The Dark Frontier by A. Decker (best books to read non fiction .txt) 📕

open. From his insecure vantage point, he could see that the man was carrying a large leather bag over his shoulder, which he let slip to the ground as he locked up behind him.

This was Frank’s moment. Emerging from around the corner, he brought the log down on the crown of the man’s skull before he had a chance to turn. Frank was struck by the almost spongy softness of the bone beneath the wood and prayed that he had not done this poor unsuspecting stranger any serious damage. Frank found himself apologising to the spreadeagled body for this violence, but his need – he told himself – was more urgent and more real than the marksman’s.

In the leather bag, he found two handguns. Not wanting to overstate his case, he took just one. Together with some rounds of ammunition. And tucked them into his overcoat pocket. He then dragged the man’s body back into the building, locked the door on him, and quickly considered his retreat. Since he needed to vanish into thin air without anyone seeing him, the village was plainly the wrong direction to turn. So he took a path that led up around the limestone rocks and over the hill that lay parallel with the railway line running back into town. By keeping to the grey-brown blanket of trees that covered this last dorsal outcrop of rock on the north-east tip of the Jura, he knew that he would eventually reach one of the sleepy villages further up the line, where he could take the little blue train back to Lutz’s unsafe streets.

The light of day was already beginning to fade, hastened by the path that carried him away down the eastern flank of the hill, where it lost all trace of the setting sun. The spreading gloom in the forest around him, the silence of the undergrowth broken only by his own footsteps, and the lights coming on in the distance celebrated his isolation. He gazed down at the lights of the village as he ran his fingers over the weapon in his pocket. Taking it in his hand and fishing the ammunition out of the box he had pilfered, he decided to load it before continuing his trek. Best to be prepared, he told himself. If Breitner’s friends or the cloth cap ran across his path, he would be ready for them.

Chapter 17

“I’m so happy you could return so soon.”

This was all Dr Zellweger said as he shook Ellen’s hand and – flustered, but correct as ever – politely took her luggage when he met her at the station. There was concern written all over his face. Ellen sensed that he wanted to say more. But she knew he was not inclined to discuss his patients outside the clinic, so he was certainly not going to attempt it in the hall of a railway station. It was not until they were in his car that he spoke again.

“Your husband seems to have entered an extremely labile phase,” he said. “I’m very worried about him.”

“You’ve found him then?”

He started the engine and focused on the traffic around him as he drove out of the station car park. Ellen was left teetering on the edge of expectation until he eventually found the words.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Again he fell silent and left Ellen waiting for him to elaborate further. While anxious to know more, she was also fearful of where her own curiosity might lead her. And asked no further questions. When eventually Dr Zellweger did speak, he also had no further answers for her. Only more questions. Guarded ones. The cautious, considered questions of a psychiatrist.

“My wife tells me you have seen your husband in Cologne?’

“Yes. I told her when we spoke on the phone yesterday that I’d seen him the very day I left here. When I changed trains in Cologne. He was getting on a tram just outside the station.”

“Are you sure it was your husband?”

“Of course I am.”

“This is very interesting,” he said rather mysteriously. Ellen almost had the impression he was talking to himself more than to her. “You see, we have evidence that your husband was here two or three days after you left.” He paused, ostensibly for reflection. But Ellen had the feeling it was more for effect, especially the way he threw the next question at her. “Why do you think he has been there?” he asked.

“I have no idea. But I know it was him.”

Generally, the polite correctness of Dr Zellweger had a calming influence on Ellen. She appreciated it. But today his manner irritated her. And she had no wish to share her suspicions about why Frank might have been in Cologne.

“What do you mean by ‘evidence’?” she asked. “You sound more like a policeman than a psychiatrist.”

He smiled.

“Like any science, psychiatry must also rely very often on evidence.”

“I thought you focused on facial expression and body language.” Ellen’s irritation made her a little too bold perhaps, but she felt she had a point to make, and was certainly not going to be taken for the fool he seemed to think she was. “Is that why you’re talking round in circles?” she added. “Because you have to keep your eyes on the road and haven’t got time to watch me?”

His smile now broke into a laugh, and although his amusement seemed genuine enough, she felt it was driven by embarrassment rather than a sense of humour. But at least it gave her the feeling that she had scored some kind of a point.

“My wife says the same thing,” he said. “And maybe it’s true, because I don’t like to talk much when I drive.” And so the remainder of the journey to the Zellwegers’ house continued in silence.

Marthe welcomed Ellen back with an air of concern and affection that was infinitely more sisterly than the reception she had received from Beth. She instantly felt at home again. Marthe had even made a pot of tea