The Sleepwalkers Read Online Free PDF

“Thank God you’re here.”
    In between dizzy spells and spasmodic convulsions he told Willi his story.
    They’d arrived in the afternoon two days ago by train direct from Sofia, Bulgaria. They’d never been to Berlin before. “Vee came for zee bike races.” His German was heavily accented. “For two years I have trained.”
    After settling in at the Adlon, they hadn’t done anything. Only dinner at a nightclub. Where? He couldn’t remember the name; he was too tired to think straight. On the Friedrich Strasse somewhere. How had they found it? No idea. Magdelena must have known about it. No, of course, no one knew she was a princess. They always used his name when making reservations. Dancing? No. Magdelena couldn’t dance that night. She’d twisted her ankle earlier on the train and it was still bothering her. Unusual? No. Nothing. Nothing unusual at all, that he could recall. After dinner? She was totally normal. They went straight back to the hotel. By taxi. He had to race the next morning. He needed his sleep.
    “An hour later in bed, I notice Magdelena putting on coat. ‘Where you going?’ I ask her. ‘I vant cigarettes,’ she tell me. ‘Cigarettes? So why going out? Call room service.’ ‘I vant fresh air,’ she say. ‘To stretch a little my legs.’ I think to myself, before ankle killing her, now she wants walk. But half the time Magdelena’s a little how you say, cuckoo? So I am thinking nothing strange. Only all the time about race next day. I’m closing eyes. Maybe I sleep a little, maybe not exactly. Then I see clock. It say three a.m. Magdelena still gone. Now, I say to myself, Konstantin, something not right.”
    Willi had a sixth sense about when he was being lied to. Whatever had happened to the missing princess, her husband, he felt certain, had nothing to do with it.
    “Find her for me,
bitte,
Herr Inspektor.” Kaparov’s eyes had begun rolling back into his head again. “I don’t care about zees fuckink race. I only want Magdelena back.”
    When Willi returned to the Adlon, since Rudy the doormanhad still not arrived, he was treated to a six-course dinner at the lavish Grill Room. “Eat!” Hans insisted, joining him midway through. “God only knows where this town would be without men like you. Hey, you’ll never guess who’s staying with us.”
    Willi pondered over a most delicious stuffed grouse. “I don’t know . . . Hitler’s dog?”
    “Nein.”
Hans laughed. “But just as big a bitch, I tell you! The great Marlene Dietrich. What a pain in the ass. The trouble with these international stars is, just because they’re special, they think they ought to be treated that way. Complain, complain. Everything’s a hundred times better in America. Well, if you feel like that, why not move to America, is what I say.”
    “She may just yet, Hans.” Willi dug into a tureen of asparagus au gratin. “She may just yet.”
    He was finishing up a Sacher torte and coffee, more satisfied than he’d been all day, when Hans announced the doorman’s arrival. Willi met him at the entrance to the hotel under the long, striped awning.
    “Herr Inspektor-Detektiv.” Rudy was already in uniform. “How was I to know I’d be the last to speak to her?” His servile eyes had a look of real fear, as even the most innocent often had when being interviewed by Kripo. “She was acting strange, it’s true. But is it my place to question our guests?”
    “Relax, Rudy. Nobody said you did anything wrong. Now tell me exactly what happened. What do you mean, she was acting strange?”
    “It was right after midnight. Our busiest time. The lady came up to me, very exotic looking. Big dark hair. Dark eyes. Wearing a leopard coat, but no hat! Very quietly she inquires about the nearest S-Bahn station. Strange, I think, for an honored guest of ours to take public transportation—much less a lady alone so late at night. But truly odd was her voice . . . and the look in her eyes. I have a boy,