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Cannon held the can at an angle so she could see the contents. “See, Wulf’s not a murderer. He’s just a guy with goodtaste in vodka. I’ve heard Karl and Wulf talk about this Stoffrei brand. Apparently, it’s excellent.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m more of a whiskey girl myself, and I don’t care how good that vodka is. Drinking on the job is a red flag.”
“Agreed, but—” He reached for his poorly discarded cup. As his fingers brushed the side of the desk, he paused. The desk was made of steel, but why was he touching wood? He crept underneath, his palm gliding along the out-of-place surface until he felt cool metal again. As he slid the wood panel over, a file folder fell out of a slim compartment cut into the side of the desk. Scooting back out, he stood.
Rosalie gripped his wrist. “What is that?”
“It fell out of a secret compartment.” He opened the folder. The photo inside almost madehimpuke.
Rosalie clamped her hand over her mouth. The door banged open and cut off her gasp.
Cannon spun as Wulf stepped into the office. His torso consumed the frame. His ice-colored eyes glowed in the dim room and fixed on the picture nestled in the file folder. “Tommy, leave us.”
His booming voice sent the young guard scurrying for the exit. Out of the corner of his eye, Cannon caught the movement as Rosalie rose from the chair and reached for her weapon.
Wulf reached inside his coat. “I wouldn’t pull your gun on me, Agent Zenner; I saw you handle it in the ER. You’re fast, but I’m faster.”
Even with purplebruises around her neck and stab wounds marring her pale curves, the dead woman in the picture, as shelay in shallow water, was beautiful. Rosalie swallowed and stared down Wulf. “You have sixty seconds to explain this photo and why you hid it before I arrest you for suspected murder.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded to the folder in Cannon’s grip. “She’s the reason I came to Red Snow.”
Turning to Cannon, he removed his wool cap and squashed it in his hands. The transformation from scary to sheepish was unnerving. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Dr. Ford. Everything on my job application and in my background check is as false as that panel in the desk.”
A high-pitched snort gurgled from Rosalie. “Told you he was fishy.”
“Not fishy. Justified.” Wulf stepped to his desk and spun his laptop to face them. A few taps on the keyboard brought up the murdered woman’s battered face on the screen. “This is Anya. She was my fiancée.” Sorrow deepened his accent. “We met in her village in Germany while I was on an assignment with Interpol.”
“Interpol. That explains a lot.” God only knew what experience he had. She didn’t doubt he’d be a quicker draw, nor did she doubt his innocence. Even the most highly trained agent couldn’t fake the sorrow in his eyes. She dropped her hand away from her gun. “What happened?”
“Anya and I fell in love quickly. We were going to wed after I finished my next assignment. The plan was for me to retire, sell my home in Munich, and move to Anya’s village, but she was murdered before I returned.” He splayed his hand across her photo and clenched the screen with his fingertips.
Rosalie touched his wrist. “I’m so sorry.”
“A few days before Anya was murdered, she told me the village was abuzz with news that a man named Klaus Ludwig, who had fled years ago after being accused of raping and murdering a young woman, had returned to his mother’sdoorstep in a casket. While Anya and I video chatted, we looked him up. Sure enough, we found a record of his arrest and his escape from the local prison.”
He paused to catch his breath. So did Rosalie. The need to open the rest of the files on the computer shook her hands, but she wouldn’t rush a grieving man,at least not in the next minute or so. She touched his arm to encourage him to continue.
“The next day, Anya called me from the café where she worked. A man around his mid-thirties or so who looked like Klaus Ludwig had come in. He asked her to take a break and go for a walk because he was new in town and wanted to see the sights.”
Rosalie sat on the edge of a chair, silently encouraging him to continue.
Wulf’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “My Anya politely told him that she was in love and offered him a map of the village.”
“Did she ask if he was a relative of Klaus Ludwig?”
“Anya wondered if he was Klaus’s son but didn’t ask. She was a tiny, quiet little thing. It took me a week of visiting the café to get her to make eye contact, never mind talk to me.”
“Did this Klaus look-alike get angry when she turned him down?”
“No. He thanked her for his coffee and pastry, and he left.” The nostalgic note to his voice disappeared. “That night, she called me again to say she’d spotted him standing outside the café just before it closed.”
Wulf pulled a photo out of his pocket and touched it as lovingly as he’d done to the screen. “I told her to call her cousin, who was a police officer, and stick by his side until I could get there. When she didn’t see the Klaus look-alike the next day, she went back to her normal routine.” Tears sprang to his eyes, and he cursed in German. “You see, Anya was shy, but she was fierceand independent. She asked for my advice but didn’t always take it.”
Rosalie touched his hand. “Oh, Wulf.”
“She didn’t make it home that night and wasn’t seen until her raped and tortured body was found in a stream two days later. Two other women in the village who had also been reported missing around the same time as Anya were found shortly after.” He sucked air through his teeth. “I should have gone to her the minute I sensed a threat.”
She wanted to say it wasn’t his fault but held her thoughts. Guilt didn’t resolve itself that way, if ever. “What did Klaus’s mother have to say about the grandson you suspected?”
