Free A Few Words for the Dead by Guy Adams Page A

always stacks the odds the best he can. People can react badly to strangers on the doorstep. They can react twice as badly when there are two of them. Guilty people might be tempted to run or fight (and in either case, the second man then comes into his own). In this case, it hardly mattered as nobody came to the door.
    Engel knocked again. This time there was a noise from inside as someone sent something spilling with the shattering of glass.
    ‘You think we’re making Mr Grauber panic?’ asked Engel.
    ‘Always possible,’ I agreed, ‘or he’s in terrible trouble and would very much like our assistance.’
    Engel smiled. ‘Either way…’
    He once again took the opportunity to prove his skill with a locked door.
    ‘You’re worryingly good at that,’ I said.
    ‘A man needs a varied selection of skills in this business,’ he agreed.
    The door gave in and we stepped inside. We were immediately hit by the smell. Body odour and rot, food gone bad. Underneath that was another, more worrying smell: petrol.
    Ahead of us, a hallway extended to the rear of the apartment, doors leading off from it. All was dark, the faint light from the open door behind us revealing the tatty state of the hallway wallpaper but little else.
    ‘Mr Grauber?’ I called, ‘are you all right? We just want to talk to you if that’s OK?’
    From further into the apartment came a wet, slapping sound, like someone stepping out of the bath.
    ‘Please don’t tell me he was just in the shower,’ moaned Engel.
    ‘Better that than the possible alternative,’ I said. ‘Can’t you smell it? The petrol fumes?’
    ‘Stay back!’ came a voice from one of the far rooms. ‘You have to stay back. I can’t… It won’t let me…’
    ‘Mr Grauber,’ I said, ‘please, there’s no reason to be concerned. We just want to talk to you for a minute.’
    ‘You don’t understand,’ he was crying. ‘It won’t allow it…’
    ‘What won’t allow it?’ I asked but there was to be no answer. There was deep, pounding sound and an arc of orange light cut across the hallway.
    ‘Oh God…’ said Engel.
    Grauber walked into the hallway – he didn’t run, he walked – his entire body ablaze.
    I looked around for something I could use to try and put him out. I ran into the closest room, hoping it would be a bedroom – it wasn’t. From the light of the burning Mr Grauber, I could see a ratty sofa, a television and a stack of discarded takeaway boxes. Then I noticed the window. In place of curtains, Grauber had hung a blanket. I snatched at it. Behind me, Engel screamed. I tore the blanket down, bringing the heavy pole it had been draped over along with it.
    Entering the hallway, I was faced with the unbelievable sight of Engel being pinned against the wall, Grauber’s flaming hands gripping him by the lapels of his jacket.
    I lifted the blanket, meaning to throw it over both of them. Engel’s shirt was already alight, the flames from Grauber’s arms licking upwards towards the young man’s face, singeing his hair and searing his cheeks. Grauber had other ideas. He threw Engel towards me and continued on his way out of the door.
    I beat at Engel’s chest with the blanket. The young man hadn’t suffered any major injury, though he’d be sore for a while.
    ‘Go!’ Engel shouted. ‘Get after him!’
    I did as I was told, stepping out onto the balcony where Grauber was stood looking out into the snow-filled night. How could he still be moving? Surely the shock of the flames should have killed him by now? I could smell his meat burning, hear his skin and muscle crackle and pop as it constricted around his bones.
    I raised the blanket but there was no time. Grauber climbed onto the edge of the balcony and jumped out into the Berlin night.
    I watched as his flaming body toppled towards the snow-covered ground below, the flames whipping behind him in the updraft. Then, he hit the ground with a dull crack, splayed out on the ground. He looked