Winter Sniper: A World War II Novel

Chapter 12

Petra practically raced to the Metropolitan Hotel. In all the time they had been in Washington, she could not recall having the afternoon off during the week. Now she had a bit of money in her pocket and some time to herself. Frau Von Stahl was not a difficult boss, but she could be tiresome. Petra welcomed a few hours of freedom.

There was always so much going on in the city, and she liked to see as much of it as she could. She passed store windows, ogling the goods on display. She had heard people complain about the rationing and shortages, but even in the midst of a war, there seemed to be an abundance of everything from food to cars, as long as one had money. Petra would have liked to buy most everything she saw.

She noticed a few of the younger soldiers — and some not so young — look at her with open interest. Petra smiled at them and looked away. The city was full of young women who had come to work as clerks and secretaries. Petra caught a glimpse of herself in a shop window. Blue eyes, high cheekbones, blond hair. She was not bad looking. Back in Berlin, she had easily passed herself off as German — at least until they heard her Polish accent. Here, the boys did not care about that. In America, she had learned that being Polish was even something to be proud of.

Unlike her mistress, she was modest and shy around men. She had gone on just two dates, both times with Josh Mead, who delivered groceries to the house. He was a nice enough boy who smelled of soap and chewing gum. Their second date had ended with a lingering kiss like the ones Petra had seen in the movies. He was off in the army, bound for Europe now that he had finished his training. They still exchanged letters. That had been the extent of their romance, though Petra doubted one could even call it that. She wondered if she would see him again when the war was over — if he survived. Every day the newspaper was filled with the names of the dead.

Pushing such thoughts from her mind, Petra took a deep breath of the crisp air and walked on. She reached the hotel entrance, which was busy with people coming and going. She passed a woman wearing a fine fur coat, which only made Petra feel all the more self-conscious in her second-hand coat — a hand-me-down from Frau Von Stahl. But perhaps some aura of the movie star remained because the doorman smiled at her as he held the door for her. Even the clerk behind the hotel count was attentive. He took the package, explaining that Captain Walker was out but could collect it when he returned. Disappointed — she liked the energetic young officer — Petra thanked him and went on her way.

Her errand completed, she continued to stroll down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the capital. She had no particular destination in mind. She was trying to decide between a movie — or perhaps a pastry and a cup of coffee — when she saw a familiar face come out of a house. Hess. Petra froze and her sunny mood evaporated. He was just about the last person in Washington that she wanted to see. Much to her relief, Hess did not notice her but turned and walked down the street with his back to Petra.

She slowed her pace until he was almost out of sight, then lingered in front of the house she had seen him leave. What was he doing there? In the front window, she saw the hand-lettered card advertising “Rooms for Rent.” Had Hess found another place to live without informing Frau Von Stahl? How curious. Petra might have walked on, but she thought how pleased her mistress would be if she came back with some nugget of information about what Hess was up to in the city. Her reward might be even better than a movie ticket and an afternoon off.

Petra hesitated before the door. She glanced down the street to make sure that Hess was gone. She knew some things were better left alone, but if Hess was going to cause trouble for them, she wanted to know about it. Besides, she could always tell whoever answered the door that she had come to enquire about a room. She took a deep breath, then gathered her courage and knocked.

“Yes?” A middle-aged woman opened the door. She appeared soft and grandmotherly, not at all what Petra expected.

“Is Mr. Hess here?” she blurted.

“Hess? There’s no one here by that name, dear.” The woman did not look at all put out, which reassured Petra. “When I heard the door I thought it was Mr. Brinker coming back. He left just a minute ago.”

“Mr. Brinker … that was who I meant,” Petra said. “I must have the names mixed up. I am so sorry.”

“My, you have an accent too,” the woman said. “I’ll just bet you work at the eyeglass shop with Mr. Brinker.”

Petra had no idea what in the world the woman was talking about, but she felt rooted to the front step, too far into her ruse to flee without making the woman suspicious. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “I am from the eyeglass shop. There was a package I was to pick up from Mr. Brinker.”

“But honey, he just left.”

“He said he would leave it in his room,” Petra explained. “He was not coming back to work today so I was sent to pick it up.”

The landlady narrowed her eyes. “Not going back to work? Hmm. I hope he’s not off drinking. I don’t care for drinkers under my roof. He was home all day yesterday, you know. He claimed he wasn’t feeling well.”

“I do not know where he is,” Petra said truthfully.

“You said there was a package?”

“Mr. Brinker said that if he was not home then it would be right on top of his bed.”

“I see.” The landlady shrugged, but Petra had the sense that the landlady welcomed a chance to snoop in the so-called Mr. Brinker’s room. “I don’t like to intrude into my boarders’ rooms. But if he said it was going to be there, I don’t see any harm in it. Let’s go up.”

Petra followed her up the stairs. “Has Mr. Brinker been here long?”

“He just moved in, as a matter of fact.”

The room was tucked under the eaves on the fourth floor, which meant the landlady was winded by the time they reached the landing outside the door. She knocked, puffing mightily, but there was no answer. She inserted the key in the lock.

The room was sparsely decorated, with just a narrow bed and a dresser. A chair and table stood in the center of the floor. The room could have been anyone’s. Then Petra spotted a quilt on the bed that had clearly come from Eva Von Stahl’s house. She was reassured that Hess could not be trusted. What else might he have taken?

“I hope he doesn’t plan on feeding the pigeons,” the landlady said, nodding at the large sack of birdseed on the table. “They make such a mess.”

Petra suppressed her outrage over the stolen quilt and walked over to the window. The paint was cracked and flaking. This was an old house and the landlady would have her work cut out for her keeping ahead of it. Most of the houses in Poland had been a lot of work like that. Even the glass in the window was the antique wavy kind. She looked out on the slightly distorted view of Pennsylvania Avenue below. She could see the entrance to the Metropolitan Hotel clearly; if Hess had been watching, he would have spotted her coming and going through the doors. She threw open the window. There was no birdseed on the sill outside.

She turned and walked the few steps to the center of the room, then sat down in the chair with the sack of birdseed on the table in front of her. She knew that Hess was not the sort of man who made a hobby of feeding pigeons. There was a long depression in the middle of the sack, as if some heavy object had been resting there. From where she sat, she had a perfect view out the open window of the hotel entrance and of whoever came and went.

“It’s a little chilly up here, dear,” the landlady said, rubbing her arms. She moved to shut the window.

Petra was covered in goose bumps, but it wasn’t from the cold. She was thinking of Hess’s rifle and of the sniper’s scope so carefully wrapped up with it. No wonder he had warned her not to look. She jumped when the window slammed shut.

“I must go,” Petra said, standing so suddenly that the chair fell over. If Hess returned to find them in his room, there was no telling what he might do.

“What about the package?” the landlady asked.

Petra didn’t bother to answer. Only with an effort did she manage not to run from the room. The landlady hurried after her. “What should I tell Mr. Brinker?” she asked as they went down the stairs.

“Please, tell him nothing,” Petra said. “Maybe I was mistaken about the package being here. I don’t want him to be cross with me.”

“But —” The landlady, red-faced from taking the stairs so quickly, looked flustered.

“Thank you,” Petra said at the front door. “You have been very kind.”

Petra half-feared that she would run into Hess, but he was not on the street. All thoughts of a movie or magazines disappeared as Petra hurried home. Too impatient to wait for the light to change, she ran through traffic, prompting drivers to honk their horns. Petra barely heard them. She went in through the back door, glad to find the kitchen empty. She went right to the pantry and looked on the shelf where the case holding Hess’s rifle had been hidden. It was gone.

Hess might have thought he had chosen the perfect hiding place, but nothing that happened in Petra’s kitchen escaped her attention. She had known the rifle was there, and now she knew it was gone. That could only mean it was hidden somewhere in the room at the boarding house. But where? She was sure it was under the mattress, beneath a floorboard, or any other place she had not been able to look with the landlady standing there.

Petra now understood without a doubt why Hess had come to Washington. She might have guessed as much when she first looked into his eyes and glimpsed his soul. She suspected that the German’s soul was a little like one of those deep, dark wells into which one pitches a stone but never hears it splash.

She knew then what she must do. Telling Frau Von Stahl was out of the question. Her mistress would never turn on Hess. The result would be that whatever Hess was up to in Washington would bring ruin to them all. She was angry, thinking that Hess had put at risk her life here in America. She had a room to call her own, a warm bed, good food to eat. That had not always been the case in the war-torn Poland of her girlhood. She knew she had to be clever now. She was going to let someone know about Hess, but it had to be the right person. The police would think she was crazy. No, she thought, she must think of someone else.

Hess must be stopped, no matter what.

“I know just the person,” she finally announced to the empty room.

Gathering her courage, Petra made her way into Frau Von Stahl’s study. There was a bookcase and an old-fashioned radio where Dorsey sometimes tuned in baseball games when he knew the mistress of the house was not at home. At one end of the room was a tidy desk where Frau Von Stahl wrote letters, paid her bills and attended to other household matters. In a top drawer, Petra found a stack of blank stationery in a creamy yellow color. She settled herself at the desk and began to write.

Petra could not remember the address of the house where Hess was hidden. Also, Petra thought this might be a case where it was better not to show that she knew too much. It might be easier to explain later. She folded the paper carefully and stuffed it into its matching envelope. She addressed it to Colonel Fleischmann. He had overheard him mention once that his office was located in the National Institute of Health building. Petra knew from his visits to the house that he was a man with connections — leastways, that was what he liked to brag. He would know just what to do with the information. Briefly, she considered sending a similar note to Ty Walker. While he was a friend of Frau Von Stahl’s and was assigned to General Eisenhower’s staff, Petra had the impression that Captain Walker was someone who would come running to Eva Von Stahl to ask her what she meant. Petra didn’t think there was time for that. She needed someone who would act immediately and ask questions later, if at all.

She put her coat back on and hurried to deliver the note that would save the general.

Hess took his time returning to his room in the boarding house because he had seen General Eisenhower leave in the morning with his entourage of officers. Once again, a clear shot had not presented itself. He doubted that the general would return until evening. Hess would be waiting, hoping that his luck would be better.

He climbed the stairs to his room. He did not see Mrs. Gilpatrick upon entering the house and there was no light under the door of the other boarder's room. As soon as he entered his own room, he knew something was wrong. There was a scent in the air of perfume or powdered talc. Without bothering to close the door, he walked to the dresser and looked for the rifle. Still there, undisturbed. He made a quick inspection of the room. Everything seemed to be in its place except for the chair next to the table, which had been moved. Someone had been in the room.

Hess heard the sound of footsteps in the landing and whirled, reaching for the Luger tucked into the waistband at the small of his back. But it was only Mrs. Gilpatrick, who stood in the doorway. He let his hand fall away from the pistol grip.

“Mr. Brinker, where have you been?” she asked, hands on her hips and an expression on her face like a stern schoolteacher. “I understand you weren’t at work today.”

“You were in my room,” Hess said, barely able to control the anger that suddenly welled within him. He took a step toward the landlady.

“A girl came to collect a package,” the landlady said, her stern manner slipping. “I didn’t think there would be any harm in it.”

“What girl?”

“The girl from Sterling Optical,” Mrs. Gilpatrick said. She suddenly looked perplexed. “Don’t you know her? She didn’t want me to tell you, but I don’t want you to be upset about someone coming in here. I thought I should explain.”

“This girl,” he said. “What did she look like?”

“A nice-looking girl,” Mrs. Gilpatrick said. “She had an accent much like yours.”

Hess took a step toward her. “You should not have let anyone in here,” he said.

Mrs. Gilpatrick retreated to the landing at the top of the stairs. She fingered her necklace of fat, fake pearls nervously. “I didn’t think you would be so upset,” she said.

Hess closed the distance between them in two short steps. Wide-eyed, the landlady made a frightened sound and tried to retreat, but Hess had already caught her. He grabbed her from behind in a chokehold. She was heavier and stronger than she looked but Hess turned her weight against her as she struggled in his grip. He used one hip as a fulcrum to lift her feet off the floor. Choking now, she tried to claw at his face but Hess moved his head out of reach. The crook of his elbow acted like a hangman’s noose, strangling the landlady. Her body bucked and struggled against him and Hess staggered backwards. She was taking a long time to die. He worried that someone might hear — to his own ears it sounded as if he were strangling an elephant. Hess got the heel of his free hand under his chin, then shoved up and twisted at the same time. He felt something crack in her neck and the sudden dead weight in her arms almost forced him off balance. Still holding her around the neck, Hess let the body slump to the floor almost gently. Hess was breathing heavily from the struggle — the old woman had put up more of a fight than he expected. He stopped to listen, regretting how much noise they had made during the brief struggle. Hess heard nothing in the house but the hiss and pop of the radiator somewhere on the second floor.

He returned his attention to the body. Mrs. Gilpatrick did not look peaceful in death. Her eyes bugged from her head and her face was purple, like a stormy sky or bruised fruit. Well, she had brought it on herself, Hess thought. The trouble now was what to do with the body.

The thought of spending a night or more with a body nearby did not bother him; Hess had seen so many dead in Russia that a corpse seemed almost like an old friend. However, he did not know how much longer he might have to wait before he got another chance at Eisenhower, so his main concern was to make sure that no one stumbled upon the body in the meantime.

He dragged her body back into his room — the old lady was heavy as a sack of potatoes — and managed to shove the corpse under his bed, where it was hidden by the blanket that draped over the mattress and nearly touched the floor. It was not a perfect hiding place, but it would do well enough. By the time anyone missed the landlady he would be either dead or fleeing for his life through the countryside beyond Washington.

Once the body was hidden, Hess dismissed any further thoughts of the old lady as easily as if he had snapped off a light. He locked the door, then retrieved the rifle from his hiding place. He gave it a quick inspection just to make certain no one had tampered with the weapon. The rifle felt as easy in his hands as a well-used tool. He worked the bolt action, inhaling the sharp scent of gun oil that was like perfume to his nose. Then Hess settled down behind the rifle.

He wondered about the visitor to his room. Hess mused that he did not have many acquaintances in Washington, so the girl the landlady had described must be Petra. Who else but Eva Von Stahl’s servant would bother to find out where he was staying and what he was about? Hess did not know if Petra was acting on her own or on behalf of her mistress. He told himself that it did not matter. They would know his purpose in the city soon enough. The whole world would know.

General Eisenhower would be in Washington for three more days. Hess was sure he would have a chance to kill him during that time.