The Pale House (31 page)

“Charming story.”

“One of the last things I heard him say was, ‘
,' he said, ‘police work may as well be fool's work in this town.' And let me tell you, he never said a truer thing in all the time I knew him.”

“Your German is much better.”

smiled, straightening. “Thank you. I have made efforts . . .” And then it was as if he remembered something; the smile was rinsed from his face, and his fingers began to knead his dice.

“What am I doing here,
?”

rolled his lips around a large sip of brandy, his porcine eyes glittering. “I've a feeling we are operating under a misunderstanding, Reinhardt. You are under the impression that, at best, we are a bunch of ill-disciplined psychopaths, and at worst, ill-disciplined psychopaths who are your enemies, no?”

“That's about the size of it.”

“We are nothing of the sort, Reinhardt. Not ill-disciplined, not psychopaths, certainly not your enemies. We are something much more. Your people, my people, we are a rampart. We have a duty to civilization, to the future. We have an alliance, your people and mine, a sacred alliance. There should be no mistrust between us, to ensure—”

“Oh God,
.” Brandy sloshed from the glass as Reinhardt put it down. “You did not bring me here for a lesson in propaganda.”

face reddened. He turned and poured himself another brandy, the bottle rattling along the rim of his glass. “Very well. No propaganda. No history. No whatever. Just some truth.” He rolled his dice, ran his eyes over the numbers. “You are investigating the murders of three of your men. You seem to be linking them to more deaths in a forest. You seem to think the UstaÅ¡e had something to do with it.”

“Go on,” challenged Reinhardt, though he would have bitten it back if he could.

“You were shown the bodies of four of my men tonight. Murdered and mutilated. Whoever is killing people, Reinhardt, my people are suffering too.”

“A bit too soon to make such an assumption,
.”

“That my people are suffering?”

“I don't doubt that,” said Reinhardt, a scornful edge to his words that he could not help. “I meant it's a bit too soon to be assuming the same people are doing the killing.”

“There's such a thing as overanalyzing a situation, Reinhardt.”

“There are such things as instinct and evidence, as well.”

“What about the similarities between your murders, Reinhardt? The bodies in the forest. The ones you found this morning in Logavina. Should you not be interested in that?”

“How about, for instance, the dead silence up at that murder scene, tonight? Not a single inhabitant on the street. No one being questioned. It's as if there was no need.”

eyes slitted. “But there was no need. The Partisans did it.”

Reinhardt bit back on his feeling that only two men had been killed there that night and inclined his head, a sardonic tilt to the movement.

“I'll go one better, Reinhardt. We are the masters of this city. Law and order. Life and death. If I need something taken care of—and by that, I mean if I need someone arrested, if I believe someone is a danger, or must be removed—I order it done.” He flicked his fingers and his dice pattered across the tabletop. “Like that! No skulking in the shadows. No leaving a trail of bodies. Just action. Did you see what we did at Marijin Dvor? Two nights ago?”

“The hangings?”

“The hangings.”

“That was you?”

nodded. “Was that skulking in the shadows? Was that hiding what we had to do?”

“There is killing and there is killing,
.”

“What do you mean?”

“That some deaths will not survive scrutiny.”

snorted. “What must I do to prove to you we are the masters of this town?” he said, his tone almost musing. “That we have nothing to hide. Come. Let me show you.”