Page 42 of Nothing Watching

Juliette had reached the autobahn now, flattening her foot on the gas as she sped back toward Berlin.

“We’re going to have to triage this,” she said. “Wyatt, I want you to go to the hospital as soon as we reach the scene. Take this car and go there personally. If this woman communicated anything before they took her into surgery, if she wrote anything down or tried to speak, we need to know about it.”

“Right, will do,” he said.

“Sierra, as soon as we have more information on this victim, I want you to research her. Find out where she was staying, who with, what she was doing while out on the streets.”

“Will do,” Sierra said.

“I’m going to comb the scene, look for any evidence, and try to work out what the common factors are that we seem to be missing.” She could hear the frustration in her own voice. There had to be things they weren’t seeing, and those things were going to send this case into a deadly and destructive spiral.

At least, with this plan in place, they were all going to be deployed in the most constructive ways and make the best use of every precious second.

Already they were approaching the scene. Embroiled in her thoughts and worries while navigating the high-speed traffic, she’d made better time than she’d expected. The scene was a mile or two away from the center of Berlin, in a pretty, quiet part of the city, a part where any resident of Berlin would have loved to live. A large library across the street got her glancing in that direction, with thoughts of books and texts flaring in her mind again.

As soon as she parked the car beside three other police vehicles, she got out and headed over to the taped off area. She could see Fischer standing near the edge, looking in her direction. The policewoman hurried over.

“Talk me through what happened, please,” Juliette asked. Wyatt was already jumping into the driver’s seat and speeding off.

Fischer spoke calmly, but the tautness in her voice and demeanor showed Juliette that the pressure was bearing solidly down on her, too.

“The victim was walking home from the shops nearby. She had two branded carrier bags in her possession containing clothes,” Fischer said. “Home, in this case, being a small bed and breakfast establishment just two streets down.” She pointed.

“And what happened?” Juliette asked.

“The witness can tell you exactly what he saw. He is waiting here.” She pointed to a small group of people standing on the sidewalk under a linden tree. Two cops, Juliette saw, and one excited-looking man who was still speaking rapidly, waving his arms and looking shocked.

Quickly, she headed over, knowing this eyewitness account would be extremely important.

The red-haired man was in his thirties, dressed in running gear. He must have been out for a jog, and perhaps that was why he’d suddenly appeared without being on the killer’s radar, she guessed.

She showed her badge.

“Good morning,” she said politely. “I understand you’re a witness to what happened. Can you talk me through it?”

“Sure, yes, I can.” His accent was pure Scottish as he turned to her. “I was out for a run. I arrived in town yesterday, for a conference happening this week, so I headed out to do some fitness work. I was just finishing off a sprint that took me onto this street.” With a wave, he indicated the street. Even when it wasn’t taped off, Juliette guessed it would be fairly quiet.

“And you saw this?”

“I saw a man in a black hooded jacket. He had a woman on the ground and was strangling her. There were bags scattered around—I mean, it was a chilling sight. I yelled at the top of my voice. I didn’t have time to be scared. My only thought was to save her. And luckily, my shout must have scared this guy off, because he ran. He dropped something as he fled.”

Fischer produced the item, now in an evidence bag. It was a page from Goethe’sFaust, and as she read the words on the yellowed printed paper, Juliette felt chilled.

The time has come to prove by deeds, that man will not quake before the pit where fantasy condemns itself to tortures of its own creation.

It was one of the most famous—and, she personally felt, the darkest—of his quotes.

“What did the man look like?” she asked the witness.

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, I never saw his face. His back was toward me the entire time, and as soon as I reached the woman, I saw she was in a bad way, so I tried to give her CPR and called for an ambulance.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I would say he was average height, not very tall. Probably a bit shorter than me. Not a huge guy, but he ran quite fast, and seemed to know the area well because he just disappeared around a corner and was gone.”

Juliette looked in the direction he’d pointed. She didn’t see any visible cameras, and guessed that there weren’t any on this quiet road.

So, no real leads there, apart from the weird disruption to this psychopath’s killing routine.

“You did well,” Juliette told the Scotsman. “You saved her life. Thank you for your bravery.”

Standing taller, he glowed with pride. “It’s a pity I couldn’t have caught the guy, but he was so quick, and the woman was choking.”

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