Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [172]
"They'll never let it out," Dietrich said abruptly, more to himself. The blood on his pants was dry and caked.
"What?" Cray asked.
"That the Führer was assassinated. It doesn't fit into the legend that he carefully crafted for himself. He told me so himself. He said he couldn't meet his end at the hands of an assassin. So they'll say he committed suicide." Dietrich thought again about the pretty blond woman who shared the Führer's bunker suite. She knew Hitler had died at the hands of an assassin, rather than by noble suicide. Dietrich suspected she would not be allowed to tell the tale, and would never leave the bunker alive.
Cray shrugged. "What're your plans, Inspector? Where you going to go?"
"You mean I'm not a prisoner of war? I'm not going to a POW camp somewhere in England?"
"Why would you become a POW? You're a policeman, not a soldier."
Dietrich said just above the sound of the Skytrain's engines, "Then I'll be a policeman. That's all I know how to do. I'll go back when things have settled down. Maybe work for the occupation forces. They'll need homicide detectives in Berlin after the war."
Cray said, "The war won't have made much difference to murderers I suppose."
"And you won't be in Berlin, so it'll be safer."
"I'm going back to Wenatchee, Washington. Ever heard of the place?"
"Only in my file on you."
"I own an apple orchard there," Cray said. "Inherited it from my parents. I've leased it to a neighbor, but I might take it over again. Might try apple-growing."
"You? Growing apples?" Katrin laughed from the seat behind Cray, then winced and gently touched her head. "That's not an image that comes easily to mind."
He turned to her. "Well, I'm sick of all this engineering I've had to do in the army, I'll guarantee you that."
The Skytrain's engine dropped to a purr, and the plane began its gliding approach, flying toward Eastwell Manor's twelve chimneys, descending quickly.
Cray announced to Dietrich, "Katrin is coming with me. To help me out in the orchard. Eat some of my cooking. See what happens."
"What?" From the backseat.
"Come with me to Wenatchee."
"To Wenatchee, Washington. I can't even pronounce the name."
"It's a good idea, it seems to me."
"A stupid idea," she said, but without heat. "I'm a German."
"Germany doesn't exist anymore. It's been destroyed. Everything you ever loved about your country is gone." Cray looked out the window at the reception awaiting them. Three people in suits. No uniforms. He had no idea who they were. An ambulance was also there. He twisted in his seat back to her. "And what else are you going to do, Katrin ? When this plane lands in a few seconds, where do you go?"
"Me, helping you raise apples in rural America?" Katrin laughed again. "That's a crazy notion. Besides, I can just barely tolerate you."
"I grow on people." Cray grinned again. Goddamn that grin. "I can be a pretty good convincer. All we need is a little time together."
"I've already spent a little time with you. It seemed like half a century." But her eyes were pensive. He looked back at her. That optimistic and brash and compelling American face. That beat-up face. Someone who cared for her, even if he was crazy. And an American.
She exhaled suddenly, loudly, her mind running away from her, running into absurd territory. Those wild thoughts, and what they abruptly revealed to her about her heart, had a force that pushed her back into her chair, as if the plane were taking off rather than landing.
The plane touched down on the plowed field, and the ruts grabbed the wheels and guided the Skytrain along. The plane pulled up to the three men waiting for them, and the pilot shut down the engine.
The pilot was first out of the plane, and was immediately surrounded by the men, who were all grinning and who one after another shook his hand. Dietrich followed the pilot out of the hatch.
Cray had a foot on the ladder, about to climb down, but Katrin touched his shoulder.