Death in Focus Read online

He gave them back their passports and looked at Walter with understanding. “Have a nice trip,” he said, his look lending the words a world of meaning.

  Walter nodded and put his arm around Elena again. “Thank you.”

  They walked quickly onto the platform and climbed the steps into one of the first-class carriages. Elena had not bothered to look at the tickets before. Anything was good enough, just to be out of Germany. Even out of Berlin was a good start. Although, in the countryside, in this dress, she would be as conspicuous as a black fly on a white ceiling.

  There was too much to say, and no words were strong enough to convey the gratitude she felt. A weak “thank you” was almost worse than none at all. It reduced the enormity of the emotion.

  They searched for a compartment where there was room for them. The third one along the corridor was empty. They went in and sat opposite each other, next to the window, exactly as she had done in the train from Milan to Rome, less than a week ago. So much had happened, it seemed to be part of another lifetime.

  Elena hadn’t known Walter before this, and yet he had been there in the most desperate times and helped without question. Perhaps he was MI6, too? He wouldn’t tell her if he was. Ian had only told her when he was dying, so she would finish his mission in Berlin. Except she had fallen into the trap set for him and made a complete mess of it.

  But even if she did not get out of Germany, the pictures had already gone, and Lucas would know how best to use them. They did not need any explanations. The faces spoke more than any words could. They were fixed in history forever, the time and the place: the book-burning, the insanity of the attempt to obliterate the spiritual light of an entire culture.

  Perhaps that was what Walter cared about?

  The train started to move and she relaxed into the seat. It was comfortable, even quite warm. She might go to sleep—she was certainly tired enough, and as the train sped up, the rhythmic passage of the wheels over the tracks and the gentle sway of it felt comforting. They were alone in the compartment, which was pleasant.

  She woke up with a jolt, feeling her hands held by the wrists, quite hard. She gasped and pulled away.

  “Elena!” It was Walter’s voice.

  She opened her eyes and saw his face a couple of feet away, filled with concern.

  “Were you dreaming? We’re on the train to Paris. We’re coming toward the border. They’ll stop here for a little while. You can stretch your legs if you want.”

  “No.” She did not know why she refused. It was a good idea, but she was filled with fear that the train would somehow go on without her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was…dreaming.”

  His face tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said very gently. “If there had been any other way of leaving except train, I’d have taken it. But this is the last hurdle. Once we’re in France, we’ll be all right.”

  “Will we? I know the German authorities can’t get us, but they could follow us, couldn’t they?”

  “They’ve no authority to arrest us…” he began. Then, understanding flashed in his eyes. “They don’t know it’s you,” he said more gently. “If they did, they’d have stopped you in Berlin, not followed you onto the train. Think about it. I know Newton was killed on the train to Paris, but that was…”

  “Yes?”

  “I was going to say ages ago, but I suppose it was barely a week. It seems like longer. I sometimes think counting time is ridiculous. It’s totally elastic. When you’re exhausted, an hour of sleep is nothing. It’s here and gone. But if you’re in pain, in a dentist’s chair, it’s eternity.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. “And if you’re waiting for someone, and they’re late, then in your mind a hundred different things have happened to them. It only takes one time that something really has, and all waiting after that is—”

  “Endless. I know.” His voice caught with emotion and he stopped speaking.

  She searched his face, perhaps seeing him for the first time as a person with his own life, his own griefs and fears that had nothing to do with her, or Scharnhorst, or any of this. She touched his cheek gently. “I’m sorry. You must think me terribly self-centered, and you’re right. I have been.”

  The train was already slowing down. The rhythm was different. She could feel the drag of the brakes on the wheels. Walter sat back in his own seat. She wondered if perhaps, by taking her mind off her own fear and thinking of him, she had made him afraid she would intrude in his personal life. She would have to be careful not to. There was something elusive in him, perhaps badly hurt. And he had helped her twice now, at the risk of his own life. She owed him far more than just the sensitivity not to intrude.

  They were rolling into the station now. Would they be asked to get off, maybe one coach at a time, to go through the Customs and Passport Control? Or would the officers come on the train?

  She sat back and realized that her hands were clenched. A diligent border guard would notice that and see it as fear. Deliberately, she relaxed them. If she was innocent, she should not be afraid.

  The train slowed even more, and a few moments later it stopped altogether. She heard doors slam as people came aboard. They were ordered to stay in their seats. They could get up after they were cleared by Customs and Passport.

  It seemed like forever before their compartment door opened and a uniformed officer came in. He looked at them both carefully. Elena’s heart was beating so violently she thought he must be able to see her body shake.

  “Passports, please,” he asked.

  She wanted to look at Walter, but she dared not. The guard would wonder why. The instruction was clear enough. She fumbled in her bag for it. While the guard was waiting, he took Walter’s passport, glanced at it briefly, then turned back to Elena. Why was he more interested in her? Were they specifically looking for a woman? An ordinary-looking Englishwoman with long, mousy fair hair, dressed in something conservative. She was not that woman. She was Marta Lindt, with short, fashionable pale blond hair, wearing a stunning scarlet dress!

  She found the passport and handed it to the guard with a charming, friendly smile. She was beautiful. All men took notice of her. She felt as if she was sweating. Did it show? She was hot one moment and cold the next.

  Walter drew in his breath as if to speak, and then changed his mind.

  The man closed the passport and handed it back to her. “Thank you, fräulein. Is that your luggage? Have you not any more?” There was suspicion in his eyes. A woman dressed as she was must have more luggage than one overstuffed bag.

  She smiled at him charmingly. “Yes, it is. Why do you think I’m going to Paris? I promise you I shall come back with more…far more!”

  Walter’s expression was impossible to read. Elena knew he was trying to look chagrined, and at the same time not to laugh.

  The guard did not bother. He laughed outright. “Get your money’s worth, friend,” he said to Walter. And then he left, clanging the door shut behind him.

  “Sorry,” Elena murmured.

  “Don’t be, it was brilliant!” he commented. “We’re free to go now. Do you want to stretch your legs, get out of here for a few minutes?”

  She could sense that he wanted to. “Yes, by all means. A little fresh air.”

  She did not realize how close the air was inside the train until she took Walter’s hand to steady herself down the steep drop to the platform. It was dark and windy, gusts pulling at her hair and skirt, and far colder than she expected. For the first moment or two, it felt refreshing, and then it was just cold. She was glad of Walter standing windward of her, shielding her.

  “There’s a coffee stand over there. Would you like some? It’s probably pretty rough, but it’ll be hot.”

  “Yes, please,” she said, certain that he would, too.

  He walked beside her and she kept up with him. There were already
at least twenty other people standing uncomfortably, uncertain how to use the brief time before they continued their journey. Some groups talked and some stood silently, glancing at the train every few moments. She wondered if any of the other people standing in little huddles on the platform were escaping something. Police? Gestapo? Were any of them Jews, going while they could? Leaving behind the people they loved.

  She could not read their faces in the yellow artificial glow. Could they read hers?

  The train was higher than the platform, its metal sides slightly curved, catching the lights with brilliant sheen. Drifts of steam blew from the engine, briefly obscuring the stars.

  Walter handed her a coffee. She had not even noticed he’d been gone.

  “Thank you.” She took it gratefully.

  “I don’t know if you take sugar, but there wasn’t any anyway,” he apologized.

  She smiled. “I don’t. I grew up unused to it, and now I don’t really like it very much.” She sipped the coffee. It wasn’t bad. She looked yet again at the train. People were still getting off farther up the platform. That must mean the passport officers were not finished.

  There were groups of men in work clothes moving around. Perhaps the steam engine would need coal, more water? They all seemed bent on some purpose or other. She was so nearly safe! The last few moments seemed to drag out with all this activity.

  The engine belched steam again, startling her. It was difficult to remain outwardly calm when she was minutes from safety, and yet not quite there. She drank several more mouthfuls of coffee. It seemed the border crossing formalities were taking ages, but it could not have been too long: The coffee was still hot, even in the cardboard cup.

  The passport officers came off the train at the last carriage and she turned to Walter. She did not even need to speak.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s time, for goodness’ sake. We are going shopping in Paris, remember?” He looked at her directly and smiled.

  She deliberately put on a brave, eager face and took his arm back across the cold platform and up the steep steps, back into the carriage. They found their seats again and within a few minutes there was a piercing whistle, a belch of steam, the cloud drifting around them as they lurched forward once, twice, then settled into increasing speed as they crossed the German border into France.

  Walter looked at her. He seemed happy, relaxed, as if he, too, had passed a dangerous crossing and was safe on the other side.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Elena waited until the train had gathered full speed and was roaring through the night before she stood up. “I’m going to the cloakroom.”

  “Three carriages that way.” Walter indicated the direction.

  She nodded her thanks, then set out. They were moving very rapidly now, and it was not easy to keep her balance in the corridor, where there was nothing to grasp. All the compartment doors were closed, blinds drawn across the windows. People were probably trying to sleep. Her watch said it was half-past one in the morning.

  The corridor lights were dim. The outer windows were mirrors reflecting only her own face and the scarlet dress. There were no lights outside, no signs of human life at all. She could see no towns or villages. They could have been anywhere. Or nowhere, for that matter.

  The speed settled steadily and the rattle and sway of the train were rhythmic, soothing, like the life signs of some medieval beast.

  She reached the toilets and was there only a few minutes. When she washed her hands—so careful with the burned one—she glanced in the mirror, then stared at the stranger reflected back at her. She saw a striking woman with high cheekbones and soft, pale hair. For a moment she admired her reflection. This was who she would like to be. Daring, reckless, brave, positive about everything. Then the moment after, she felt ridiculous. Did it really reflect any part of her?

  She dried her hands on the towel, then opened the door and went out. It was dark in the connecting corridor, especially after the light in the toilet. She almost bumped into the guard standing there. “Sorry,” she said in German. She did not dare use English yet.

  As if to steady her, he put his hands up and grasped her shoulders.

  “Thank you, I’m fine. Just…the darkness.”

  His hands tightened a little. He was middle-aged, overweight. His face was too close to hers. She tried to pull away, but it was impossible. With a wave of fear, she realized his intention. Her eyes were becoming used to the dim light now and she could see the smirk on his face, on his lips.

  “You’re very pretty, fräulein. You must be used to this. You want it? Yes? That is why you wear such a dress. It is an invitation. I accept!” He pulled her closer.

  What could she say? She did not dare earn his enmity, and yet the thought was revolting! There were empty compartments. He would know which ones they were. At least in the corridor there was the possibility of someone else coming along to use the toilets. She must stay outside, at all costs.

  “The second compartment,” he said.

  Her mind raced. “Don’t be so predictable,” she said. This was absurd. She was repulsed by the idea, and yet she managed to make her voice seductive. “A little danger…adds spice.”

  “A little danger, hey? And do you like to be hurt, just a little, perhaps?” He gripped her arms so tightly it hurt.

  She refused to cry out. It might be just what he wanted. “Only if it goes both ways,” she said, looking straight at him. Was there enough fabric in her skirt to allow her to lift her knee and catch him where he was most vulnerable? Maybe not. She would have to lift the dress, so as not to tear the silk and expose herself, or worse, find she could not complete the action.

  “Both ways?” he repeated, as if the idea puzzled and intrigued him.

  “Yes.” She put her hands to her sides, lifted the skirt, then swung her right knee forward as hard as she could.

  He doubled forward, almost knocking her off her feet. She lost her balance and fell against the wall of the compartment, but she was free. She must escape before he could get hold of her again. There was no one to turn to, and she could scream her heart out in the roar and clatter of the train, but no one would hear. It would be just one more sound in the whine of the wind and metal on metal.

  At first, she stumbled, losing her balance as the train lurched, but she regained it quickly and ran in the opposite direction, away from where the guard was blocking her way to her own compartment, not caring if she bruised herself against either wall. She reached the end of the carriage and fumbled with the doorway to the next one. She could hear the guard cursing behind her. She dreaded the touch of his hand on her shoulder any second.

  Nothing moved! She was pulling the handle the wrong way. She pushed it the other way and heaved the door open. It was the guard’s van! Full of luggage, but it was the last one on the train. There were no passenger carriages beyond this. No one she could ask for help. No one to even see what happened to her! He could say she jumped, and no one would contradict him.

  It could not all end like this! She must hide if she could. There were piles of luggage in here. He could not spend all the rest of the journey looking for her. He must have some kind of duties. And if he found her, she would have to fight! He was coarse, brutish, but he wouldn’t kill her…would he?

  She searched for the easiest place to hide and still have a way of escape. She looked at the piles of luggage and boxes. There were several piled high. Behind one of those. Not the nearest. But be quick. There was no lock on the door. Why would there be? It would be on the outside, if there was one at all.

  She heard the handle turn and a strip of light appeared on the ceiling as the door opened. He was less than three yards away from her. She could hear him breathing heavily, like an animal panting.

  He moved one of the boxes, then another. “I’ll find you,” he said quietly. �
�This is the last car. There’s nothing beyond here but the night…and the empty track! You’ve nowhere to go, proud lady in the red dress. Think yourself so good? Take that red dress off, and you’re just like anybody else.”

  And without his uniform, he’d be just like any ordinary fat man! But he would not trick her into saying so.

  He was closer now, maybe two yards away, and still moving luggage. He was wheezing and grunting from the effort. Once he got hold of her, she would be lost. And in the guard’s van, he could do anything he wanted. She looked around for something small enough to use as a weapon. But people kept their small pieces of luggage with them. Only boxes and valises too big to put in the overhead rack were loaded here.

  Where was the tallest pile? Could she knock it over to land on him? She dared not move much, though a sound would hardly matter. She could drop a lead weight and no one would hear it above the roar of the train.

  She saw the right pile. He would sense her movement, but she could stand on the first box, if she was quick, and push the top one over onto him. That might give her enough time to run for the door. She had nothing to lose; he would find her in moments. She climbed onto the nearest box.

  He saw the movement. “Ah! Got you!” He lunged forward.

  She waited until he was close enough, then pushed the top box over onto him. It crashed down, catching him on one side and sending him sprawling.

  She did not wait to see how badly he was hurt. She bolted for the door and was almost through it when she heard his scream of outrage. At least he was not dead. She certainly did not want to kill him! But she did not want him merely enraged, either. No time to look. She got through the door and slammed it shut, and ran as fast as she dared up the corridor, thrown from side to side by the train careening through the night.

  She was almost at the door at the far end, when she felt his hand like a claw on her shoulder. It spun her around, slamming her back against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. His face was less than a foot from hers. She could smell his breath, and the sweat on his body. This time, he pressed his belly on hers, and his legs made it impossible for her to kick him. Could she butt him with her head? Bite? She stared into his eyes with all the hatred she felt, for everything vile and tragic that had happened since she left Naples. Even before that…since the body of the man had tumbled out of the hotel linen cupboard.