Sofie
The paramedics said that Jürgen probably needed surgery, and that it was serious. Very serious. Klaus retrieved one of Claudia’s housecoats for me and I threw it over my nightclothes, intending to go with Jürgen in the ambulance—but then I noticed the blue flashing lights on the street outside my house.
“Take care of him, please,” I begged the paramedic, as he shut the door to close Jürgen inside. He nodded at me, his eyes brimming with sympathy. “If he wakes up, tell him I won’t be far away.” At this, the sympathy intensified. It was clear this man did not expect Jürgen to wake up anytime soon, if at all.
A great wave of emotion was looming over me; I just couldn’t allow it to crash—not yet. I had to stay calm until I talked to the police, and in that regard, my state of shock was almost helpful.
“Mrs. Rhodes?” The first officer to approach me was Detective Johnson. He looked sleep-rumpled and irritated. Another man was right behind him—a younger man with light blond hair, and an equally disheveled suit.
“I’m Detective Tucker,” the blond man said. “Can you tell us what happened?”
I slowly, carefully explained about waking up to see the face in the window and running from the room to get Felix to safety. But from there, my memory was a little hazy.
“Jürgen must have run out into the backyard—the next thing I knew, there was the gunshot, and by the time I came into the yard, Jürgen was on the ground. Henry was there—”
“Henry?” Johnson interrupted me curtly. “Who is this ‘Henry’?”
“He lives a few blocks away, with his sister and her husband. Lizzie and Calvin Miller—”
“Oh,” Johnson said, eyes widening. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a notebook. Flicking back a few pages, he raised his gaze to mine. His nostrils were flared. “So you’re telling me that Henry Davis—American war hero Henry Davis—was watching you and your husband sleep? And then, unprovoked, he shot your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Where are your children now, Mrs. Rhodes?” Tucker asked, not unkindly. I pointed to Claudia’s house. Klaus was just a few feet away, watching silently. “Sir. Can you corroborate any of this?”
Klaus looked at me helplessly. I barely knew the man—even less than I knew his wife. He’d been a godsend that morning, but he wouldn’t lie for me.
“We heard shouting,” he said awkwardly. “Then the gunshot. Then a minute or so later, as I was pulling on my clothes, I heard Sofie calling for help. I didn’t see anything.”
“Why did you wait before you called for help?” Johnson asked.
“Henry was standing there with the gun,” I said. It felt like I was speaking too slowly, but I had an awful case of cotton mouth and I couldn’t release my words any faster. “It wasn’t until he dropped it that I could finally go to Jürgen. That’s when I called out for Klaus.”
“And where did Henry Davis go after he dropped the gun?” Tucker asked steadily.
“I bet he disappeared into thin air, Detective Tucker,” Johnson said wryly. Tucker shot him an impatient look, then turned back to me.
“Mrs. Rhodes?”
“He ran to the back fence and through that yard—” I pointed in the vague direction.
“Did you see any of that, sir?” Johnson asked Klaus, who silently shook his head. “But you did hear shouting. Before the shot was fired.”
“A few minutes before, yes.”
“Male voices? Female?”
“Both, I think?”
“Did it sound like an argument, sir?” Johnson said grimly.
“I was asleep, Officers,” Klaus said helplessly. “Claudia and I both woke to raised voices but I didn’t hear what was said.”
All eyes turned to me.
“You’re awfully calm for someone who just found her husband shot, Mrs. Rhodes,” Johnson said quietly.
“I’ve had a terrible shock,” I protested weakly.
“Women who have terrible shocks become hysterical,” he said dismissively.
“We should interview the neighbors behind,” Tucker said quietly to Johnson. “They might have seen something.”
“Yes,” I said, turning to look at their yard. Henry had gone that way, I was suddenly sure of it—and then he’d be only a minute or two away from his own house. “But you should go now, in case he tries to escape.”
“Mrs. Rhodes. I would think someone in your position would know better than to tell an investigating detective how to do his job,” Johnson said abruptly, then turned his gaze to Klaus. “Can the children stay with you and your wife, sir?”
Klaus hesitated, his gaze darting to the house. I knew he was wondering if Claudia would approve of this request.
“Don’t worry, Klaus. I’ll call Avril Walters,” I suggested uncomfortably. I was a little wary of her now, but she was still the only friend I had in Huntsville. “I’m sure she will watch them while I sort this out and while...” My throat tightened. “Just until I make sure Jürgen is okay.”
Avril was at the house minutes after I hung up. She had a scarf tied over her rollers and her face was bare, but she’d pulled on a pretty floral sundress. Two uniformed police officers arrived and were watching me as I paced the dining room, and when I heard her car in the drive, they followed me as I went to meet her at my front door. She immediately pulled me into a tight hug.
“What on earth is going on?”
“I don’t know how to explain,” I said numbly. “Could you just take the children for today? Jürgen is in the hospital, and I think the police want to...” I sucked in a breath, thinking about cold concrete cells and days of no sunlight. “To question me.”
“Oh, honey. Of course.”
“You’re Mrs. Walters?” Johnson said, approaching us.
“I am, sir,” she said calmly.
“I’ll speak to you alone before you go. Just need to confirm a few details.”
She gave me a wide-eyed look as she turned to follow Johnson into Jürgen’s study.
“Ma’am,” one of the uniformed officers said. “We’re ready to take you to the station now.”
They left me sitting in the interrogation room at the station alone for over an hour. I was desperate for news about Jürgen—more concerned with his health than my present situation, and that was saying something. The shock had worn off, and now it was a mammoth task to keep myself from spiraling into a panic over memories of the last time I was in an interrogation room.
But finally, the door opened, and Tucker and Johnson were there. Both looked grim.
“Is he—” I blurted, but Tucker’s expression softened a little.
“No, Mrs. Rhodes. The last we heard, he was still in surgery.”
I slumped with relief as the men took seats opposite me.
“You say that Henry Davis shot your husband this morning in the backyard of your home,” Johnson said, his tone firm and formal.
“That’s right,” I said. “Have you spoken to him?”
“We were planning a visit to his home,” Tucker said quietly. “But then we talked to your friend. Mrs. Walters.”
“Oh?” I said, eyebrows knitting. A shiver of unease raced through me.
“She told us some very illuminating information about your husband’s past, Mrs. Rhodes.” Johnson frowned. “She said you refused to deny that you were both Nazi party members back in Germany, and that Jürgen was an SS officer who...” His nostrils flared, and he stared at me with barely disguised hatred as he said, “...who ran some kind of concentration camp?”
“It wasn’t... I didn’t...” I gritted my teeth and tried to calm down. It would do me no favors to let them fluster me. “I came halfway around the world to be with Jürgen. Do you really think I’d hurt him? Do you really think I’d come here unless I loved him?”
“She also tells us that as late as last week, you told her that life was difficult here but that you couldn’t return to Berlin because of your husband.”
“I said nothing of the sort!” I exclaimed, but then I paused—because I did say that going home wasn’t an option. Maybe the detectives had twisted her words.
Or maybe she had twisted mine. My heart sank.
“And your husband broke into the Miller household a few weeks ago—”
“He did not!” I exclaimed. “Lizzie Miller made that up.” I squeezed my eyes closed. “Or her brother, maybe. I don’t know for sure.”
Johnson sighed impatiently.
“So your story is that Lizzie Miller made up a story about your husband breaking into her house and that Henry Davis just appeared at your window this morning and, without provocation, shot Jürgen and then ran away.”
“He’s been harassing us,” I said, eyes filling with tears of frustration. “He broke into our house! He threw a cake at me! He’s been walking up and down our street staring at me. For all I know, he’s been the one painting that word on the road outside of our house.”
“I didn’t see those reports on file,” Johnson remarked, almost smug. “Did I miss them? Should I take another look?”
“Jürgen spoke to you the first time that graffiti was found and you told him to just paint over it,” I said flatly. “We didn’t bother calling again after that. It was obvious you were not going to help us.”
“I hear you,” Tucker said, dropping his tone, as if to de-escalate the tension. I drew in a shaky breath, trying to calm myself. “But what I don’t understand is why no one we’ve interviewed so far can confirm a single thing you’ve just told us. Avril tells me you and she have become quite close, yet she didn’t mention a thing about this potential—what, assault by dinner plate? Or a break-in? Or Henry Davis lingering outside your house? If any of that really happened, Mrs. Rhodes, you must have been distressed—why didn’t you tell anyone? We even asked Klaus Schmidt and some of your other neighbors if they’d noticed anything unusual at your house. They all told us about the graffiti and that scene you caused at the Redstone Arsenal picnic, but had nothing else to report.”
“When Jürgen wakes up, he’ll tell you,” I whispered fiercely.
“If he wakes up,” Johnson said flatly. “I got the impression that was far from a sure thing when I spoke to the hospital earlier.”
I stared at them helplessly, but then a thought struck me. There were other people who knew at least part of what had been going on.
“Talk to Lizzie or Calvin Miller.”
After that, they moved me back to the cell.