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Back The One from the Other Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Praise
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. EPILOGUE
  49. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  50. Teaser chapter

“I’ve already said more than I should,” I told them. “Look, one of my senior officers will speak to you in more detail later on. You’d best pretend that it’s news to you when he does, all right? Or it might be my job.”

I opened the door a crack. I could hear no steps in the building. “And you’d best lock the door behind me,” I said, and went out.

By now it was dark and it had started to snow again. I walked quickly out of the building and down onto the Ring, to a taxi stand where I took a cab back to my hotel. There was no question of staying there, of course. Not now that I knew that Eric Gruen was as interesting to the International Patrol as Bernie Gunther. I would collect my things, check out of the hotel, and then go to a bar and try to figure out what to do.

The cab turned onto Wiedner Hauptstrasse, and as it neared the hotel entrance, I saw the IP vehicle parked outside. My already queasy stomach turned over, as if someone had stirred it with a long wooden spoon. I told the driver to pull up on the corner. I paid and then meandered innocently to the back of a small crowd of nosey-parkers that had gathered beside the doorway, apparently eager to watch someone get arrested. Two military policemen were stopping people from going in or coming out of the Erzherzog Rainer.

“What’s all the excitement?” I asked one of the nosey-parkers.

An old man, as thin as a pipe cleaner, wearing pince-nez and a black homburg, supplied an answer. “They’re arresting someone,” he said. “Don’t know who, though.”

I nodded vaguely and then edged away, certain that it was me they were probably after. After the scene at the cemetery there could be little doubt about it. I saw no point in looking for another hotel, either. If they were looking for Eric Gruen, the other hotels and pensions would be the first places they would check. Then the railway stations, the bus stations, and the airport. A wind was getting up. The snow in my face felt like a case of frozen chicken pox. Hurrying through the darkened streets, hunted and with no place to go, I felt like Peter Lorre in M. As if I really had murdered two women. Friendless, harried, desperate, and cold. But at least I had money. I had plenty of money. With money the situation might yet be rescued.