Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

“I have nowhere else to go. If you have somewhere to hide, I’m open to suggestion.”

“Not really. The Resistance.”

“Sure. Where do they hang out?”

“I can try and find out.”

Patience shook her head. She’d involved her enough and still didn’t know if she was making a mistake attending this interview. The only good thing about it, and it was very minor, was that she wasn’t stressing about the outcome. She had far bigger problems on her mind. She answered the foreman’s questions succinctly and was passable on the practical demonstration. There was no immediate position available, but he was impressed enough to offer her ad hoc work when needed. He would notify her through Mthandeni.

Patience considered the long commute on the way home. Perhaps occasional work there would be better than a fulltime working week. Father had paid off the house just before his health deteriorated, she could get by on parttime work. It would be less stimulating than her old job, but the designs they worked on were cutting edge. There was a bit of glamour to it, amidst the inevitable sweat and toil. There were several black women on the factory floor, more than in any other job she’d held. That wasn’t a requirement for her accepting the position, it was just nice to see it wouldn’t just be her and Mthandeni.

Patience made it home in the early afternoon – and saw their car outside her door! Turning around was so tempting. She didn’t, though, greeting Big Ears and his driver and accepting the lift back for round three. Big Ears led her to Kretschmer in a new interview room, this one down in the basement. No windows. It was smaller too, she could feel the warmth of Kretschmer’s breath as he sat facing her. Kretschmer didn’t have his notes this time, though had a book ready to write things down in as soon as she said something relevant. Big Ears remained standing, apparently not staying. He spoke to Kretschmer in German, Kretschmer stopping him.

“In French. She’s keeping secrets from us, let’s not copy that.”

“I’m really not,” Patience protested.

Kretschmer raised his brows doubtfully before looking back to Big Ears – she still didn’t catch his name upon his second introduction, something long ending in Eiss, maybe? “She went out in the morning.”

“An interview,” Patience admitted, suspecting they may already know. Lying to them about the small things wasn’t the best way forward.

“Ah. How did it go?” Kretschmer asked, seemingly genuinely interested.

“Fairly well.”

“Good luck. I take that as a good sign that you’re planning for the future. I’m taking that to mean that you intend to help us this time, then we can leave you alone to get on with your life.”

“What would you like to know?”

Kretschmer excused Big Ears and said to her, “We’ve told you about the massacre. How do you think those men died?”

“I’d be speculating.”

“That’s what I’m asking you to do.”

“Poison? Gas?” She felt like both had already been ruled out yet had nothing else to say. Apart from the truth, that Florence claimed them for her own. She wasn’t quite at the point where she could bring herself to say that. There was no way of saying it without it sounding like she was involved – and Patience had known it was coming before it occurred.

Kretschmer shook his head. “Neither. Mass heart failure is the current medical assessment. Bar Gardo Weller. He was shot dead by Tobias Markel. Markel was in the seat behind him. The bullet hit his spine, the theatre seat only slowing the bullet down so much. We know of no issue between the two men. Why do you think he shot him?”

“An accident?”

“I agree. I believe it was when he was dying. He may have been aiming for Florence and lacked the strength to raise his hand any higher. Her father was criminally insane. He was a cannibal who believed consuming human flesh gave him the strength and lifeforce of his victims. They shot him eight times in the chest when they arrested him. He survived without serious injury.”

“I genuinely didn’t know any of that.”

“Neither did we until recently. We’re the ones sharing again. Please, for your own sake, copy our example. Tell me everything you know, and I’ll do my best for you.”

“I don’t have another name to give you. I understand that’s what you need, but they’re all dead. My father could talk to spirits, that’s true. It was real. Sometimes they talked through him. I didn’t like that. He kept that side away from me when he saw how much I didn’t like it.”

“Transfiguration.”

She nodded. “His features changed, it wasn’t... I don’t think anybody could act that.”

“And Florence?”

“I don’t know.”

“85 Germans died. Somebody has to pay.”

“Even if that somebody has nothing to do with it?”

“There have been many reprisals of that ilk the last few years. If you try telling me everything you know without pausing to spin it favourable ways, it may help your case.”

“I think that you know that my involvement in this is so minimal that there’s next to nothing I can tell you.”

“I believe you are on the periphery of this, Miss Condeh. But even there your view is better than what you’re reporting back to me.”

Patience tried to help them, tried to be honest without incriminating anyone. Kretschmer still didn’t seem satisfied as the hours passed. He had tea brought in for both of them and informed her of a development as she drank her cup.

“I may have to return to Germany shortly for a few days. It won’t be a colleague I’ll be passing this onto after all. We’re going to have the Milice look into it and report back to us. I find them clumsy, to be honest with you, but knocking everything over may be the best way to get to the truth. You are better off dealing with me than you will be dealing with them.”

“I’ll say whatever you want me to.” The