rose, bustling inside. Ian prepared to dive behind the nearest door if she came up, but the telephone was downstairs; he heard the muffled sound of her voice as she picked up. Outside, Ian saw Tony add another slug from his flask to his hostess’s coffee, pour his own out in the flower bed, and replace it with undoctored coffee from the pot. Frau Vogt’s voice fluttered, sounding reassured. Ian smothered a laugh, imagining Fritz Bauer’s avuncular rasp on the other end—it wasn’t the first time he’d backed them up if a story needed verification.
The receiver clicked below, and she came back out to the garden. “Thank you, Herr Krauss. I don’t mean to imply you were trying to . . .”
“A lady’s trust must be earned,” Tony said with another boyish laugh. “I hope Herr Bauer was able to reassure you? There is also, of course, the matter of your compensation.”
She’d been reaching for her coffee cup; her hand paused. “Mine?”
“Of course. The funds in trust can’t be released to anyone but your daughter, but your time in helping us locate her would be valuable.” An envelope slid across the table, containing almost every shilling to Ian’s name. “Even the tiniest detail—one never knows what might be helpful. Is there anything you remember about where your daughter might have gone?”
Silence. Ian stood barely breathing, looking down at Frau Vogt’s braced shoulders. He realized Nina was standing beside him, not breathing either. Frau Vogt took a long swallow of brandied coffee, fingertips sitting beside the envelope, and without meaning to, Ian’s fingers linked through Nina’s and squeezed fiercely.
“I don’t know where Lorelei is,” the woman below said slowly. “But she has started to write letters.”
Nina squeezed back.
“Where do the letters come from?” Tony was all earnestness.
“And where are they now?” Nina muttered. “I find no letters here—”
“They’re all posted from America, over the last year or so.” Ian heard the distaste running through Frau Vogt’s voice. “Lorelei wanted to get far away from Germany, from Austria. The postmarks are all different, I don’t know the cities.” Tony patted her hand as she swallowed the last of her spiked coffee. “Lorelei’s last letter came just a month or so ago, from a place called Ames—she said she could bring me over. Not to Ames, to an antiques shop in Boston, wherever that is. McCall Antiques. Or maybe McBain Antiques. Mc-something. People like her and me can get papers there, identification, new names, and then they move on. But how do I move on? I’ve lived in Salzburg all my life; how am I supposed to go to America? All those Jews and Negroes—”
America. That kicked Ian in the stomach, a sickening blow. To feel he was getting close and find out there was still an ocean in the way . . . His hand clenched at his side, and he realized Nina had tugged free, fingers drumming against her leg.
“Boston!” Tony marveled, pouring more coffee, more brandy. “Where did your daughter go after Boston?”
“She said it would be better for me not to know.”
“Do you know what name Lorelei uses?”
“She said it would be better for me not to know that either.”
Grimly, Ian admired die Jägerin’s caution, even as he hated her for it. If all war criminals were so careful, the center would have collapsed in months.
“Even without knowing details, it must be a comfort to hear from her.” Tony slid the envelope of money forward. “A great comfort.”
“Not so much as you would think.” Frau Vogt’s voice was starting to blur around the edges. She clearly wasn’t used to brandy in the afternoon. “She never says much except that she’s safe, that she’s well, and that I should burn the letter when I’m done. A mother—a mother would like to know more. My only child, I miss my daughter—”
Ian felt a stab of pity for her, but let it die. I miss my brother too, but I don’t have the comfort of knowing he’s safe and well. He wondered if Frau Vogt had any idea at all what her daughter had done.
“Did you burn all the letters?” Tony asked softly.
“Lorelei told me to. The letters, her old things, all the photographs of her as a grown woman.”
“And did you?”
A pause. “My daughter is very sweet, Herr Krauss. But she can be very forceful. I don’t . . . like to cross her.” Another pause. “Yes, I burned everything.”
“Liar.”
Nina paused, looking at Ian. He hadn’t realized he’d muttered it aloud.