Page 16 of Nothing Watching

Wyatt nodded, looking as excited as she now felt.

“This is a solid lead,” he said. “I reckon we two should go see him, and Sierra stay behind and continue checking the database and the news.”

The young IT expert nodded. “I can also help with tracking his phone, if you have any difficulty finding him,” she suggested.

“That sounds great.” Juliette jumped to her feet, feeling enthused that they were finally going to be pursuing a promising lead.

Wyatt and Juliette quickly made their way out of the police station and into the balmy warmth of the late morning. The car was hot inside from standing in the sun.

Juliette keyed Markus’s address into the GPS and set off. As they drove through the city, Juliette felt a sense of anticipation. This could be the breakthrough they had been waiting for.

She hoped they were getting closer to catching the killer, but it was very clear from this man’s background that they were dealing with a dangerous individual, and probably someone who would stop at nothing to avoid being caught.

They would need to be very careful, she warned herself.

CHAPTER NINE

His footsteps were treading along Kurfürstendamm, the most famous shopping street in Berlin, but his thoughts were miles away, centuries apart from the current day.

He barely noticed the bustling high street, the designer stores with their flawless and brightly lit interiors.

Instead, history was playing itself out before his eyes, and he was back in the time of the great heroes, the time of the most powerful writers of all time, who had brought to life stories, and heroines, that were unforgettable.

He had always been fascinated by the power of literature, and the way it could transport a reader to another place and time. His thoughts were consumed by the great works of Goethe, Schiller, and Kafka. These writers had created characters that were larger than life, and he had always been fascinated by their stories. But it wasn’t only German writers that consumed his mind and his passion. As he walked, he imagined himself in the world ofTristan and Iseult, which he’d read in German translation. What a complex, wonderful love story. What doomed characters. The book contained everything that a reader might possibly need to be compelled. A love potion and spell, adultery, hatred, revenge.

What was so special was that by reading, he himself had grown to become part of this world. He knew that today, he channeled these greats, and that he could see their legacy in the eyes of people around him.

Not all people, only some.

With a flash, the bright blonde hair of a passing woman caught his eye and he turned to stare. Her hair was long and lustrous, the color of honey, and it shone in the sunlight. Her blue eyes were clear and bright, and her skin was creamy and smooth. She was a vision of beauty, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

But it was not the time now, it was too early in the day, and there were too many people around. A woman shouldered past him carrying an armful of bags from the high-end stores. Brand names rustled and rocked in her grasp, but he could only smile contemptuously, because there was nothing of the old history about her. She was just a greedy, grasping consumer of the modern world. She was not someone for whom the waters of history would part, leading them deeper inside, revealing them as somebody that the writers of old would have been inspired by.

Immersed in his poetic thoughts, he turned away, but this time, instead of another honey-colored hairstyle, he saw something far less welcome. The dark uniform of a police officer. There were a pair of them, walking the street, staring around alertly. Their gaze passed over him and even though he knew his appearance was innocuous, he felt the suspicion in their eyes burning him.

“Excuse me,” a woman said, so suddenly that he jumped.

He turned, controlling his startled response, automatically donning the mantle of respectability and courtesy that he was careful to wear at all times.

“How can I help you?” he asked, knowing that with those gentle words, she would trust him.

The woman was in her mid-thirties, with a warm smile that lit up her face. She was holding a map, and he could see that she was lost. She was American, he could tell by her accent.

“I’m looking for the Berlin Library,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation.

“Ah,fraulein, it is not far from here,” he said in kindly tones.

“Oh, good. I’m meeting a friend there in ten minutes, and I’m so lost.”

“The library is just a five-minute walk away,” he reassured her confidently. He gestured in the direction she needed to go.

“Turn right, then left,” he advised,and she thanked him, hurrying away. He watched her go, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was always so easy to gain someone’s trust. It was a talent he had honed over the years, and it had served him well in the past.

But now was not the time to dwell on his past. Now was the time to be alert, and even worried, about the present. As he walked down the street, he felt a sense of unease. He knew that the police were closing in on him, and his time was running out. He had thought that he had been careful, that he had covered his tracks, but now it seemed like they were getting disturbingly close. But then again, he could just be paranoid.

He quickened his pace, his mind racing with thoughts of escape. He needed to get away, to disappear into the labyrinthine streets of Berlin where he could blend in with the crowds and become just another face in the crowd.

He turned down a narrow alleyway, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the sound of his own footsteps echoing off the walls of the buildings around him, and felt a sudden urge to run, to flee from the area and away from those stern-looking police, but he knew that he couldn’t. He had to stay calm, to keep his wits about him.

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