The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [81]
Markheim’s office was on the tenth floor of a large modern block with entrances leading from two different streets into an enormous marble foyer. There were arcades of shops and four banks of elevators. Even though it was late there were still a lot of people coming and going as Genie pressed the up button. Two businessmen stepped out as she got in. She tugged at her jacket and ran a nervous hand over her hair as the elevator slid silently upward.
The tenth floor was a wide empty corridor with suites of offices on either side. Markheim’s was at the very end. She pressed the bell, staring at the spyhole in the solid-looking mahogany door, half expecting to see Markheim’s eye staring back at her, but no one answered. She pressed the bell again, hearing it ring inside, but there was still no answer.
“Damn,” she said, turning away despondently, “the one night I come to see him, he’s not here.” It meant that instead of catching the 9 P.M. flight to Paris to meet Valentin, she would have to spend another night in Düsseldorf and try again tomorrow. She wondered if maybe Markheim was on the phone and just couldn’t answer the door right now….
After retracing her steps, she rang the bell again and, when she got no response, tried the handle. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. She stepped quickly inside, closing the door behind her.
“Mr. Markheim?” she called, glancing around curiously. The small outer office was furnished tastefully with some excellent antique pieces and fine paintings, but then of course it would be. After all, that was Markheim’s business. The lamps were lighted and there were two full cups of coffee on a small table in front of the pale brocade sofa. Genie inspected them: They were still warm so obviously Markheim must still be there. Perhaps he had just popped down the hall for a minute.
The door to the inner office stood open a crack and she called his name again, pushing it open. The lights were all on and Markheim was sitting behind the desk, half swiveled away from her. She caught her breath guiltily, feeling like a trespasser caught in the act.
“Oh, excuse me,” she said, blushing, “I didn’t realize …” Markheim did not move and she peered nervously at him. “Mr. Markheim?” Her voice faltered as she edged around the desk and looked at him. Markheim’s glazed stare met hers, only Markheim couldn’t see because he had a small round hole in the middle of his forehead and he was very dead.
Waves of panic hit her. She was going to scream, she was going to faint, she was going to throw up, she was in a room with a dead body. A murdered body.
With a strangled scream, she spun around, afraid she would come face-to-face with the assassin, but the room was empty. She looked back at Markheim. There was no mess, and the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth had already congealed. A second wave of panic sent her flying from the room, through the outer office and out the door. Breathing hard, she stared down the silent, empty corridor. It had lost its former innocence and suddenly looked as dangerous as a minefield. What if the murderer had seen her go in? What if he was waiting behind one of those silent doors? To grab her, to murder her as he had Markheim. Genie tried desperately to remember what she had learned at all those self-defense classes she had taken before panic propelled her down the corridor to the elevator. She slammed her fist on the button, dancing up and down with fear until at last it arrived.
The two women inside glanced at her curiously as she jumped in, holding her finger on the down button until the doors closed and they began to descend. As soon as the doors opened she fled across the marble foyer and out into the crowded street, gasping in the freezing night air, waiting