Rain dripped down his face, and he was breathing hard. His eyes were tense and humorless. “Trying to beat the rain?” she asked. But she knew that wasn’t it. “No. There’s trouble coming, Anya.” He told her all about it, starting with how little Gerta Janek had been found with the blood drained out of her. She called out to God and cupped her hand to her mouth. Nothing human could have done such a thing. He told her no, it was clearly knife wounds. No doubt about the perpetrator’s humanity. She said that it didn’t make sense to blame it on the Jews. “That may be true,” he said, “but I still have to leave the city to night.” “To night? Why so soon?” “You know that I’m not much of a fighter, Anya.” “But you said the Jews have three days to flush out the killer.
