The Mortality Principle

Annja was still wrapped up in her thoughts when she realized that the policeman was talking to her. She shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t speak Czech.”

“Ah, did you see anything?” he asked, switching to English easily, though his voice carried a heavy accent. There was no way anyone would mistake him for a native speaker. Annja shook her head, so he moved on to the next person, no doubt sure this was a crime that didn’t warrant investigating given who the victim was.

“I might have heard something, though,” Annja said to his back. “Last night.”

He made no effort to disguise his world-weary sigh as he turned back to her. His pen was still poised over his pad. “What did you hear?”

Annja chose her words carefully. She didn’t want to risk any misunderstanding. “I heard a fight,” she began.

“A fight?”

She nodded. “Two men,” she said, though even as the words left her lips she couldn’t actually be sure that it was the truth. She’d heard so little, even with the window open. In truth, she had no reason to believe the dead man had anything to do with the struggle she had heard in the night.

“Can you describe them?” the policeman asked. “Anything at all?”

Annja held out her hands, shaking her head slightly. “I’m sorry, no. I only heard them. I can’t even be sure what I heard. It just sounded like fighting, but it was over very quickly, then I heard footsteps running away. It could have been anything, really. I just thought you should know.”

“When was this?”

“A little before three.”

“And where were you when you heard this altercation?”

She pointed in the direction of her hotel room, and her window, which didn’t really overlook the street by more than a few degrees, the laws of physics explaining why she hadn’t been able to see anything. The expression on his face changed. She couldn’t read him. He looked tired, and the stubble on his chin suggested a long night on duty was about to turn into an even longer day on duty. He made a note of her name and the room number, and offered cursory thanks as he moved on to the next face in the crowd, repeating his questions.

A man tried to enter the alleyway, but the policeman stopped him. The newcomer wouldn’t be deterred. He was determined to cut through the narrow passageway, and no dead body was going to stop him. The officer prodded him in the chest with a stubby finger. He might as well have hit the man with a Taser gun; the effect was just about the same. Annja turned toward the hotel and walked away as the disgruntled man started threatening to have the policeman’s badge. At least, that was what she chose to imagine his rant entailed. He could have been asking for alternative directions or if the good officer fancied a nice game of global thermonuclear war, for all she knew.

2 (#ulink_2c6e9f74-8324-5722-9d7e-3e7d78a688d6)

Annja still had no appetite.

She made her way into the dining room for breakfast, though she wasn’t sure she could face much more than a cup of strong black coffee. The stronger, the better, given it was going to have to mask the taste of death that had been cloying at the back of her throat since she stood in the alleyway.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked as she topped up her cup with a third refill in half an hour.

“I’m good, thanks,” Annja replied, picking up the cup without even thinking about it. She was no stranger to death, which wasn’t something she would have ever thought she’d find herself thinking a few years ago, but things had changed since Roux and Garin had walked into her life. What should have been the most horrific thing imaginable had almost become a fact of life, and of course there were those harrowing times when it had been her doing, a matter of kill or be killed.

But this was different.

She couldn’t shift the guilt. She could have done something. She’d heard it happening, had known instinctively something was wrong, but hadn’t gone down to check it out. She’d simply lain there telling herself there was nothing she could do. And even now, knowing that she was right—at least academically—emotionally she couldn’t banish the self-loathing that came with not even trying.

Someone had torn that vagrant open.

“Is something wrong?” the waitress whispered, her voice so quiet that none of the other diners would be able to hear what she said.

“Nothing that another cup of coffee won’t put right if I know you,” a familiar voice said, the man joining her at the table.

Annja didn’t need to look up to know who her visitor was.

“Garin,” she said. “I’m not even going to ask how you found me.”

“Shall I get another cup?” the waitress asked, smiling at Garin.

“That would be great.” Garin Braden tilted his head and offered a killer smile. “And I think maybe eggs Benedict.”

“Of course.”

At times it almost felt like he was stalking her. Wherever she was, he had the unnerving ability to find her without calling first.

“I really need to change my cell phone number,” she said.

“Wouldn’t help, I’ve had you tagged.” Garin grinned, and she wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

“What do you want?”

“Why so hostile?”

“I’m not, I’m just exhausted,” Annja said, which was partially true.

Garin nodded. “To be honest, I was just bored, and I hate being bored. I thought about taking a trip, but you know how it is. The thrill of white-water rafting and wing suits and bungee jumping and all that just pales into insignificance against everything else we do, so I thought, ‘I know, I’ll go see Annja. She’s normally up to her neck in something.’ And here I am. I took the liberty of checking into the room next to yours. No adjoining door, alas.”

“I don’t have time to amuse you, Garin. I’m working.”

“Actually, you’re having a cup of coffee.”

It had been a long time since Annja had worried about hurting his feelings; as far as she could tell he had no feelings to hurt. It didn’t stop him pulling a face as if she had mortally wounded him.

“I’d hate to have come all this way and not be able to at least share breakfast with my favorite television star.”

“Stop it, Garin. I’m not in the mood.”

“In the mood for what?”

“You.”

“Harsh, woman. Harsh.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you. Hard to believe, I know, but someone’s got to tell you the truth.”

“And that, my dear, is why I love you most.”

“Shut up.”

Garin grinned.

“Anyway, I’m not sure I can sit around wasting more time today. I’ve already lost an hour this morning thanks to the police.”