I’d been able to get this far by entering onto the property of the next-door neighbor, the loquacious Herr Thiemann. Going over the five-foot-high metal fence had required about twenty seconds. The problem now was to gain entry to the house itself. I had a number of choices, all of which looked extremely uninviting. I had already decided against going in through the glass doors. Whispering, I got Sylvia on my cell phone. “All systems go.” “Quiet on this end.” Sylvia was in the BMW, parked on the next street. In this area of the city, we figured the police, if they showed, would most likely have to approach from the Verdistrasse, which was the neighborhood’s main drag, and would have to go by the point where Sylvia was parked. Although the two glass doors on the veranda looked easiest, I couldn’t see beyond the heavy curtains drawn across them, and decided they might be alarmed. A better choice would be an upstairs window. I tossed the rope over the branch of an oak tree adjacent to the house, used it to haul myself up the trunk, which brought me within precarious reach of a second-story dormer window.
