Hunter's Rain Read Free Page B

evening.”
    “Who would send a hitman after you, Pappi?”
    “There are a lot of people upon whose toes I have tread over the years.”
    “But?”
    “This one was a message.”
    “Since you’d have been dead if they had succeeded, who was the message for?”
    “You have one guess.”
    “ Müller?”
    “I did tell you exciting things have been happening. I’ll bring you up to date while we wait for Jens.”
    “He’s late ? That’s not like him.”
    “Not late. He’s been out on an early trip. He should be back soon. Let’s get you some coffee.”
    “Police coffee?”
    “That bad?”
    “No…”
    “I’ll take that to mean drinkable. But I meant outside. A treat from home. Not far from here - on our very street - we’ve even got a Starbucks; two, in fact, and eight in all in Berlin, at the last count. Plenty to choose from.”
    “I’m not from Seattle…”
    “And I’ll take that to mean a yes.”
    “Then I’d better have my coat back. It’s raining more than cats and dogs out there.”
    “No need. We’ll drive.”
    “But I thought you said…”
    “We’ll drive,” Pappenheim repeated firmly.
     
    “You haven’t had a cigarette since I got here,” she said as they walked towards a lift, along a corridor festooned with no-smoking signs.
    “All in your honour,” Pappenheim said. “But don’t remind me.” He glared balefully at one of the signs. “The Great White’s work, as you know. Every corridor in this building has them. And, naturally, in the parking garage too.” He sighed, the longing raging through him. “I’m cursed by that man.”
    Her smile was one of sympathy. “Smoke in the car, Pappi. I can hack it.”
    “I’ll smoke in the car,” he said with relief. “Now let’s hurry, in case the Great White is on a prowl.”
    They got to a lift without incident, and entered quickly as it hissed open.
    “I swear I heard footsteps,” Pappenheim said as the doors shut. “Did you hear footsteps?”
    She responded with an amused smile as she shook her head. “You’re hearing things, Pappi.”
    Pappenheim glanced upwards, as if expecting to see Kaltendorf clamped by all fours, to the ceiling.
    “I hope so,” he said. Then the lift stopped two floors down. “Oh no,” he added with a sigh of resignation.
    But it was not Kaltendorf. A dark-haired man in his mid-twenties in black jeans, black tee-shirt, and service pistol at his belt, entered.
    He nodded at Pappenheim. “Morning, sir.”
    “Morning, Hammersfeldt. Wet day.”
    Hammersfeldt was staring at Carey Bloomfield. “It isn’t dry, sir.”
    “Hammersfeldt has wit,” Pappenheim said to Carey Bloomfield. “Hammersfeldt,” he added as the doors shut.
    “Sir?”
    “I know she’s very pretty, but it’s rude to stare.”
    Hammersfeldt seemed to pull himself together. “Oh! Er…yes, sir.” He appeared confused.
    Pappenheim made no introductions as Hammersfeldt tried to look anywhere else, but at Carey Bloomfield.
    The lift stopped a floor later, and after a self-conscious nod at them both, Hammersfeldt got out quickly.
    “Poor guy,” she said as the doors hissed shut once more. “You embarrassed him, Pappi. Shame on you!” The incident had amused her. “I think he got out before his floor.”
    “He was staring,” Pappenheim insisted, as if in explanation.
    “So you think I’m pretty?”
    “Miss Bloomfield,” he said, “I’m too old. Save the sparring for Jens. He’s better at it than I am.”
    “Oh…I don’t know, Pappi. You don’t do so badly.”
    Pappenheim favoured her with a brief smile. “But I must be kind to him from time to time.”
    “Why?”
    “He probably saved my life.”
    “’Probably’?”
    “He was down by the front desk when I went out, talking to the officer on duty. He saw someone in a hooded jacket, run past outside. Look like a jogger. Hammersfeldt wondered what a jogger was doing at that time of the night…”
    “A night runner?” Carey Bloomfield