one-way tickets — to Zurich and to Basle. He bought them at ten-minute intervals, using two different ticket windows. As the express slowed down and slid into the main station at Basle he was standing by the exit door, clutching his suitcase.
He phoned Erika Stahel from a booth in the huge station. He found himself staring at every passenger who lingered anywhere near the booth. He knew his nerves were in a bad way. Which was when a man made mistakes. Christ! Would the cow never answer? Her voice came on the line as if in response to his plea.
`It's Manfred...'
`Well, well, stranger. Isn't life full of surprises?'
Erika didn't sound welcoming, certainly not enthusiastic, he thought savagely. Women needed careful handling. He forced himself to sound confident, pleasant, firm. Any trace of the jitters and she wouldn't cooperate. She knew a little of what he did for a living.
`I need a place to rest, to relax...'
`In bed? Of course?'
Her melodious voice sounded sarcastic. He wondered if she had a man with her. That would be a disaster area. It was a few months since he'd last contacted her.
`I need you,' he said. 'As company. Forget bed …'
`This is Manfred Seidler I'm talking to?' But her voice had softened. 'Where have you come from?'
`Zurich,' he lied easily.
`And where are you now?'
`Tired and hungry — inside a phone booth at the Hauptbahnhof. You don't have to cook. I'll take you out. Best place in town.'
`You counted on me being here — just waiting for your call?' `Erika,' he said firmly, 'this is Saturday. I know you don't work Saturdays. I just hoped...'
`Better come on over, Manfred …'
Erika Stahel lived in a small, second-storey apartment near the Münsterplatz. Seidler lugged his suitcase through the falling snow, ignoring the cab rank outside the station. He could easily have afforded transport but cab-drivers had good memories. And often they were the first source the Swiss police approached for information.
It was ten o'clock in the morning when he pressed the bell alongside the name E. Stahel . Her voice, oddly recognizable despite the distortion of the speakphone, answered as though she had been waiting.
`Who is it?'
`Manfred. I'm freezing..
`Come!'
The buzzer zizzed, indicating she had released the front door which he pressed open as he glanced up and down the street. Inside he climbed the steps, ignoring the lift. You could get trapped inside a lift if someone was waiting for you. Seidler had reached that state of acute nervousness and alertness when he trusted no one.
Her apartment door was open a few inches and he had reached out to push it when he paused, wondering what might be on the far side. The door opened inward and she stood looking at him without any particular expression. Only five feet four tall, she was a trim brunette of twenty-eight with a high forehead and large, black steady eyes.
`What are you waiting for? You look cold and frightened — and hungry. Breakfast is on the table. A jug of steaming coffee. Give me your case and eat …'
She said it all in her calm, competent voice as she closed the door and held out her hand for the case. He shook his head, decided he was being too curt and smiled, conscious of a sense of relief. He was under cover.
`I'll put the case in the bedroom if you don't mind. A couple of minutes and I'll be myself..
`You know where the bedroom is. You should by now.' Her manner was matter-of-fact but she watched him closely.
Inside the bedroom with the door closed, he dropped the case on one of the two single beds and looked round quickly. He needed a hiding-place and only had minutes to find a safe one.
Moving a chair quietly against a tall cupboard, he stood on it and ran a finger along the top. His fingers came away with a thin film of dust. The rest of the place was spotless — but small women often overlooked the tops of tall cupboards. He stepped down and opened his suitcase.
The smaller, slim executive case was concealed
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