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by the cold grip of fear, and began his descent back toward the hotel far below. As he walked with steps careful enough to prevent a stumble, he continued to look back at the brooding dark forest and the secrets locked within.

Chapter 4
     
    Kill him too perhaps; it might be the most prudent course, the figure reasoned. As with the first one taken down, there was no other party in the area to interfere. This new intruder could be killed like the other, quickly, efficiently. But this time it would be judicious to move the body into the woods and bury it. He followed the steady retreat of the figure intently from his refuge in the deep and embracing forest shadows. He felt the heft of the edged weapon in his hand and flexed his toned biceps, savoring the feel of rushing adrenaline. If it is to be done, it must be done soon; the target was steadily moving away.
Perhaps it would not be so easy this time. For one thing, the intruder did not take his eyes from the tree line as he headed back toward the valley floor. The man was suspicious, as if he sensed he was being watched. A headlong rush toward him from the woods would be detected and the man would run downhill at top speed, maybe bellowing for help. If the fellow was a good runner, he might be difficult to catch or, infinitely worse, might not be caught at all. There was no darkness to conceal an attack this time. And if the assault succeeded, even if the corpse were buried, the end result might still be a redoubling of police activity.
The matter of what was secreted in the cave was far too important to endanger. It would, in theory, be a fine thing to kill this intruder, but there was considerable risk involved and he dared not wager such enormously high stakes in a game of chance.
He watched the figure recede into the pastoral distance until hedisappeared below the slope of the hill. You will live for now, the watcher thought, but events yet unseen will in the end determine your destiny, and, for that matter, my own.

Chapter 5
     
    “
Gruess Gott
” Waldbaer intoned as Robert stepped from the elevator into the deeply veneered comfort of the hotel lobby. After a perfunctory handshake, the detective guided the American to a small corner table in the high-ceilinged breakfast room. A teenage waitress wearing a puffy-shouldered green dirndl served them coffee. With her departure, Robert leaned across the table and half-whispered, “I think someone was watching me yesterday.”
Waldbaer looked steadily at his table partner and waited for more.
“I went up to where my brother was killed. I found the meadow. While I was standing there, I had this feeling that I was being watched.”
“A feeling,” Waldbaer repeated evenly. Hirter raised his hands in protest. “I know what you’re going to say. I don’t have proof. That’s right. And I didn’t actually
see
anything. But I’m certain someone was there behind me, in the woods, watching.”
The police official still said nothing, and Robert’s voice took on an injured tone. “I’m not saying you need to believe it, but I want to tell you what I felt. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it, Herr Hirter, but on my own terms if you don’t mind. You are correct that your feelings, no matter how compelling to you, are not evidence. Any investigation relies on facts. A feeling is not a fact. A feeling is not rational.” He paused and placed both hands around his ceramic coffee cup. “But I’ve been around long enough to conclude that there’s always a bit of room on the margins of an investigation for the irrational. So, I don’t dismiss it, even if I can’t
do
much with it. At the very least, I have to consider the possibility that whoever killed your brother might still be in the area. Which logically opens up the possibility that you might have been followed. I can assign an officer to watch over you during your stay.”
Robert considered, furrowed his brow while reaching for his own cup of black Dahlmeier