"You will come for the cookies?" Anton asked me.

"I will come for you," I said. "And the cookies."

Anton relaxed against Bettina, and I glanced at her. Her face was chalk white, and her chin was set. "Kiss him," she mouthed.

I kissed Anton's soft cheek. "I promise," I said. "I will see you later, Anton, Bettina, and Sophia."

"And Winnetou," Anton said.

"Winnetou too."

As I walked out, Sophia said, "Aunt Hannah keeps her promises, even if she is strange sometimes."

I stifled a laugh. It was the nicest thing anyone had said about me in a long time.

11.

Ernst knew only one person who could have faked that birth certificate, and I was going to visit him. Then I had to make up some kind of story to satisfy Herr Neumann before deadline.

I gripped the cold brass handrail as the elevator lifted me to Rudolf's fourth-story office. The elevator operator in his navy-blue uniform was better dressed than I and stony-faced. He'd probably seen all manner of people come up here. I ran my hand over my hair and clutched my satchel.

Who was Anton's mother? I tried to remember Ernst's school friends. Many girls visited him, both at our apartment and, before that, at our parents' house. Father held out hope that this was proof of Ernst's virile nature, but I'd always assumed that girls were friends with him precisely because he was not masculine. He was playful and exciting, and there was no need to worry about sexual advances. Although obviously one girl should have worried. Or perhaps it had been a prostitute, and I would never know who it was.

If Rudolf knew, would he tell me? He'd never been forthcoming with information before. Yet I had proof that he had broken the law. He had put his career on the line to help Ernst by forging the birth certificate. I had thought him incapable of doing something so altruistic. That meant there was more to his actions than I knew. If I dug deeply enough, I expected to find a darker motive.

The elevator opened onto a sumptuous waiting room as unlike the bullpen at the paper as I could imagine. The large room had a golden oak parquet floor inlaid with a basket-weave pattern, and a thick burgundy Persian rug. A man in his twenties wearing a pressed suit one shade lighter than the gray that Rudolf favored sat behind an imposing desk.

"May I help you?" He smiled, showing perfect white teeth.

"I am here to see Herr von Reiche," I said. "On a matter of some urgency."

He raised his eyebrows toward his pomaded blond hair. "Herr von Reiche the first or Herr von Reiche the second?"

"The second," I said, remembering that Rudolf's father still worked here. I took small pleasure in realizing that Rudolf would always be second.

"And when is your appointment?" He glanced meaningfully at the inlaid clock on the wall.

"I have no appointment," I said. "But he will see me."

"Name?" he asked.

"Hannah Vogel."

If he recognized the name from Ernst, he gave no sign. "Please sit," he said. "May I fetch you a cup of coffee, perhaps?"

"That would be delightful." I knew that etiquette dictated I refuse the offer, but I needed to make the frosty little man wait on me, if only for a while.

"Wait right here," he said, and disappeared through a thick wooden door. I darted behind his desk and paged through Rudolf's appointment book, but it only had initials in it. Right now he met with a J. L., whoever that was. The appointments went forward from today, so I could not find out what he'd been doing around the time Ernst died.

When the secretary returned, I sat innocently in my leather chair, reading Anton's identity papers. They looked completely authentic.

"Herr von Reiche will see you in a few minutes," he said, sounding surprised.

"Of course," I answered, trying not to look shocked. I'd expected a battle.

He handed me a porcelain cup with a blue Chinese scene painted on it and a delicate saucer so thin it was translucent. The cup cost more than my rent. The coffee itself tasted excellent, rich and strong. I sipped it, happy to be costing Rudolf something.

Rudolf made me wait for half an hour. I drank his rich coffee and admired the oil paintings of his esteemed ancestors on the walls. A stiff and starchy lot. I paced the expensive rug and looked out the spotless windows. Rudolf had a large inheritance to come, I suspected. I thought of my own: my childhood bed. At last the thick mahogany door swung open, and Rudolf strode through.

"Good day, Hannah," he said with an outstretched hand. We had not shaken hands since Ernst moved out.

"Herr von Reiche." I nodded my head fractionally. I did not take his hand. I would not pretend I liked him in front of his secretary or anyone else.

"This way, please." He led me through the door and down a hall with dark wainscoting. When we stepped into his office, it smelled of coffee.

Another huge Persian rug covered the floor, anchored by a massive desk and a collection of chairs. The desk was suspiciously free of papers, as if he thought I would snoop if given a chance, which, of course, I would.

"Please seat yourself." He gestured to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair across from his desk. It was every bit as unpleasant as I expected, like Rudolf himself.

"What a large desk," I said with a smile. "Compensating for something?"

Rudolf snorted and steepled his fingers, his onyx cuff links clacking against the mahogany desktop.

I handed him Anton's identity papers. "Where is his mother?"

Rudolf skimmed the papers, straightened them out, and tapped them square on his desk. He handed them back, his face expressionless. "His mother is sitting across from me. And what an ugly little drama it is."

"Are these forgeries your handiwork? Or were they done by someone in your employ?" I tried to keep my voice level.

"Tut-tut, Hannah." The corners of his lips twitched into a smug smile. "They are fully genuine, I assure you. Obtained when the boy was age two with all of the requisite legal documents, including the mother's legal papers and a very good signature too, I might add." He chuckled.

"Except that I am not his mother." I felt a flush rise in my face.

"A triviality." He steepled his fingers again. "That would be harder to disprove than to prove."

"Rudolf," I began. He had control of the conversation, and I did not like it. I wanted only to find Anton's mother. "You broke the law. Who were his real parents?"

He cocked his head to one side. "The certificate says Ernst and Hannah Vogel."

"Which you and I know to be untrue, perhaps on both counts."

He gave me his tight-lipped, thin smile. "Think so?"

"How long have you known about the boy?"

"Since I met Ernst." His eyes darkened with what looked like sadness, although I did not believe it of him. "He once trusted me with everything. Even with this delicate matter."

"Why?"

"He needed papers for the boy, and the boy was already two years old." Rudolf fished a lace handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. "And he needed money to support him."

"He supported Anton?" I said in surprise. "Why?"

"Because he was a fatherless little boy." Rudolf wiped his nose. "And your brother is a kind soul, underneath it all."

"Have you met the boy?" I shifted on the uncomfortable chair.

"Once or twice." Rudolf folded the handkerchief in fourths and stuck it back in his pocket. "How is the little tyke dealing with the death?"

I stared at him, open-mouthed. He knew Ernst was dead. He'd been pretending all along. My eyes darted to the closed door. Did he plan to kill me in his office?

"Don't look so astonished," he said. "Weren't you aware that his mother was dead? She died last night."

"I-I-," I stuttered out the words. I knew nothing, apparently. But I did know enough to lie. "I never met her. Or the boy."

"She was a prostitute," he said. "I identified her body at the morgue only this morning."

"Why you?"

"She had my card on her person when she died."

Last night I had seen Francis give a package to a prostitute. Perhaps she was the one who had died. Would Rudolf have been so careless as to include a calling card in Francis's package? "Why is that?" I asked. "Did you give her one?"

Rudolf ignored me. "Could have been a scandal, but I was having dinner with Count Nessler and friends last night, so my alibi is impeccable."

"Indeed," I said, grateful that he had not seen me at the El Dorado last night. So he lied to me, although I would not have known it from his demeanor. I studied him. Sometimes you learned more about a source from the lies they told than from the truth that they hid. Why was he lying? Had Francis been running an errand for him, or acting on his own? Was the woman I saw last night Anton's mother?

"Frequenting female prostitutes does my reputation good. My father would approve." The corners of his thin lips curled.

"How did she die?" Francis had left her alive, but he could have returned.

"Cocaine overdose, they believe." He glanced at the door. "I did not tell the police about the boy. That helps no one. Has someone delivered him to Ernst?"

"No. Ernst hasn't seen the boy in days." Or longer.

"They will. Her friends know that's where the money is." He paused. "How did you get the birth certificate?"

"From a source," I said, shading the truth. I would not give Rudolf a scrap of information I did not have to.

"Your brother, you mean." Rudolf shrugged. "Tell Ernst to bring him to me immediately, and we can talk. Now," he said, standing. I stood as well. "Where is your brother? Did he send you in here to blackmail me about these papers?"

I smiled. "Why Herr von Reiche, how could you think such a thing?"

"I won't pay him for this." He took out his gold pocket watch. "I'll drag your name through the mud with his. An incestuous child. Is that what you want your friends at the paper to hear?"

I kept my voice light when I answered, waving my hand around the office that his father's money provided. "I think you have more to lose than I."

"Not as much as you might think." He shut his watch with a click. "Do not tempt me. And instruct Ernst to come in person for these little exchanges. Or is he afraid to see me?"

"Why would he be afraid of you, Rudolf?" I placed my palms flat on his cool, smooth desk and leaned toward him. "Is there any danger?"

"There is always danger, my little treasure." He leaned close enough to kiss me. "As Ernst well knows."

A chill went down my spine, but I smiled at Rudolf and walked out of his office with my head held high.

12.

I kept my brave faade until I was out on the street, out of Rudolf's sight. There I leaned against the cool stone wall and took a few deep breaths. Rudolf was a powerful man to anger.

I combed my fingers through my hair as I walked to the subway station. So, according to Rudolf, Ernst had fathered a child with Sweetie Pie. But why had Rudolf helped to give the child a legitimate mother, even if it was me? Why would Anton need a fake birth certificate at all?

Perhaps Anton's mother was still alive. I owed it to the boy to find out. Rudolf was too accomplished a liar for me to accept what he said at face value.

I boarded a subway bound for Alexanderplatz where, only the day before yesterday, I had started this nightmare.

When I arrived at the police station, I raced down the long Hall of the Unnamed Dead, never looking at the spot where I'd seen Ernst's photograph, hoping that I would not see Kommissar Lang. He would surely want to follow up on his refused dinner invitation. I focused in front of me, seeing the door at the end, the polished floor.

Today, I would not ask about the pictures, but after I had my identification back and Ernst's killer was found, I would do a piece on the Hall of the Unnamed Dead for the paper. Fritz was not responsible for posting the pictures, but he would know who was. The people of Berlin needed to be reminded about this hall, how it worked, and why it was needed. Perhaps a few would come and find a lost loved one. Perhaps a few would try to change a world that allowed so many people to die alone and unclaimed.

I paused in front of the sturdy oak door to Fritz's office. It would not do to barge in looking as if I'd just finished the Six Day Bicycle Races. I smoothed my hair, patted perspiration off my forehead with a plain handkerchief, and waited until my breathing returned to normal. I straightened my shoulders and walked in, my polite smile ready.

Behind the tall counter that ran along the front of the room sat a row of desks and typewriters, with men pecking out reports. It looked like the newsroom, except that the typists were all men. And they wore newer suits. Bureaucrats earn more than reporters.

I checked each one. Kommissar Lang was not there. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hannah," Fritz called when I caught his eye. "Back so soon?"

He closed a file cabinet and walked to the counter. His smelly cigar hung from the corner of his mouth. Bettina hated his cigars, so he only smoked them at work. I wondered how he would react when he got home tonight and discovered I had dropped an unclaimed child off at his house for a day of play with his daughter. But I dared not mention it to him. I was unsure I could lie to him, not if he started asking the right questions. So I told him nothing, even though I knew he would never fully trust me again.

"You know I can't keep away from you, Fritz."

Fritz shook his large, close-cropped head and studied me. "Feeling better, are you?"