Free The Killing of Emma Gross by Damien Seaman

pulled. This one felt like it was covered in soft plant roots or decomposing grass. It came out with ease, plopping out of the loam, my fingers tangled in the roots. It was light for a rock. The surface texture on the other side was smooth, slippery, like it was coated in wax. A chunk of the wax flapped loosely around a narrow base as I brushed at the earth. I turned the rock around.
    Two sunken eyelids met my gaze. Something black and shiny crawled from under the left eyelid on lots of legs. I dropped the head in the hole, scrabbled out and retched in the long grass, Kürten laughing all the while.
    This time when the blue coats rushed towards us I didn't try to stop them.

7
     

    Someone was hanging around outside my apartment building when I got back from Mühlenstrasse at seven pm.
    He was wearing a shapeless brown overcoat and a workman's cap against the chill evening. He was smoking a pipe, clasping the end between teeth that reflected the street light through his dark beard. He looked familiar. He saw me and waved.
    'Hello Tom,' he said, shoving himself off the lamp post he'd been leaning on. The voice did it.
    'What can I do for you, Du Pont?' I asked.
    'More a case of what I can do for you, I'd have thought.'
    I wasn't too interested in Du Pont's favours. It was one of said favours that had got me into trouble over my non-existent Red Front contacts all those months ago, and right after the Prussian interior ministry had issued a blanket ban on all Red Front activities. All the excuse Ritter had ever needed to start spreading rumours.
    'Still talking in riddles,' I said. 'Whatever it is, can't you find someone else to deal with it? I've been burned enough handling your information.'
    Du Pont squinted at me. 'What the hell happened to your face?'
    I unlocked the front door, crossed to the mailboxes on the blue-and-white tiled wall. Du Pont followed me into the foyer. I unlocked my mailbox. It was empty.
    'Popular as ever I see,' Du Pont said. He held the front door open and tapped out his pipe. Then he put the pipe in his hip pocket and let the door swing shut.
    I ignored him and tramped up the wooden stairs opposite the mailboxes. The stairs creaked under my weight. Du Pont followed me up, the two of us creating a chorus of off-tempo creaks and echoes.
    'Hey,' Du Pont said, 'don't think I'm not grateful for what you did for me. There's not everybody would stick their neck out for an informant the way you did. You know, a bombing –'
    'What the hell do you want, Du Pont?'
    We'd reached the top of the stairwell. To my right was the WC. At the end of the landing, beyond Effi Schneider's closed door, was my room.
    'That's what I been trying to tell you, Tom,' Du Pont said. 'I'm looking to pay you back for protecting me the way you did.' He was a chubby man underneath his heavy proletarian clothes and he was out of breath from climbing the stairs.
    I walked along the landing to my room, hoping Effi might be in so I could ditch this guy. Effi's apartment remained quiet as we walked by.
    'You know, if you dropped all the faux proletarian duds you might be able to make it up and down stairs that bit easier,' I told Du Pont.
    'Your concern touches me,' he said, removing his cap.
    I put my key in the lock and the door swung open without my needing to unlock it. Ah yes, I'd forgotten about that. Seemed like Effi had too. The door crashed into the bedstead. I turned on the light and the bulb threw restless shadows around the room. I couldn't face tidying the mess, but if I didn't do it now then maybe I never would.
    'Ritter still taking it out on you?' Du Pont said. He tugged my arm. I shrugged him off. 'Let me take you out for a beer, Tom. You need it. I mean, look at you. Look at all this.'
    I entered the room and started picking out dirty clothes, throwing them onto the bed.
    'As you can see,' I said, 'I've a few chores to do. I don't have time for your nonsense. I'm tired as it is. I've had a hell of a day.'
    'Yes, up at