NEWS: I have a short story coming out in an anthology in October. More details as I receive them.
EXCERPT: Fritz turned and walked to a large oak file cabinet. As he sorted through folders I took a few steadying breaths.
“Here we go.” He pulled out a stack of papers.
I leaned against the counter and tried to look composed.
Fritz passed me the incident reports with his short, blunt fingers. “Not much, I’m afraid.”
“Hey!” called a high pitched male voice behind Fritz. “You must not give her those reports.” A small man with erect military bearing rushed over to us and snatched the papers from my hand. “Who are you?”
Fritz looked worried. “She’s Hannah Vogel, with the Berliner Tageblatt.”
“You have identification?” He stared at me with dark crow’s eyes. His thick black hair was perfectly in order, his suit meticulously pressed.
“Of course,” I said. My identification rested in Sarah’s purse in the middle of the ocean. I rummaged through my satchel, for show, grief replaced again by fear.
“I’ve known her since she was seventeen years old,” Fritz said.
The man ignored him and snapped his fingers at me. “Papers, please.”
“They must be here somewhere.” My knees threatened to collapse. I took things out of my satchel, a green notebook, a clean handkerchief, a jade colored fountain pen that Ernst bought for me after he left home.
“What do you do at the Tageblatt?” His tone sounded accusatory. He leaned closer to me. I yearned to back away, but forced myself to remain still, like someone with nothing to hide.
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