"We were mostly worried about the blood you lost." Bettina entered the room with a tray containing a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea. "You have to eat and drink to get your strength back."

I took a few bites of oatmeal because I did not have the strength to argue with Bettina about it. It was cold and slimy. The tea I drank gratefully.

"Now, darling wife," Fritz said. "I'm going to ask you to be very quiet while Hannah tells her story."

"Like a mouse."

He gave her an affectionate look. "Those mice that squeak and rustle in the walls and keep me up nights?"

She put a finger to her lips and shook her head.

"Ernst is dead." I pushed aside the tray of food. "He was one of those floaters from last week."

Bettina gasped and took my hand. I could finally admit it. I sat in the bed and cried. Bettina enfolded me in her warm arms. Even without seeing her face, I knew that she was looking sternly at Fritz, cautioning him not to question me until I finished crying.

Eventually, I let go of Bettina and dried my eyes on the handkerchief she gave me. Like Fritz's handkerchief the day I'd seen Ernst's picture, it smelled of starch. Bettina smoothed my hair out of my eyes and inched her chair closer to the bed.

"So that's why you stole the picture," Fritz said.

"You knew?" I said, shocked that he had done nothing about it.

Fritz paced up and down the tiny room. "I am no fool, Hannah. I trusted that you had a good reason and that you would bring it back when you were done with it."

"Do you know who killed him?" Bettina squeezed my hand.

"Josef Lehmann," I pushed the words out, knowing that they had to be said. "Ernst Rohm's lieutenant."

"He was found shot to death at the bottom of Ernst's stairs," Bettina said, her eyes round. "What happened?"

So he had followed Rohm's orders, died the only way a soldier in disgrace could die. Ernst's murder was avenged, but I felt no joy in it.

Fritz turned to her. "Bettina, my dear, you must leave the room now."

I had never heard Fritz use that tone with her before. She pressed her lips together and left the room without a word.

"Continue," Fritz said, but before I could speak, Kommissar Lang stormed in.

"I assume command here," he said, his high-pitched voice angry. "I am in charge of this investigation."

Fritz nodded.

"You may leave the room," Kommissar Lang said. Fritz cast me a sympathetic glance before he closed the door.

Kommissar Lang poured me another glass of water. "You haven't been completely honest with me, have you, Fraulein Vogel?"

I shook my head. How much truth could I tell him?

"Shall you begin now?"

I smiled weakly. Now was the time to remember the things Mother had taught me about proper ladylike behavior. A proper lady would be fragile in my condition and a proper gentleman would want to help her.

"Tell me what happened at the apartment where you were shot. Leave nothing out."

"Rudolf von Reiche shot me." My voice quivered. I sat up in panic, looking around the room. The wound in my side hurt, and I gasped. "He'll come back for me."

Kommissar Lang smiled encouragingly. "We have two detectives outside your door. He could not get past them."

I sank back against the bed, breathing hard. Moving hurt more than I'd expected.

"What was Herr von Reiche doing at this apartment? What were you?"

"It was my brother's apartment. I was there to meet Ernst Rohm."

"Why?"

"He and my brother were . . ." I paused. "Friends."

"Why was Herr von Reiche there?"

"Is Wilhelm Lehmann being taken care of?"

"Why would you ask about him?" Kommissar Lang leaned forward solicitously.

"I heard a shot," I said. "Lieutenant Lehmman left the room most upset, and his son followed him, and I heard a shot."

"Perhaps we should begin at the beginning." Kommissar Lang placed Ernst's death photograph on my lap. "How about starting with the day that you saw this at the Hall of the Unnamed Dead and Lied to me?"

"Forgive me," I said. Perhaps he could be led to believe that shame over my brother's life had kept me quiet. I dared not let him suspect that I had other reasons for remaining silent. Loaning Sarah my papers was a criminal act. I silently cursed him and his party friends for putting Sarah in danger and forcing me down this path. If I'd had my papers, I could have let the police investigate this entire affair. Aloud I said, "I was distraught. There was much about my brother that I did not want the world to know, you least of all."

Kommissar Lang looked unconvinced.

"My brother was-" My voice broke. It was a relief to talk about him in the past tense, to admit that he was dead, even to Kommissar Lang. "He loved-"

I took another sip of water and pulled myself together. Kommissar Lang sat politely, his pen poised over a notebook.

"My brother loved men." I dropped my eyes to my hands. "From the time he was a boy."

I stared at the light reflecting off the water in my glass. Kommissar Lang let the silence lengthen.

"His lover was Rudolf von Reiche, the man who shot me." I took a deep breath. It was difficult telling this to Kommissar Lang. I wished that Fritz had stayed, that someone was here who understood Ernst and trusted me. I did not tell Kommissar Lang of my brother's relationship with Rohm.

I told Kommissar Lang as much of the truth as I could. I told him that Lehmann had killed Ernst for having an affair with his son, Wilhelm. That Rohm had told Lehmann that he was a disgrace and he disappeared, and I heard a shot. That Rudolf had shot me to keep me from telling Rohm more about his son's childhood. That Rohm had taken Anton, and that he might be the boy's father, although since his mother had been a prostitute when Anton was born, anyone might be the father. I explained that Sweetie Pie was probably the mother, although I was no longer certain of anything.

Kommissar Lang listened attentively. I almost broke down a few times, but I held myself together. I needed to get through it all.

"Why were you in your brother's apartment with all of them?" Kommissar Lang asked.

"Rudolf threatened me," I said, not mentioning the Rohm letters. If I told the police about them, they would confiscate them as proof that Rohm committed the crime of sodomy and prosecute him under Paragraph 175. But Rohm and Hitler had allies in the courts and they might destroy the letters, and Rohm would walk free. If the letters were published, their destruction would not matter. The courts would have to decide under pressure of public opinion. "He told me that Ernst had something Rohm wanted and that we were going to meet in Ernst's apartment to discuss it."

"Why didn't you call the police? Or talk to your friend Waldheim?"

"I was afraid. After what Rudolf did to my apartment I was afraid that he would kill the boy. And me." I smiled wryly. "As he almost did."

"What did Rohm want?"

"His son, although I did not know that at the time."

"What did you think it was?" Kommissar Lang raised his eyebrows.

"Something else. Anything else." I looked over at the white curtains blocking the light.

"What else could it be?"

"Where is Wilhelm?" I asked. "Was he there when your men arrived?"

Kommissar Lang nodded. "He was."

"Is someone with him? He should not be alone."

"He is protected," Kommissar Lang said. "Tell me more about his father's death."

"I know little about it. He left the room."

Kommissar Lang began his questioning again. It seemed as if hours passed. I answered the same questions, my voice hoarse from talking. I did not tell him about Sarah, the letters, or the ruby ring. About everything else I told the truth, again and again.

I retched. Kommissar Lang handed me a bowl, and resumed his questioning. So much for relying on his gentleman's background.

Eventually a doctor appeared, furious.

I lay in bed trembling, too weak to do anything else. My head pounded.

The large and reassuring doctor took my pulse and gave me two tablets. They tasted bitter.

"Is she well enough to continue?" Kommissar Lang asked.

The doctor shook his head. "She wasn't well enough to start. If I'd been here, I would have kept you from her bedside."

Kommissar Lang stood. "It is police business."

"The hospital is my business." The doctor held my wrist. "I must insist that you leave. Here, I outrank you."

Kommissar Lang tried to stare him down, but the doctor did not budge.

Kommissar Lang bent and whispered in my ear. "I hope, for your own sake, that you have told me the whole truth. I do not wish to see you in jail any more than you wish to go."

He straightened and walked out of the room.

The doctor let go of my wrist. His eyes were kind and green, like a forest in summer. "The medication is taking effect already. Rest. You must sleep for the next few days to get your strength back."

I wanted to get out of bed and float through the window to freedom. Float? What kind of medication had he given me? I tried to sit up, but could not. Unwillingly, I slept. I needed more strength to escape.

27.

I awoke to the gentle light of the late afternoon. A familiar-looking doctor held my wrist, taking my pulse. He wore a white lab coat and was turned away from the door, counting out my heartbeats. His dark head turned to face me.

"Paul." I tried to sit. The room spun, and I suppressed an urge to throw up.

"You shouldn't sit in your condition, Fraulein Vogel." Paul eased me down onto the pillow.

"Why are you wearing that coat?" I asked quietly.

"There are two detectives outside." Paul's eyes darted toward the door. "No one is allowed in to see you, although there's a handsome man who's been trying all day."

"A handsome man?" I smiled. "You?"

He shook his head. "Boris. I can't stay long. I had to use all my journalistic expertise to get in here." His eyes twinkled. Journalistic expertise were our code words for lying. "I intercepted a letter addressed to you at the paper. It's under your pillow, with your passport."

"They made it."

He nodded. "Sarah and Tobias are in New York."

I had my papers. I could leave Berlin. I could leave Germany. Rudolf could not harm me if I was far away.

"I don't know what's going on with you," he whispered. "I don't do the crime beat, so I don't have any sources at the police station. What I do know is that the man who insisted Peter Weill be fired-"

"Rudolf von Reiche."

The fat detective glanced our way, and Paul leaned over and pried one of my eyelids farther open. He peered into my eye officiously. "He disappeared. There was a story about it this morning. Maria's been in touch with his family for quotes already. Apparently he was expected at an important dinner last night and did not appear."

I wondered if Rohm had killed him or if Rudolf was hiding out, waiting to silence me. He had more reasons to want me dead than ever before, now that I could accuse him of attempted murder. He had escaped from Rohm the night he shot me, because Rohm had tried to protect Anton from seeing me, and because Rohm had stopped to bind my wound.

"I told Boris to wait in front of the hospital for you." Paul let go of my eyelid and brushed hair off my forehead casually, but I felt his hand tremble. "That maybe you could take a walk soon. He has a black Mercedes."

I could not stay in the hospital. Rudolf would bribe someone to turn his head or give me an injection or slip something into my food. The next person who came to take my pulse could stop it. I was the only one who could link Rudolf to my shooting, except Rohm.

"You're looking much better," Paul said in a normal voice. "A few more days of rest and you'll be in tiptop shape."

"Thank you, Doctor," I said. "For everything."

I squeezed his hand. Paul took my hand between both of his, and I stared into his dark eyes. So much was left unsaid. The thin policeman started into the room. Paul dropped my hand.