Chapters (50)
- Praise
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Teaser chapter
He blew some smoke at the carved wooden ceiling and then picked a piece of tobacco off his eloquent pink tongue. I might have given him a short uppercut and then he’d have lost the tip of it. I was with the guy in the car. The one who hated the Ami’s guts. I disliked the Yank’s manner and the advantage he seemed to think he held over me. But it wasn’t worth punching him out. I was in the American Zone, and we both knew they could make trouble for me. I didn’t want trouble with the Americans. Especially after the trouble I’d had with the Ivans. So I kept my fists by my side. Besides, there was still the small matter of a hundred marks. A hundred marks was a hundred marks.
“It seems the guy in the car was a friend of your wife’s father,” said the American. He turned and walked into the hotel bar. “I expect he and some of his SS pals were in and out of this place a lot.” I saw his eyes take in the dirty glasses on the bar top, the overflowing ashtrays, the beer spills on the floor. They were all mine. That bar was the one place in the hotel where I felt truly at home. “I guess those were better days, huh?” He laughed. “You know, you should go back to being a cop, Gunther. You’re no hotelier, that’s for sure. Hell, I’ve seen body bags that were more welcoming than this place.”
“No one’s asking you to stay and fraternize,” I said.
“Fraternize?” He laughed. “Is that what we’re doing? No, I don’t think so. Fraternize implies something brotherly. I just don’t feel that way about anyone who could stay in a town like this, bud.”
“Don’t feel bad about it,” I said. “I’m an only child. Not the brotherly kind at all. Frankly, I’d rather empty the ashtrays than talk to you.”
“Wolf, the guy in the car,” said the American, “he was a real enterprising sort of guy. Before he burned the bodies, he used to take out any gold teeth with a pair of pliers. He had a pair of pruning shears to cut off fingers for the wedding rings. He even had this special pair of tongs so he could search the private parts of the dead looking for rolls of banknotes, jewels, and gold coins. It’s amazing what he used to find. Enough to fill an empty wine box, which he buried in your father-in-law’s garden before the camp was liberated.”
“And you want to dig it up?”
“I’m not going to dig anything up.” The American jerked his thumb at the front door. “He is, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“What makes you think the box is still there?” I asked.