2
Her eyes stayed fixed on the dead body lying in the water while Frederich retched and coughed and struggled to regain his breath. Still faint, he turned his attention to the surroundings. He shielded his eyes from the rain with his hands and scanned the windows of the apartments and down the street for observers. There was nobody around — as far as he could tell.
That gave him a choice; he could call the police or flee. He looked over at the young woman. She had witnessed him start the fight, so self-defence was probably not an option. He had protected her from what looked like attempted murder. His lawyer could run with that. In any case, there would be consequences. Police interviews. A drawn-out trial. Media attention. He could imagine nothing worse. He would rather plead guilty. The best thing would be to clear his tracks and get the two of them inside, and decide later once the flood had died out. The police could do nothing in those conditions anyway.
He hurried to clear the scene, first wiping the car’s doors clean of prints with his jacket sleeve. He felt inside the water beneath the convertible and found it was too low, so he fought and struggled with the man’s body until he could push it underneath an SUV parked in the next spot. The effort left him again breathless. He steadied himself on the side of the car for some seconds. Then it was time to go.
He went over and placed a hand on her shoulder. There was no reaction. She stayed in her place like a statue, still facing the dead body.
“We need to go!” he yelled.
No reaction. No movement. The sheer volume of rain was making communication difficult. Plus they had already lingered too long. He clenched his fists. Stay calm, Frederich. He took her by both hands and stepped in closer.
“We can’t stay here! It’s time to go!”
She turned to him with a stiff face.
“Please,” he mouthed, pleading with his eyes.
She gave a slight nod. He nodded back then let one of her trembling hands go and led her with the other. As they moved forward, she turned around for one last look at the man’s body.
They progressed slowly down the street without incident, trudging their way through the shin-deep water. Two blocks later they reached his building. The water level had now reached the front step. With steady hands he found his keys and they made their way up the stairs to his first-floor apartment.
He switched on the light, revealing the hallway and series of four doors. The bathroom was on the right, followed by the kitchen and a modestly-sized bedroom. He led her through his old-style apartment and into the living room at the back, leaving behind a trail of wet footsteps on the hardwood flooring. He encouraged her to sit on the three-seater sofa and switched on the lamp. She cooperated, still in a state of shock, and resumed staring at nothing. The curtains were open, he noticed. He went over to the window and checked the yard as well as the surrounding apartments before shutting the curtains. He went back over and kneeled in front of her. Her breathing was rapid and shallow.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
After a long pause, she turned and faced him. Her mouth was partially open and her hands were still trembling. She swallowed hard.
“Ida,” she said quietly with a hoarse voice.
He nodded, relieved that she was speaking.
“I’m Frederich,” he said.
She blinked multiple times and took a deep breath, closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa. He went inside, snatched the pillow and blanket off his bed and tossed them over his shoulder. When he returned, he found her peeling off her clothes. He turned around and faced the wall, and waited. He looked again and she was down to her underwear, while her sopping, brown skirt, black stockings, white t-shirt, brown platform boots and leather jacket were scattered at the base of the sofa. He covered her up immediately, refusing to allow his mind to wander. With the blanket over her body, she turned to lay down while he scrambled to position the pillow underneath her head. She closed her eyes and rolled into a foetal position. Soon after she was asleep, her breathing now slow and steady.
He went into his bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. Beneath the clothing was a box, which he placed on his bed to unpack. Inside was his pistol, three boxes of subsonic ammunition and a suppressor. He loaded the pistol and suppressed it. The gun had been in the drawer since he came to Berlin. Instinct told him that the man he had killed was no ordinary civilian. If so, he would likely have friends. Those friends would have the same violent tendencies. Frederich would need to stay vigilant. It was an impulse which came from years of training. Still, he was confident he had covered all the angles. Ida was the only loose end he could think of, and she was sleeping soundly on his sofa.
He carefully inspected the pistol. It had been a gift from Kraas for his seventeenth birthday which he maintained in immaculate condition. It was as much a weapon for him as it was a sentimental reminder of his father. When he was satisfied with its current state, he double-checked the safety then settled upright on
