There, standing at the end of the corridor, was Müller.
“Fräulein James?” he said. He scanned the scene: her damp hair and nightgown, Ilse, and finally the body they were carrying between them. “What the hell is this? Good God, is that Vogt?” he shouted. “And who is that?” He pointed at Ilse, who dropped Vogt’s legs in panic.
Audrey nearly collapsed to the floor under the weight of the body. She lowered Vogt’s shoulders. They must have been so distracted with the gruesomeness and effort of the task that neither of them had heard the front door open.
Müller found the light switch. It flicked on, and both women recoiled, the evidence of their crime illuminated in gory detail for him.
“Herr Müller, I can explain,” Audrey began, casting around for what that explanation could possibly be.
But Müller drew his gun from its holster and aimed it directly at them. “Don’t move.”
Chapter 13
Audrey
BERLIN, GERMANY | DECEMBER 1938
Herr Müller,” Audrey said again, stepping in front of Ilse and raising her hands. She stared down the dark barrel of the pistol and felt as though she might vomit. All she could do now was tell him the truth. Or a version of it. “Sir, you need to understand—”
“What’s happened to Vogt?” he demanded. “Is he dead?”
“He—he tried to violate me,” Audrey said. “He came home when I was in the bath. He forced his way into my room. He was about to…” Müller’s gun was still raised, but he was frowning now. “You must believe me, sir. He would have succeeded, but—”
Ilse spoke from behind her. “I killed him, sir.”
“Ilse!” Audrey hissed.
“It was me. I’m sorry. I hit him with a lamp. I didn’t mean to kill him though. I only meant to get him off her. I didn’t think beyond that. He had her pinned, you see. On the bed.”
Tears ran down Ilse’s stricken face. She was trembling.
“He tried to violate you, Fräulein?” Müller asked.
“Yes.” Audrey looked directly into his eyes, hoping that their conversation about Vogt in the kitchen might count for something, might be a notch in this disaster that she could convince him to hang his belief on.
After a breathless moment, Müller lowered his gun. “You called her Ilse,” he said.
Audrey’s mind raced to create an excuse for Ilse’s presence. “Yes. She’s a friend of mine. I know I should have asked you first, but she’s just staying the night. She—”
“Ilse Kaplan,” Müller said.
Audrey sputtered. “How do you know—”
“Because your name was on the registry for this household,” Müller said sharply to Ilse. “You”—he glared at Audrey—“told us she was dead.”
In one wild moment, Audrey eyed the gun at Müller’s side, wondered if she could wrest it from him. But no. This was it. They were done for. “Please.” She clenched her fists so hard the nails dug into her skin. “Please just let—”
“I assume you’ve been where… in the attic?” he asked Ilse, who nodded. Müller shook his head. “I don’t care that she’s here,” he said, after a pause.
The women stared, speechless.
“But I do need to understand who the hell you are, Audrey James.”
Blood was thudding so hard in Audrey’s ears she could hardly hear him. She was nobody. And he didn’t care about Ilse. He didn’t seem upset that his comrade was dead. What was going on?
“First, we need to deal with this.” Müller twitched his head at Vogt’s lifeless form. “What were you planning to do with him? Where were you going?”
Audrey shifted. “We were going to put his body out on the sidewalk. Make it look like he was attacked on his way home. A brawl, you know. He stinks of liquor.”
Müller cocked an eyebrow. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“What?”
“We have to get rid of him,” Müller said, an impatient snap to his voice. “Unless you want to leave him here in the hallway to rot.”
Audrey cringed. “No.”
“Right, then grab his feet.”
Audrey thought she must wake up from this bizarre dream at any moment, but did as Müller instructed.
“You there.” He gestured to Ilse. “Why don’t you go pour us each something strong?”
Ilse’s dark eyes darted from Müller to Audrey.
“I’ll be right back,” Audrey said.
