She was almost as tall as her brotherabout five-foot-eleven, he guessedand even thinner. Severely cut brunette hair framed a face that might have been pretty if the already-thin lips had not been half-pursed in disapproval, but Russell sensed that her current expression was the one she most usually presented to the world. She was wearing a cream blouse and smart, deep blue suit. There was no hint of black and no obvious sign of grief in her face. He told himself that shed had several days to take it all in.
He introduced himself and offered his condolences.
Eleanor McKinley, she responded. Tyler never mentioned you.
We werent close friends, just neighbors. Im here because the police thought an interpreter would make things easier for everyone. Have they told you what happened?
Oh, we got all the details from the Germany Embassy in Washington. A man came out to the house and explained everything.
Russell wondered what to say next. He found it hard to credit that the family believed Tyler had committed suicide, but it was hardly his place to question it, particularly with Oehm trying to follow their conversation.
The German interrupted. There are papers to sign. He passed them to Russell. If you could. . . .
Russell looked through them, and then explained the gist to Eleanor McKinley. There are two things here. One is an account of the investigation, complete with witness statements and the police conclusion that Tyler committed suicide. They need your signature to sign off on the case. The other form waives your familys right to an inquest. This is because youre taking him home with you.
I understand, she said.
Ill read it through, then.
No, no, dont bother, she said, extracting a pack of Chesterfields from her handbag. You wont mind if I smoke? she asked Oehm, holding up a cigarette in explanation.
Russell was taken aback. You understand that youre accepting their version of events, that this exempts them from any further investigation? he asked.
Are there any other versions? she asked.
No. I just wanted to be sure you knew that this puts an end to any. . . .
Good, she interrupted. She made a writing mime at Oehm, who handed her his pen.
Here and here, Russell said, placing the papers in front of her. She signed both, writing Eleanor V. McKinley in a large looping hand.
Is that it? she asked.
Thats it.
What about Tylers . . . what about the body?
Russell asked Oehm. It was still in the morgue, he thought, reaching for the phone.
It was. They need her for a formal identification before they can release it, Oehm told Russell in German. But not nowtheyre still trying to repair his face. If she comes at eleven in the morning theyll have plenty of time to seal it for transport and get it across to Lehrter.
Russell relayed the salient points.
Cant we do it now? she asked.
No, Im afraid not.
She made a face, but didn't press the issue. All right. Well, lets get out of this dreadful place. She offered Oehm her hand and the briefest of smiles, and headed for the door. I suppose I can get the apartment over with instead, she said as they walked back to the entrance. Youll come with me, she added. It was more of an assumption than a question.
They took a taxi. She said nothing as they drove through the old city, just stared out of the window. As they swung through Spittelmarkt toward Donhoffplatz and the bottom of Lindenstrasse she murmured something to herself, then turned to Russell and said: Ive never seen such a gray city.
The weather doesnt help, he said.
She was even less impressed with Neuenburgerstrasse. Frau Heidegger climbed the stairs to let them in, and insisted that Russell pass on her deepest condolences. And tell Fraulein McKinley how much I liked her brother, she added. How much we all did.
Russell did as he was bid, and McKinleys sister flashed another of her brief smiles in Frau Heideggers direction. Tell her wed like to be alone, she said in English.
Russell passed on the message. Frau Heidegger looked slightly hurt, but disappeared down the stairs.
Eleanor sat down on the bed looking, for the first time, as if her brothers death meant something to her.
Now was the moment, Russell thought. He had to say something. I find it hard to believe that your brother killed himself, he said tentatively.
She sighed. Well, he did. One way or another.
Im sorry. . . .
She got up and walked to the window. I dont know how much you knew about Tylers work. . . .
I knew he was working on something important.
Exposing some terrible Nazi plot? she asked.
Maybe. She was angry, he realized. Furious.
Well, that was a pretty effective way of committing suicide, wouldn't you say?
Russell bit back an answer. Hed said much the same thing to McKinley himself.
Look at this, she said, surveying the room. The life he chose, she said bitterly.
That you couldn't, Russell thought. He silently abandoned the idea of asking for her help in checking out the poste restante.
She picked up McKinleys pipe, looked around, and took one of his socks to wrap it in. Ill take this, she said. Can you get rid of the rest?
Yes, but. . . .
I cant imagine it would be much use to anyone else.
Okay.
He accompanied her downstairs and out to the waiting taxi.
Thank you for your help, she said. I dont suppose youre free tomorrow morning? I could use some help at the morgue. My train leaves at three and I cant afford any hold-ups. And some moral support would be nice, she added, as if it had just occurred to her that identifying her brother might involve an emotional toll. Ill buy you lunch.
Russell felt like refusing, but he had no other appointments. Be generous, he told himself. Its a deal, he said.
Pick me up at the Adlon, she told him. Around ten-thirty.
He watched the cab turn the corner onto Lindenstrasse and disappear. He felt sorry for McKinley, and perhaps even sorrier for his sister.
HE ARRIVED AT THE ADLON just before 10:00, and found Jack Slaney sitting behind a newspaper in the tea room. Ive got something for you, Russell said, sitting down and counting out the ninety Reichsmarks he owed from their last poker game.
A sudden inheritance? Slaney asked.
Something like that.
What are you doing here? the American asked, as he gestured the waiter over to order coffees.
Russell told him.
He was a nice kid, Slaney said. Shame about his family.
The uncles not one of your favorite senators?
Slaney laughed. Hes a big friend of the Nazis. Anti-Semitic through and throughthe usual broken record. On the one hand, we should be leaving Europe alone, on the other, we should be realizing that Britain and France are on their last legs and Germanys a progressive power-house, our natural ally. Bottom lineits just business as usual. The Senators brotherMcKinleys dadhas a lot of money invested here. One plant in Dusseldorf, another in Stuttgart. Theyll do well out of a war, as long as we stay out of it.
The daughters not exactly soft and cuddly, Russell admitted.
I know. Hey! Slaney interrupted himself. Have you heard the latest? Over the weekend some Swedish member of Parliament nominated Hitler for the Nobel Peace Prize. Wrote a letter of recommendation and everything. Slaney flipped back the pages of his notebook. He praised Hitlers glowing love of peace, heretofore best documented in his famous book Mein Kampf.
A spoof, right?
Of course. But at least one German paper missed that bit. They printed the whole thing as if it was completely kosher. He threw back his head and laughed out loud, drawing stares from across the room.
At 10:30 Russell asked the receptionist to let Eleanor know he was in the lobby. She appeared a couple of minutes later. The suit was a deep crimson this time, and she was wearing a silk scarf that was a shimmering gold. Her heels were higher than on the previous day, the seams of her stockings straight as arrows. The fur coat looked expensive. It doesnt look like theyre getting ready for a war, she said, as their cab motored down Unter den Linden.