Part 25 (1/2)

The two up-timer officers relaxed from their stiff positions, with almost identical expressions of relief crossing their faces. The burgomeistershook all their hands, including Gotthilf's, then left the death house.

”Well, your first case solved,” Bill Reilly started to comment, when a sound arose from behind them.

They turned to see the body of the girl moving.

Willi roused slowly, head aching from the second knock of the day. He tried to move, but someone was lying on top of him. He heard people talking, but it was all blurry to him. ”Get off,” he whispered, but the person didn't move. He pulled his hands out and started pus.h.i.+ng. With some difficulty, he managed to free himself enough to sit up.

The other person's head was on his lap now. He put his hand on it, feeling it, looking with his fingers to see if it was someone he knew. The face was small, thin, with a b.u.mp in the nose; a familiar face, it was.

”Erna.” He reached down and shook her shoulder.

”Erna.” She rolled limply and his hand slipped, to land in something warm and sticky.

”Erna!” He brought his fingers to his nose. The smell of blood filled his nostrils. Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong. What had happened? His thoughts were reeling.

Steps sounded in the room. He felt Erna lifted off him, while other hands picked him up.

”Willi?”

”Byron?” Willi was confused. The last thing he remembered, he was home. How did Byron get here?

”What happened to Erna?”

”Willi . . .” He felt the man shake his head. ”Willi, Erna is dead.”

The cold bubble in his chest burst, filling him with shock and grief. The screams followed.

Night had fallen some time ago. Gotthilf felt himself sagging where he stood, watching the final discussions between Captain Reilly, Lieutenant Chieske, Burgomeister Gericke, Frau Zenzi and her husband, and the senior pastor ofMagdeburg .

An amazing number of things had occurred in relatively short order. Not long after the burgomeister left, wagons had appeared: one for the corpses and one for the children found cowering in the house. The two larger children, Fritz and Moritz, cla.s.sified as thugs from the testimony of the smaller ones, were tied up and made to march behind the wagons. The captain and the burgomeister intended to question them some more. They wanted to get to the bottom of Vogler's f.a.giny scheme, in the hopes that this was the only one.

Willi, once he was worn out from the screaming, would have nothing to do with the wagon. He kept breaking out in sobs for Erna. Byron was the only one the boy would talk to, so Byron carried him all the way back. He was sleeping now, rolled up in a blanket in the back of the children's wagon.

The conference broke up. The burgomeister and pastor walked off together. Byron stopped at the children's wagon for a moment with Frau Zenzi. Willi sat up rubbing his eyes, listening to the words from the grown-ups. He began crying again, quietly, a child's sobbing.

Captain Reilly came to Gotthilf. ”Big day, huh?”

Gotthilf nodded.

”I'll be honest with you. I never expected to find anything like this, especially since we're just getting started. The burgomeister and I were talking about it; it just doesn't make sense for this guy to have a gun. That's several weeks' income to a petty crook. Doesn't make sense. There's something going on, here. We need to keep digging.” He placed his hand on Gotthilf's shoulder. ”This will be big news, you know. You and Lieutenant Chieske should get commendations of some sort for this.”

Willi finally nodded and Frau Zenzi folded him in her arms. Gotthilf watched as she nodded to Byron over the boy's head. Byron stepped back, looked around with weariness evident in every motion, then started down the street.

Gotthilf nodded again as he watched Byron. ”Where is the lieutenant going?”

Reilly looked at Byron's receding back. ”I suspect he's going to get a drink somewhere.” He returned his gaze to Gotthilf. ”You're his partner. Go with him. It's always hard on a cop when he shoots someone, and he needs you to be with him on this just as much as he has the last few days. If he doesn't want to talk, don't try to make conversation. Just sit with him.” The captain gave Gotthilf a small push on the shoulder. ”Go on. We'll talk to you tomorrow.”

Gotthilf received a sidelong glance from Byron acknowledging his presence when he fell into place beside the up-timer, but no words were said. The statue was back, Gotthilf decided.

Weary himself, Gotthilf trudged alongside until Byron turned in at a tavern. He looked up to see they were entering the Green Horse. That was all right with him. A stool pulled up to a horse watering trough would have satisfied him at this point.

Byron walked up to the bar. ”Ale. Two. Large.” He spun a coin on the bar top, received the two steins and walked over to an empty table in a dark corner, where he sat with his back to the wall. Gotthilf sat with him and applied himself to his stein.

They were on the third refill when Byron began talking. He began by pulling his pistol out and laying it on the table.

”There it is. The M1911A1 .45 automatic. Like most pistols, designed for one thing and one thing only: to kill people. It does a good job.

”I was supposed to join the Sheriff's reserve. I was going to order a Glock, but then the Ring of Fire happened. So, here I am with Jonni's Grandad's old .45 that he brought back from World War II. It still works great. But I sure didn't expect to have it use it for real so soon.”

Byron's face was getting red, Gotthilf noticed.

”I had the drop on him. All he had to do was put the gun down. That's all he had to do. He'd have stayed alive for a while, anyway. All he could see was his way.”

”The man murdered a child, Byron,” Gotthilf responded. His voice was quiet. ”And all but in front of a magistrate. He would have been hanged within the next day.” Byron shook his head. ”Put the gun away, Byron.” Gotthilf pushed it with a finger. ”Put it up before someone notices.”

”Right.”

It was the fourth refill before Byron spoke again.

”I failed, Gotthilf. I screwed up royally. Gonna turn in my badge and go back to s.h.i.+pping supplies.”

”You didn't fail, Byron.”

”Two people are dead because of my mistakes. I failed.”

”You did nothing wrong. Vogler killed the girl, then committed suicide by trying to kill you. You did the best you could.”

”Then why's that girl dead? Huh? You want to explain that to me?” Byron was genuinely angry, Gotthilf saw. A hot anger, this was, unlike the cold anger he had seen a couple of days ago.

”Sometimes evil wins, Byron.”

”You're barely old enough to grow a beard.” Byron's voice was thick with sarcasm. ”What do you know about evil?”

Gotthilf felt anger of his own rise within him. ”Four years ago Tilly's soldiers destroyed this city . . . my city . . . my home. My house and the houses of thousands of others were burned to ashes. Bodies were everywhere. Don't talk to me about evil-I've seen the results first hand. I know about the evil men can do. And sometimes evil wins. But what was it you said to me-that protecting my city from theft and murder and rape, not by soldiers but by those who were just stronger and more vicious was a goal worthy of a man?”

Taken aback, Byron nodded.

”So, we lost this battle. Does that mean we stop fighting the war?”

Byron looked at Gotthilf, and after a moment gave another firm nod. ”You'll do, Gotthilf. You'll do. And you're right.”