"Sadly"-I hurried toward the automobile-"So do I."

"What will you do with your research?" He lengthened his stride to keep up. His legs were long and powerful. "Write a book, perhaps?"

I had not thought of that. "Interesting idea," I began, slowing.

He leaned forward eagerly. "I could help you. I know some publishers."

"My notes are at the paper," I lied. I was unsure why, but I wanted to tell him no more. "All of my research is confidential."

"Even information about the rapist?" He stopped in front of me on the path, blocking my way. "You would protect him?"

"For you," I said. "That information is especially confidential."

His gold-flecked eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Are you going to hunt for him, Boris?" I asked. "Bring about your own justice?"

"What an obscene idea," he snapped. And I knew that I was correct.

"I won't help you become a murderer."

"For a man, there are worse things. During the war-"

"Killing in war is not the same." I knew immediately that I should have said nothing.

"Do you know this?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet. He grasped my arms. "How many men have you killed?"

"None," I whispered, thinking of the murderous rage I'd felt when looking at Ernst's picture the second time. "How many have you killed?"

He smiled grimly, not answering my question. He released my arms. "Besides, there are worse things you can do to a man than kill him."

I shuddered and moved away from him on the path.

Boris stepped close to me again. His face was closed and hard. No trace of relaxed sailor in him now. "If you won't part with them for justice, how about money?"

"You cannot buy me." I fought to keep my voice level, to conceal my fear. I was alone on the path with a man I barely knew.

"It wasn't you I wanted to buy." Boris turned and strode away, his white shirt bright in the shade of the trees.

I lingered on the way back to the car. If I did not have to pick up Anton, I would have doubled back and taken the subway home. But I had responsibilities.

Boris was leaning against his automobile when I arrived. It was, predictably, a Mercedes. Anton turned somersaults on the grass to impress Trudi. His new shirt was ruined.

"He's a fine boy," Trudi said as I walked up. "But he says the oddest things."

"He's had a strange life," I answered.

"That isn't good for a child," Boris said, coldly.

I looked into his angry eyes. "It has not been."

"Vati," Trudi interrupted our strained silence, "look at Anton's somersaults. He can do three in a row."

On the drive to my apartment, Boris and I spoke only to the children. As I turned to climb out, he caught my arm.

"I didn't mean to imply that you, or your information, were for sale," he said in a low voice, so that the children couldn't hear. "I am very sorry."

"You did not imply it." I pulled my arm free. "You said it outright."

He pulled a card out of his glove box. "Call me if you need me, or if you change your mind about anything."

I looked at the card. Boris Krause, bank director. "I won't change my mind." But I tucked it into my satchel all the same before climbing out of the car. "Thank you. Anton had a wonderful time."

I gritted my teeth and waved until they drove out of sight, then wheeled around and stalked to my apartment building. "Come along, Anton," I called.

Anton sprinted up to me, chattering about the boat trip. He said it was the best day of his life and recited facts about sailing.

I nodded without listening. Before Boris had tried to bribe me into giving him information, I'd had a lovely day too. Boris was much like Walter-strong, thoughtful, and gentle. He was a wonderful father to Trudi, the kind of man Bettina would marry. Anton would miss him. I shook my head. I would miss him.

I increased my pace. I could not miss a man who wanted to use me to hurt or kill someone the courts set free. A man who tried to trick and bribe me. I fumbled for my keys.

At least he had not seduced the information out of me. My judgment for men was getting worse by the day. I had thought that I had a connection to Boris. Instead I'd been wasting time sailing on boats instead of searching for Ernst's killer.

Mitzi yowled on the stoop next to me.

"I hear you," I said. "I almost have the key."

"And then Herr Krause said-" Anton continued talking.

"It's time for bed, Anton."

Anton nodded without stopping his stream of words.

As I poked the key into the lock and opened the door, a rough hand shot out from behind me and grabbed my wrist.

It was a man's hand. Someone dressed in Nazi brown.

With my free hand I shoved Anton through the open door. He skidded into the lobby and fell on his knees on the tile floor. He glanced up at me in shock as I slammed the heavy front door so hard it rattled in its hinges. It was locked again. Anton was safe inside. Mitzi disappeared in a streak of white.

20.

I whirled to face my assailant, yanking my wrist free. He stepped back in surprise.

"Hannah." It was Wilhelm. He held both his hands up at shoulder level. "What are you doing? It's only me."

I let out a deep breath and leaned against the sturdy door. My knees shook. Wilhelm stepped closer and held out his hands to catch me, as if afraid I might faint. Schmidt the news seller wheeled toward us on his makeshift cart, arms pumping fast. I waved to him. "There is nothing to concern yourself with."

Schmidt rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. I wondered how he could have climbed them to help me. "You sure, Fraulein?"

I nodded. "I was startled, but I know this boy."

Schmidt looked from Wilhelm to me, undecided.

"I am not a boy," Wilhelm said indignantly.

"Thank you for your help, Herr Schmidt," I said. "It is good to know that you are watching out for me."

"Can't let anything happen to my best customer." Schmidt smiled and pushed himself back to his newsstand, his fingerless gloves sliding along the pavement.

I turned to Wilhelm. "Why are you here?"

"I came to warn Ernst," he said. "Let's go inside."

I unlocked the door again and hurried inside. Anton stood ramrod straight, lips pressed together, and blood trickling down his knee.

"I'm sorry." I knelt to look at his skinned knee. I'd pushed him too hard, without thinking. "I did not mean to hurt you." Poor child. He deserved a real mother.

"The brave knows no pain." Anton's eyes brimmed with tears.

"Indeed not." Wilhelm took a handkerchief from his pocket. "Especially a tough warrior like you." He wiped blood off Anton's knee and bandaged it with his handkerchief.

I stood there helplessly. "I was frightened when I pushed you," I said. "I did not mean for you to be hurt."

Anton looked down at the dirty tile floor. I remembered how I had told him that I did not hurt children. Another promise I had broken.

Wilhelm scooped Anton up like a kitten and slung him on his back. "I will carry the brave upstairs."

"The brave can walk in his own moccasins."

"Naturally you can," Wilhelm said. "But a soldier must listen to his medic. The medic says to ride your horse." He trotted up the stairs behind me, neighing like a horse.

Once upstairs, I put on water for tea and warmed milk for Anton. I washed his knee and kissed it. When he shot Wilhelm an embarrassed look, Wilhelm winked and said, "Kisses are magic medicine, Anton, even for soldiers."

Wilhelm took over with Anton. It was a treat to watch them together. Wilhelm pretended that Anton's milk and honey was the ceremonial tea of brotherhood, and they drank it together. He sat Anton on his lap and told him stories of camping in the woods and fighting mock battles with his friends. Wilhelm had read more Karl May cowboy and Indian books than Anton and told him an entire story. Anton listened raptly, but fell asleep in Wilhelm's arms before the story ended. I was reminded that Wilhelm himself was little more than a boy.

Wilhelm carried Anton into bed, and I pulled off his new singlet, socks, and shoes. He looked so innocent lying there with his sunburn and his scraped knee. I covered him with my feather duvet. How many times had I covered Ernst as a little boy? More than I could count, although too few after a long, happy day.

"He likes you," I said, as Wilhelm and I returned to the kitchen. I refilled his tea.

"I like him too," he said. "I always wanted a little brother."

"You have sisters?"

He shook his head. "I am an only child. My mother died in childbirth and my father never remarried."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"I have a gift for Ernst," he said. "From Francis." He handed me a heavy envelope.

I did not want any more surprise envelopes for Ernst. "Are they friends?"

"Yes, but nobody is supposed to know. Ernst told me all about it, but I think it was a secret to most people."

"Why?" If the hostility he showed toward Ernst in our conversation at the El Dorado was an act, it was a convincing one.

"Ernst said that Winnie doesn't like his performers to be friends. He says they don't work as hard. Please give it to him."

I turned over the envelope. It was sealed with gold wax and the outside was blank. I set it down on the table and sipped my tea. "Why didn't you mail the envelope to Ernst?"

"Francis paid me to make sure that Ernst receives it. He said I should put it in his hands myself." Wilhelm shrugged. "I thought putting it in your hands was good enough."

"Why doesn't Francis deliver it himself?"

"Francis left for America."

"Why?"

"Don't know. I didn't open the letter. It's not addressed to me, remember?"

"When did you get the letter?"

"Late yesterday."

Yesterday evening I had thought I saw Francis in front of my front door. "Is the letter why you came?"

"One of the reasons." Wilhelm gripped his cup so tightly I feared that it might break.

I cleared my throat. "Tell me the others."

"Do you know where Ernst is?" Wilhelm looked at me hungrily. His need for Ernst crackled in the air between us.

"Yes." I stood and walked across the kitchen to the sink. His look frightened me, and I did not want to be sitting near him. That kind of need could turn to rage so quickly.

"Is he angry with me?" Wilhelm lost interest in me and stared into his teacup. "Was I not what he expected?"

"Where he is has nothing to do with his feelings for you," I said softly. A part of me longed to pat his back and tell him that everything would be fine, but another part of me wanted to keep some distance between us, just in case. After all, he was a Nazi. I leaned against the cold porcelain sink, waiting.

Wilhelm started to cry. "I've loved him since I was a kid, Hannah. That night together, he said he loved me too. But he disappeared. He never called or sent me a letter. Nothing."

I longed to tell him that Ernst was dead.