“I believe the rest of my party has already checked in,” said Ingrid. “Herr Karl Gruning and Herr Erich Koepler.”

The man looked down at his computer screen for a moment and then replied. “I’m afraid we have no one by those names registered at the hotel.”

“They often register under false names,” said Ingrid, tossing her hair. “They have some misguided notion that their fame is substantial enough they need to travel incognito.” She pulled out her phone and opened a photograph of Karl and Erich, showing it to the clerk. “I believe they checked in last night.”

“I was on duty until eight,” said the clerk, “and I certainly didn’t see them. We only had two parties check in after that and they were all women.”

Ingrid knew she had only a few seconds to think. She couldn’t show a picture of Patton Harcourt or ask for her by name, because, thanks to Columbia House, all of Europe was looking for Patton. Could Karl and Erich have hidden somewhere in the hotel without checking in? She couldn’t very well ask to search the hotel, so perhaps her best move was to check in. It might look odd that she had no reservation, but she could act incensed that they had lost it. She smiled at the clerk and was just about to take out her credit card when Gottfried dashed into the lobby.

“Frau Weiss!” he called out. “Frau Weiss, may I speak with you a moment?”

Ingrid glared at him but crossed quickly to where he stood staring at his cell phone screen. “What is it?” she hissed.

“They’re moving,” he said and then, looking confused, he added, “or at least the phone is moving.” He took a few steps across the lobby to where a custodian carried a trash bin toward a service door.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Gottfried to the man, surreptitiously slipping his phone into his pocket. “I think I may have . . . dropped my phone into one of the trash bins in the lobby. Do you mind if I take a look?”

The custodian looked nonplussed and shot a glance at the desk clerk who shrugged. Ingrid felt bile rising in her throat. Thirty seconds later, Gottfried pulled a cell phone out of the trash bin.

“Thank you, sir,” he said in a weak voice, and he and Ingrid power-walked out of the lobby and back to the car in silence. Ingrid took the driver’s seat and as soon as Gottfried was in, she screeched away from the curb, drove a short distance down Maximilianstrasse, and pulled into a parking spot at Franziskanerplatz. For a moment no one said anything, then Ingrid began banging her hands against the steering wheel.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she said. “I’ll fucking murder them, I swear to God. I’ll murder all of you incompetents if I have to.”

“What is it?” said Eva. “What happened?”