“I apologize in advance if there’s anything inaccurate. My editor has a leaden touch.” Kommissar Lang handed me a pen. “Come to my office and sign it.” He gestured back down the hallway, past the photograph of Ernst. If I followed him, I knew that he would
READ MORE →I turned and marched back down the hall, willing myself not to glance at the photograph. If I did not look, perhaps it would not be true. “Fraulein Vogel,” called Kommissar Lang. I heard him sprinting after me. Something was amiss. Would he demand to see my
READ MORE →“You have such insight into the male mind,” Kommissar Lang said. “You and your husband must be very close.” “She’s never been married,” Fritz said. The corners of his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “Might you autograph an article for me?” Kommissar Lang clasped his hands
READ MORE →“I am a crime reporter,” I answered, looking up. “Under the name of Peter Weill.” “The Peter Weill?” His tone shifted. He was a fan. “For the past several years,” I said. “I have worked closely with the police all that time.” I pulled my press pass
READ MORE →NEWS: I have a short story coming out in an anthology in October. More details as I receive them. EXCERPT: Fritz turned and walked to a large oak file cabinet. As he sorted through folders I took a few steadying breaths. “Here we go.” He pulled out
READ MORE →NEWS: The trailer is done, except for the scoring. I’ll release it in April 2009. EXCERPT: “Anything worth my time?” I said to Fritz, because that is what I would have said on any other day. “A group of Nazis beat a Communist almost to death, but that’s
READ MORE →NEW: I will have a trailer done this week! But I won’t release it until April to generate interest in the book. And I have a new and wonderful blurb on my home page from the esteemed historical fiction writer Paul Doherty. Hooray! EXCERPT: Like every Monday,
READ MORE →“Still raining, I see.” Fritz pointed to my dripping umbrella. I’d forgotten I still held it. He closed the office door. “Washes the dog shit off the sidewalks.” I forced a laugh that tore my lungs. The weather remained our favorite joke, Fritz and mine. We jested
READ MORE →Fritz held the door open, and I nodded my thanks. He was the kindly husband of my oldest friend, and I feared that he would recognize the photograph too, if he studied it closely. He must not suspect that Ernst was dead. My identity papers, and Ernst’s,
READ MORE →Hannah!” called a booming voice. Without turning, I recognized the baritone of Fritz Waldheim, a policeman at Alexanderplatz. A voice that had never before frightened me. “Here for the reports?” I drew my hand back from the photograph and cleared my throat. “Of course,” I called. My
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