Winter's Bullet Read Online Free Page B

he’d had. Then he picked up a block of shrivelled soap that reeked of coal tar, and a scrubbing brush, and set to work. He watched the brown water swirling down the drain and smiled even though his skin was burning from the scrubbing. He was actually clean, for the first time in six weeks, the ingrained grime finally gone, the black around his fingernails banished. It felt glorious. He stepped out of the shower, wrapped a rough dry towel around his skinny waist, and walked across to survey himself quickly in the mirrors above the washbasins.
    His ribs were sticking out and his elbows were skinned raw, but his skin was a blotchy clean pink that was wonderful to his eyes. He touched the raw skin and winced, then slowly got dressed. The quartermaster had provided him with a smaller version of the local police uniform – fresh socks, underpants, a warm woollen shirt, and strong-looking grey trousers and tunic.
    Tygo took the comb out of the glass of disinfectant by the basin taps, and ran it through his long hair, slicking it back. His dark eyes stared back at him, and despitehimself he smiled. Whatever else might be happening, at least he felt human again, unlike that poor girl hiding in the chimney. He hadn’t really stopped thinking about her since he got back, his mind returning every few minutes to those frightened ice-blue eyes.
    Hurrying up the stairs to the ground floor, he started to turn over a plan in his mind, but his thoughts disappeared as he reached the top. Two Gestapo officers were half carrying, half dragging a suspect down to the cells below. He looked young, not much older than Tygo, with a little van Dyck moustache and beard which were covered in crimson. His right eye was squeezed shut and a nasty purplish blue.
    For an instant Tygo pictured himself crossing to the young man, punching the two guards out with lightning blows and dragging him down the stairs, saying, ‘It’s all right, I know a secret exit, we can get away!’ For a moment he fantasized he was that boy of action, then he glanced away, ashamed, and hurried past them. If he had even tried to do something like that he would be cut down before he’d gone ten paces.
    God, how he hated it all, this feeling of being trapped, with no way out other than a bullet from either the Nazis or the Resistance.
    When he reached the third floor it was deathly silent. The staff had left for the day, and there was only a light on in Krüger’s office at the far end of the corridor.
    He walked along the linoleum-lined floor, and stopped outside a door. Painted on it were the words: ‘RecordsDepartment’. Tygo stood there thinking for a moment or two then looked around. The plan that was forming in his mind took another step forwards. Here was an opportunity to find out about the house and its occupants . . . maybe even who the girl was, and a clue as to what exactly Krüger had been hunting for there. It was risky if he was caught, but the place was empty after all, and he would be quick about it.
    He checked the corridor again and carefully turned the handle on the door. It was unlocked. He stepped inside.
    â€˜What are you doing?’
    Tygo froze. He slowly turned and found a middle-aged, hatchet-faced woman standing behind the door, buttoning her woollen overcoat. She had already turned off all the lights as she prepared to leave, he realized.
    She walked around Tygo, and switched the lights back on. ‘Who are you?’ She looked him up and down.
    Tygo decided his only chance was to brazen it out. ‘I’m Tygo Winter. I assist Oberst Krüger in asset protection.’
    At the mention of Krüger’s name, the woman’s demeanour seemed to shift. Nobody, Dutch or German, wanted to cross Krüger.
    â€˜Well, what does the Oberst want?’
    â€˜Some information, on a property on Voorthuizenstraat, number 73.’
    â€˜Can’t it wait till the morning?’
    â€˜No,’ said