Clara positioned herself across from the police station, using the shadows of a doorway for cover. She didn’t have to wait long. Fuchs emerged right on schedule, his bulky figure unmistakable even in the dusk. He turned left, away from the main thoroughfares, heading back across the city. Clara assumed he was heading for the Jewish district.
She followed at a distance. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, but she thought of Max’s wife, of all the women whose names had been crossed off Hans’s lists and knew she couldn’t turn back, even if she wanted. She was in a position to make a difference.
The street lighting in Berlin had been restricted since the outbreak of war. There was a single lamp alight at the other end of the road. Deep shadows pooled in the recessed doorways and arched entrances of the tenements. There was the occasional shopfront, long since shuttered up for the night. The metal gratings created a maze of vertical shadows. The streets felt uncomfortably intimate. The buildings themselves seemed to lean inwards, narrowing her path as they loomed over her. Clara quickened her pace. Ahead of her Fuchs’s silhouette moved with the confidence of someone who knew the streets well. He came to a halt at a tram stop. Clara ducked into an alleyway. There was no way she could stand at the stop with him.
She watched from her hiding spot, quickly taking her headscarf from her bag and covering her head, tying it under her chin. At that moment, the tram came along, and Fuchs boarded. Then as a group of women shuffled onto the tram, Clara darted out and joined them, smuggling herself aboard. She sat down on a seat and keeping her head turned, looked out of the window.
Twenty minutes later, Fuchs got off the tram and much to Clara’s luck, so did several of the women who she had got on with earlier. Once again, she used them to hide herself from sight and began trailing Fuchs from a safe distance.
Soon they were deep in the Prenzlauer Berg residential district. On the other side of the road, she noticed two men making their way up. They were hurrying along, heads down against the wind, talking quietly. Although they didn’t appear to be a threat, Clara moved closer to the shadows of her side of the street.
She kept to the shadows, maintaining her distance as Fuchs moved deeper into the narrow streets. He walked with purpose, clearly familiar with the route. After about ten minutes, he stopped at a small café that looked closed for the night. The windows were dark, but Clara noticed a faint light coming from what might be a back room.
Fuchs didn’t go to the front entrance. Instead, he slipped down a narrow alley beside the building. Clara crept closer, using parked cars and doorways for cover. She positioned herself behind a delivery truck where she could see the mouth of the alley.
A few minutes later, a figure emerged. A thin man in his forties, wearing a worn coat and a hat pulled low over his face. Even in the dim light, Clara could see his nervous gestures, the way he kept glancing around as if expecting to be watched. The two men spoke in hushed tones for several minutes. Clara couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she saw the man hand Fuchs a folded piece of paper.
The exchange was brief. Fuchs pocketed what he’d been given and disappeared back down the alley. The other man waited a moment, then headed in Clara’s direction.
This was her chance. She needed to see where this informant lived. Clara began to follow, keeping well back as the man made his way through the winding streets. Her heart pounded as she realised she was getting deeper into unfamiliar territory. The man moved quickly, but nervously, constantly checking over his shoulder.
She was so focused on her target that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late. She spun around just as a hand clamped on her arm.
‘Frau Bergmann, what a surprise.Guten Abend.’
Clara stared into the eyes of Fuchs.
The smell of alcohol on his breath assaulted her senses. She moved her head away and took a step back. ‘Guten Abend,’ replied Clara, hating the way the nerves in her voice betrayed her.
‘What are you doing out here at this hour?’
‘A home visit,’ replied Clara.
‘At this time of night?’ Fuchs took a swig from a hip flask he produced from his pocket. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Unborn babies aren’t aware of the time of day or night,’ replied Clara. ‘And as you say, it’s very late. I must get home, my husband will be wondering where I am.’ She went to sidestep him, but Fuchs was surprisingly nimble and moved quickly into her path. He grabbed at her arm, his fingers tightened around her bicep, while he shoved the flask back into his pocket.
‘Don’t be so hasty. I haven’t finished with you yet.’ Fuchs licked his lips.
Clara glanced up and down the road. The dark street was empty. ‘I need to go home,’ she said, trying to assert some kind of authority.
‘I should report you for being out at this time of night without good reason,’ said Fuchs. He stepped closer to Clara, his body no more than an inch from hers, his nose almost touching her own.
‘I told you. I’ve been visiting a patient.’ She turned her head away.
Fuchs grabbed her face with his other hand, forcing it back to his. ‘Not here you haven’t.’
‘If you don’t let me go, I’ll have to report you to your superior,’ said Clara as she tried to free her arm. This made Fuchs hold her even tighter.
‘Oh, I don’t think you’ll do that,’ he sneered. ‘It might lead to more questions about what you’re doing here than what I am.’
‘My husband will report you to your superiors and make a formal complaint,’ said Clara, fear and anger emboldening her.
Fuchs let out a derisory snort. ‘You think your husband will protect you. Well, let’s see how he protects you now.’
The next thing Clara knew, she was being bundled across the pavement by Fuchs towards what she thought was a doorway but was in fact a narrow passageway. ‘Let me go!’ She struggled against him, but he was bigger and stronger than her. His hand clamped around her windpipe, squeezing hard, restricting her voice and narrowing her airways. It was all she could do to breathe, let alone try to call for help.
She grabbed at his hand to try to release the pressure, but it made no difference.
