He took a drag, thought a moment. “No, not uncomfortable.”
“It is always interesting, this time just after. Drained of sexual energy. You are left with the things that never go away. For me, the things that never go away are not so good.”
He looked at her in the light of the streetlamps streaming through the rain-streaked windows. “Time helps, Anna. It doesn’t heal, but it helps.”
She had no response.
Brodie thought a moment, then said, “The Stasi men. If you’d somehow found the one you were looking for… you weren’t just looking to talk, were you?”
Anna looked at him, weighing what to say. Then she replied, “No.”
Brodie nodded.
She seemed uncomfortable with this subject but continued, “I would usually keep my father’s hunting knife in my purse. One time, one of the sons of bitches hit on me. I thought about… right there in the bar. Just pretend he was the one, put all the blame and hate on him, and be done with it. Thank God one of my friends was with me, she knew what I was thinking and got me the hell out of there.” She took another drag and said, “You must think I am crazy.”
Well, yes, but who isn’t? He said, “It’s understandable. But you’re only punishing yourself with these thoughts.”
She didn’t respond.
After a moment, Brodie asked, “If Odin was caught and punished, would you… let this go?”
She replied, as if she’d been asked that question many times, “I would also want to see the Stasi bastards who arrested, tried, and executed my father—and did the same to many others—swing from a noose.”
Germany had no death penalty, so that wasn’t going to happen. And the German government wanted a happy reunification—not an ugly reckoning. So it looked like Anna was not going to get all she wanted, and never would. But Odin, if he was still alive, could face American justice—if anyone ever discovered who he was.
Well, maybe Harry Vance really thought he could find Odin. And maybe, if someone hadn’t prematurely ended his investigation and his life, he would have.
And where did that leave Scott Brodie? He could tell himself that theGerman Feds, the FBI, and his and Taylor’s CID replacements would understand that there was more to the Vance homicide case than an Islamic terrorist hit. But the truth was, in a couple of days they’d put a bow on it and call a press conference. And Odin, the spy who got away, would remain unknown and unpunished. Maybe forever.
Anna stubbed out her cigarette and moved closer to Brodie. He put his arm around her, and she rested her head on his chest. She asked, “Can you stay?”
“A little while.” He added, “I have an early meeting.”
“And your colleague? Will she be jealous? Are you two…?”
“No. It’s not like that. But it’s unprofessional to sleep with a witness on the case you’re working and I don’t need a lecture from her.”
Anna thought that was funny.
“She tries to keep me out of trouble. Professionally.”
“Good. She cares about you.”
“Professionally.” He suggested, “Let’s change the subject.”
“Let’s not talk anymore. Just be here. As long as you can.”
“Okay.”
He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the end table. Anna kept her head on his chest and closed her eyes. They sat in silence, and Brodie listened as the rainfall grew lighter and the storm dissipated. After a few minutes he could tell that she was asleep.
He checked his watch: 10:30P.M.It felt much later, which is what happens when you start drinking too early and have sex before dinner.
Brodie listened to Anna’s breathing and tried to quiet his mind. Why was he pretending he was still on this case? Why couldn’t he tell her that he was flying out of Berlin tomorrow? Maybe because he was having a hard time believing it himself. Or maybe because Anna Albrecht thought she’d found the man who would take Harry’s place in her bed and her heart. Forget heart—in her obsession with seeking revenge for what she’d lost. And he didn’t want to disappoint her. Also, revenge was not justice.
He pictured himself with Maggie Taylor on the flight home, and then without her in Colonel Dombroski’s office at Quantico, delivering their report. The colonel would give Brodie what he’d said he wanted—a better partner and better cases. His old career.
He’d go back to his shithole house and in the following days he’d hearabout the official resolution of the Vance homicide investigation. He would never again see or hear from the woman now sleeping naked next to him. He was sorry he couldn’t help her and sorry to be leaving an unsolved homicide, but that feeling would fade with time, and eventually go into the deep repository of things that Scott Brodie tried not to think about.
