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“Tell me,” he said.
“The chemical agent that killed Kevin and the Russians—and is killing me—was odorless. All of the experts agree on that. Yet, I smelled something distinct in the hallway when I found Kevin’s body. I couldn’t place it then. But I’ve encountered the same scent twice since. Once in the hospital, where it made me sweat bullets. And once just now, in your bathroom.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your very expensive cologne. A sniff of it unlocked the memories I was suppressing. The memory of you in the hallway, running away from the scene of the crime.”
I’ll admit, this last part was a bluff. I wanted to see what Bill would do. Confess immediately, or try to kill me? Instead, he tried a different approach.
“That’s not what happened,” he said coldly. “You’re suppressing the wrong memory, Sam.”
“I don’t think so. What did you tell him, Bill? That you finally agreed to meet me, so he brought you back to the hotel for a quick hello, maybe a friendly drink? And instead, you murdered him right outside our door.”
“You have it wrong, believe me. If you don’t stop asking questions, you’re going to get us both killed.”
“Only, you didn’t realize that two other people would have the horrible misfortune to step outside of their room at the same moment, so you killed them, too. Because it’s bad form to leave witnesses.”
I had Bill Devander exactly where I wanted him: on the razor’s edge. I could see it in his expression, the way he held his body. The way he held his gun. It was time to bring the mystery to a close.
“There’s just one thing I don’t know, and maybe you can help me sort this one out.”
“Sam, don’t do this…”
“How did an American executive in Berlin even manage to get his hands on an experimental chemical agent?”
The question tipped Bill over the edge. The life drained out of his face. He lifted the gun, pointed it at my face, and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 34
BY THE TIME Bill fired, I’d already let my body go completely limp and had collapsed to the ground. I heard the bullet shatter the tile wall behind me. Chunks of porcelain drizzled down to the floor.
I imagined Bill was probably wondering how he’d missed. I pressed my left foot against the door frame, then pumped my leg with all of my might, propelling myself deeper into the bathroom. As I slid, I used my right foot to slam the bathroom door shut.
Two bullets punched through the door in quick succession. Then a third, a bit lower than the first two shots.
But I had already rolled to my right, curling my body toward the sink. The three bullets tore up the floor behind me. Bill was firing blind.
I opened the sink cabinet and grabbed a container of some fancy bathroom cleanser. I dumped a small pile of powdered detergent into my right hand. Bill wrenched open the door and approached, gun in hand.
“I’ll never forgive you for making me do this,” he said, kneeling down to finish me off at close range, which was exactly what I was hoping he’d do. As he got closer, I blew the detergent directly into his eyes.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of calcium carbonate, sodium carbonate peroxide, hydrated silica, and assorted other ingredients blown directly on your naked eyes… but it’s a bad chemical burn. Bill’s hands flew to his face, and he howled inconsolably.
But the damned gun stayed in his hand. So I did a half sit-up and slapped my palms as hard as I could against both of his ears, which had the effect of a firecracker snapping off right in the middle of his brain.
Still, he didn’t drop the gun; I had to give him that. He clung to the weapon like a toddler with his favorite toy. I used the sink to pull myself up to a semi-sitting position as Bill scuttled like a crab out into the living room, moaning all the way. This was not good.
I needed to find another weapon. Any weapon. Something that would incapacitate Bill until I could question him properly. Once I knew where he had gotten the toxin, I could close this case. Report what I found to Quentin. Die in something like peace.
But then I heard a noise that changed everything.
The muffled crack of a gunshot.
CHAPTER 35
I CRAWLED INTO the living room and confirmed the worst: Bill had placed the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Instinctively, I pressed my fingers to his carotid artery. There was a mild blur of a pulse, about to fade away to nothing. Had it been stronger, I would have called an ambulance. I’ve seen human beings survive a shocking amount of head trauma over the years. But Bill Devander would be taking his secrets to a German coroner’s slab.
