The two men were bound to return once they realised that they’d passed an elevator inspector on the stairs of a hotel that possessed no elevator. But Harland was held to the spot. He looked down at the two small-calibre bullet wounds about two inches apart at Zikmund’s temple and reflected bitterly on the waste. He had come to like the man, his decency and humour, and felt he owed it to him to stay and see that his body was treated with respect. But he couldn’t.He looked around the room. The contents of his bag had been tipped on to the floor. He swept everything back, knowing that there was nothing to reveal his false identity, and slung it over his shoulder. He felt in Zikmund’s jacket pockets and removed the keys to the hire car. Then he left, without looking at Zikmund again, and hurried downstairs. He was still wearing the jacket that had saved his life when he sprinted across the road and burst through the entrance of Eva’s building. The doorman, by now suspicious of his comings and goings, shouted something after him.
