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The pain in Tayte’s side from the bullet that had just hit him was surprisingly mild at first, but it soon intensified. He thought perhaps he was merely having a psychosomatic reaction to the stress he’d been under since going to see the man whom he'd thought was his grandfather, Johann Langner, but the sight of his own blood seeping through his shirt as Jean knelt beside him and lifted his suit jacket away told him the trauma was very real.

Jean grabbed his hand and placed it over the wound. ‘Keep it there,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it hurts, but you need to put pressure on it to slow the bleeding.’ She shook her head at him. ‘What were you thinking? You could have been killed.’

‘Sorry,’ Tayte offered. He winced. ‘I’ll think twice before I do it again, believe me.’ He lay still as Jean cut the rest of him free from the wheelchair. As he looked up, he saw Rudi, who was already on his feet.

‘It’s me who’s sorry,’ Rudi said. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to—’

‘It’s okay,’ Tayte cut in, smiling, despite the circumstances, at the man he now saw as his brother. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

Tayte hoped he was right. He saw Volker Strobel again then, now ashen faced as he peered down from his wheelchair. Tayte thought it ironic that he’d just taken a bullet for this man, not that he expected any gratitude for it. From the look on Strobel’s face, Tayte thought his actions, and the fact that he’d just saved the old man’s life, had only served to annoy him, which was fine with Tayte.

He extended his free hand to Rudi. ‘Here, help me up, will you?’

Tayte wanted to tell Rudi he believed he was his brother right there and then. He wanted to tell him so much, but now was not the time. He gripped Rudi’s hand as he reached out to him, and despite the pain he was in, Tayte was still smiling at Rudi as he was helped to his feet, his hand still pressed firmly to his wound. Tayte wanted to give Rudi a hug, but he was barely standing when the whole room seemed to shudder and everyone’s attention was drawn to the door, which had just been slammed shut.

‘Keller!’ Tayte said.

Jean sprinted to the door and tried to open it. ‘It’s locked. I can smell smoke!’ She began to thump the door.

Strobel was smiling again now. ‘That’s my girl,’ he said. To Rudi, he added. ‘She must have thought you’d shot me, or perhaps this is her way of fulfilling my wish to die.’

He began to laugh at the situation, but Rudi soon silenced him. He stepped up to the old man’s wheelchair and pulled him out and up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Then he carried him to the door. When he reached it he began to kick it, but the door was solid.

‘The gun,’ Tayte said to Jean, pointing at the wall beneath one of the paintings, to the gun Rudi had been holding. ‘Maybe you can shoot the lock through. Be careful, the safety’s off.’

Jean retrieved the gun and helped Tayte to the door, where Rudi was still trying with all his strength to break it down.

‘Stand back,’ Tayte said. He could smell the smoke fumes now, too. He only hoped the fire hadn’t yet taken hold of the building. Even if it hadn’t he knew they didn’t have long.

‘I’ve never fired a gun before,’ Jean said.

‘It’s easy. My adoptive father took me to a shooting range a few times when I was a boy. Just aim for the lock at an angle in case the bullet ricochets and squeeze the trigger.’

Jean held the pistol with both hands to steady her aim. A second later she fired, and she jumped at the sound it made, which was deafening in such a closed space.

Rudi approached the door again and gave it another kick. There was a cracking sound this time as the splintered wood began to give. ‘Again!’ he said, stepping back.

Jean fired at the lock again, and the next time Rudi kicked the door, it swung wide open. Smoke billowed into the room, followed by a wave of heat that told Tayte the flames were already out of control.

‘Quickly!’ Rudi said as he carried Strobel out. ‘Stay low. Cover your mouth.’

They were all coughing by the time they reached the end of the corridor, where the Nazi flags that lined the walls were all either burning or had already burnt out, presumably having been set alight by Keller as she left. Tayte was grateful they were in the basement where the foundation walls were made of stone, but that soon changed. Some of the walls further on were clad with wood and the staircase out of the basement was also wooden. Everything that could burn had begun to, including a small section of the stairs, which they had to pass through quickly so as not to set their clothes alight.

When they emerged onto the ground floor, heading for the main entrance hall where Tayte and Jean had previously bought their admission tickets, it was clear to see that Max Fleischer had been busy with his preparations for the inferno that was now well under way. The first floor had already collapsed in places and the heat was suddenly suffocating. They ran on as hot ash and burning debris began to fall around them. As they reached the main entrance hall, Tayte saw a familiar face. It was Tobias Kaufmann, standing just outside the entrance. He was with several officers of the Munich police, with Detectives Brandt and Eckstein among them.

‘Thank God you’re okay,’ Kaufmann said to Tayte as soon as he stepped outside. To Jean he added, ‘I came as soon as you called.’

It was almost dark out, the immediate area made brighter by the flames that were now raging through the building. As everyone moved away, coughing and spluttering as they made for the safety of the open car park, Tayte thought to check his watch, forgetting for a moment that he no longer had it. It was just an old digital watch, but it had been a gift from his adoptive parents that he’d had so long it pained him to think he would never see it again. He supposed by now that it was burning inside the building along with the rest of his things: his phone and his wallet. And while he was glad he hadn’t had his briefcase with him, he knew none of these things compared to the loss of all those fine paintings.

A siren began to wail in the distance, drawing closer.

‘That should be the ambulance,’ Kaufmann said, eyeing Tayte’s wound. ‘And by the look of you, not a moment too soon.’

Tayte still had his hand pressed over the area that was bleeding. ‘It hurts like hell, but I don’t think it’s too serious,’ he said. ‘I don’t imagine I’d be standing here if it was.’

He saw Ingrid Keller again then. She was in handcuffs, as dour faced as ever as she was helped into the back of a police car.
And good riddance
, Tayte thought.

‘How’s that hand?’ he asked Jean with a smirk.

‘I think it’s a little bruised, but it was worth it.’

‘I’ll bet. You’re pretty tough for your size, aren’t you?’

‘You did call me a tough biker chick once, remember?’ Jean jabbed her fist at the air and Tayte laughed until his wound forced him to stop.

He turned back to Tobias and pointed over to Rudi, who was surrounded by police officers as he lowered Volker Strobel into their custody.

‘Tobias, do me a favour, will you? Don’t let that old man out of your sight.’

Kaufmann scoffed. ‘You have my word on that, Mr Tayte. I’ll see he gets to trial. I don’t care how old he is. The Demon of Dachau will face the families of his victims and justice will be done at last.’

Two ambulances arrived and Jean helped Tayte towards them.

‘I also found out about my parents tonight,’ Tayte said, finding it hard to think about anything else.

‘What did you find?’

‘Strobel told me he killed them.’

Jean’s shoulders slumped. She squeezed his hand, her eyes doleful and sympathetic. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

Tayte was still somewhat shell-shocked by what he’d heard in that basement room, and yet he had to remind himself that he’d seen no hard proof to back up anything Strobel had said. Maybe Tayte was in denial about it, but for now he figured all he had was Strobel’s account of events, and he supposed Strobel would have told him just about anything to make him pull that trigger. He liked to think that Strobel had invented at least a part of his story, but he knew that a simple DNA sibling test could prove whether he and Rudi were from the same mother and father, and that would back up Strobel’s story of how he came to adopt him. And there was the niggling question that had always haunted Tayte.

If my mother was alive, why didn’t she come back for me?

As Tayte and Jean were met by two of the ambulance crew, wheeling a stretcher towards them, Tayte drew a deep breath and moved the conversation on. He didn’t feel up to talking about it just now. Instead, he turned his thoughts to Rudi. He would give him a few days to get used to the revelation that his adoptive father was really Volker Strobel, but he was anxious to see him again. If Rudi would agree to take the DNA test and it proved positive, he figured they had a lot of catching up to do. And he wanted to tell him that, contrary to what he believed, his mother did want him. He thought about getting home, too, so he could start digging around in the archives again, knowing he now had everything he needed to start building his own family tree, and to proving, or disproving, the things Strobel had told him about his parents.

But all that would have to wait.

‘I guess we missed our flight,’ he said as he sat on the stretcher.

‘I guess we did,’ Jean replied. ‘Not that you’re in any fit state to go anywhere other than to the hospital.’

‘And I guess you’ve had a pretty busy afternoon,’ Tayte added, wincing as he was helped into a lying position by the medics. ‘Right now might not be the best time for explanations, though.’

‘No, perhaps not,’ Jean agreed. ‘Let’s talk about it in the morning. I’ll come to the hospital with you.’ She paused, smiling. ‘Someone’s got to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.’

Tayte smiled back, but his smile quickly faded when he heard a chilling scream. He looked back at the burning building. There was a figure at one of the upper windows. It was difficult to make out who it was because of the bright flames that engulfed him, but Tayte knew it had to be Max Fleischer.

Having thought her father dead, in her haste to cremate him and kill everyone else in the room, Ingrid Keller had clearly not given a thought to Fleischer, who had still been in the building. Tayte watched him climb out of the window onto the ledge, and then, screaming, he jumped to his death.

Chapter Forty-Seven

It was just after ten the following morning, and having spent the night at the hospital, Jefferson Tayte was with Jean, strolling along the Renaissance Antiquarium at the Munich Residence. It was a lavish sixteenth-century hall of some sixty-six metres in length, with painted walls and ceilings, housing Duke Albrecht V’s collection of antique sculptures, from which the room took its name.

‘A promise is a promise,’ Tayte had told Jean as soon as they sat back in the taxi on their way there.

Tayte had also wanted to get away from the hospital as soon as he could, and Jean was in complete agreement that they had spent far too many hours there between them already that week. Tayte’s side was still understandably sore from his ordeal the day before, but the bullet Rudi had meant for Strobel had passed cleanly through him, an inch or so below his ribcage, thankfully missing his stomach. He had a few stitches to scratch at, and he would no doubt have the scars to look back on once everything had healed, but it was nothing more than a flesh wound.

‘And you’re sure my briefcase is okay?’ Tayte asked as they walked, sounding more concerned for his old friend than he had been for himself.

‘It’s absolutely fine,’ Jean said. ‘I told you, you can have it back when we leave for the airport. I want you all to myself until then.’

‘Okay, I’m all yours,’ Tayte said with a grin. ‘You know, I must thank
Mr Goodbar
next time I see him,’ he added, his grin widening. ‘I know I’m trying to cut down, but apart from that bar you bought for me on our first day in Munich, I’ve missed him this trip.’

‘Thank him for what?’

Tayte patted his stomach. ‘Well, if I didn’t literally have a soft spot for Hershey’s, particularly
Mr Goodbar
, I wouldn’t have built up this protective cushion around me. He might just have saved my life.’

Jean shook her head, laughing. ‘If you didn’t have your “protective cushion” in the first place, that bullet would have missed you altogether. Have you thought about that? And I suppose I didn’t have anything to do with it?’

Tayte paused while he pretended to think about it. ‘Well, maybe just a little,’ he said, teasing.

Jean gave him a playful slap. Then she put her arm around his waist and hugged him closer. ‘Well, I rather like you as you are, so I’ll say it for you. Thank you,
Mr Goodbar
!’

They both started laughing then, until they realised they were the only people making any sound in the otherwise reverently quiet hall.

‘So,’ Tayte said. ‘Now we’re away from that hospital for what I hope will be the last time, I think you have some explaining to do. How did you find me? I’ve been trying to work it out all night.’

‘The money,’ Jean said. ‘When I finally cleared the hospital, I picked up your message. I knew you’d left the record office and I tried to call you, but after several attempts I started to worry.’