 456. The windows overlooking the inner courtyard were all barred, suggesting a penchant on the part of guests for throwing themselves out, which Russell found less than comforting. Eventually he was intercepted by a surprisingly helpful detective, who took him down the right flight of stairs and turned him into the right corridor.

Kriminalinspektor Oehms office looked like a work in progress. There were files everywherepiled on the desk, floor, windowsill, and filing cabinets. Oehm, a chubby man with a florid face, abundant fair hair and sharp-looking blue eyes, seemed unconcerned by the chaos, but his companion, a redhead with unusually pale skin, kept looking around himself in apparent disbelief. He was not introduced, but even without the telltale leather coat Russell would have assumed Gestapo.

Oehm invited him to sit down. Weve been trying to contact you since yesterday morning, he said.

Ive been out of town, Russell said.

So your fiancee told us.

Russell said nothing. He hoped Effi had behaved herself.

Where exactly were you? the Gestapo man asked.

Poland. Cracow to be precise. Im working on a series of articles on Germanys neighbors, he volunteered.

You know why we wish to talk to you? Oehm said.

I assume its about Tyler McKinley.

Correct. You were surprised by the news?

That he committed suicide. Yes, I was.

Oehm shrugged. He must have had his reasons.

Perhaps. Are you certain he killed himself?

Absolutely. There is no doubt. We have several witnesses. Reliable witnesses. A police officer, for one.

Then he must have, Russell agreed. He still couldn't see why theywhoever, exactly, they werehad needed to kill McKinley, and he didn't suppose he would ever find out. It didn't much matter, really. His knowing certainly wouldn't help McKinley.

There is one possible reason for his action, Oehm said. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but . . . well, we have good reason to believe that your friend had become involved with political elements hostile to the state, that he may have become part of a plot against the state involving forged official documentsdocuments, that is to say, which have been fabricated to create a misleading and slanderous impression of activities inside the Reich.

What sort of activities? Russell asked innocently.

That is not your concern, the Gestapo man said.

And he wasnt my friend, Russell added. I liked him, but we hardly ever saw each other for more than a chat on the stairs. A drink every month or so, perhaps. Nothing more.

Ah. . . .

And if he was involved in this plot, why would that lead him to kill himself? Russell asked.

Perhaps it all got to be too much for him, and he couldn't think of any other way out, Oehm suggested.

He didn't give you anything to keep for him? the Gestapo man asked.

No, he didn't.

You are sure about that.

One hundred percent.

The Gestapo man looked skeptical, but said nothing.

One more thing, Oehm said. Herr McKinleys sister will be arriving in Berlin on Wednesday. To take the body home. . . .

Hows she getting here so quickly? Russell asked.

She is apparently flying across the Atlantic. The Americans have these new flying-boatsClippers I believe theyre calledand though theyre not yet in public service, there are frequent trials. Proving flights, they call them. . . .

Yes, yes, the Gestapo man murmured, but Oehm ignored him.

I am a flyer myself, he told Russell. Weekends only, of course.

We all need hobbies, Russell agreed. But how has McKinleys sister wangled a flight on one these. . . .

Clippers. I imagine Senator McKinley used his influence to get his niece a place on one of them.

Senator McKinley?

Tyler McKinleys uncle. Oehm noticed the surprise in Russells face. You did not know his uncle was a US Senator?

Like I said, we werent exactly friends. He could understand why McKinley had kept quiet about itthe boy would have hated anyone thinking he owed anything to family connections. But he was amazed that none of his fellow American journalists had spilled the beans. They must have assumed Russell knew.

As I was saying, Oehm continued, his sister will arrange for the body to be sent home and collect her brothers effects. I was hoping you could be here when we talk to her, as an interpreter and someone who knew her brother.

I can do that.

Her plane from Lisbon arrives around eleven. So, if you could be here at one?

I will be. Is that all?

Yes, Herr Russell, that is all. Oehm smiled at him. The Gestapo man gave him the merest of nods.

Russell retraced his steps to the main entrance. As he emerged into the open air he took a deep breath in and blew it out again. One thing was certainthey hadn't found the letter.

He crossed the square and walked into a cafe underneath the Stadtbahn tracks which he occasionally patronized. After ordering a couple of frankfurters and a kartoffelsalad he perched on a stool by the window, cleared a hole in the condensation, and looked out. No one had followed him in, but was anyone loitering outside? He couldn't see anyone obvious, but that didn't mean much. He would have to make sure by going through Tietz, pulling a variation of the same trick he and McKinley had pulled in the Neukolln KaDeWe. But it would have to look like an accident. He didn't want them thinking hed lost them on purpose.

The food tasted bad, which was unusual. It was the taste in his mouth, Russell thought. Fear.

He crossed the road and walked into Tietz, heading for the rank of telephone booths that he remembered outside the stores ground floor tea room. Ensconced in the first booth, he looked back along the aisle he had just walked. No one looked furtive. He dialed Effis number.

She answered on the second ring. Youre back. I had the police. . . .

I know. Ive just come from the Alex. Im sorry you got. . . .

Oh, it was no problem. They didn't break anything. I was just worried about you. Are you really upset? You didn't know him that well, did you?

No, I didn't. I feel sad, though. He was a nice enough man.

Are you coming over?

Yes, but itll be a few hours. Say around six. I have to see someone.

Okay.

Ill see you then.

I love you.

I love you, too.

He replaced the receiver and scanned the aisle again. Still nothing. A taxi, he decided. From this side of the station, where there were often only two or three waiting.

He was in luckthere was only one. Friedrichstrasse Station, he told the driver, and watched through the rear window as they swung round beneath the railway and headed down Kaiser Wilhelmstrasse. There was no sign of pursuit. At Friedrichstrasse he hurried down the steps to the U-bahn platform, reaching it as a Grenzallee train