The Mortality Principle by Alex Archer Page A

nowhere to be found.
    In those two hours Annja learned just how many cracks there were in the city for people to slip between, and just how many sheltered nooks there were for them to make their bed for the night. They disturbed many of them hiding from prying eyes—some bums, some old alcoholics, some frighteningly young and broken—but failed to find the man they were looking for.
    Turek was recognized by several of the street people. They greeted him with the same hollow, haunted look as he spoke to them rapidly in Czech, only to shrug or shake their heads. Body language was universal. No one had seen the witness. More than one said they thought he’d left the city, gone back home because he’d convinced himself he would be the golem’s next victim.
    It wasn’t hard to imagine what had to have been going on inside his head. First, he had seen that strange killer, then learned that the only other person to see it had been found dead that morning. In his place she would have run, too, put as much distance between herself and the imagined creature as quickly as possible, put her head down and hope for the best. Theirchances of finding him faded like grains of sand slipping through her fingers. In the end, they accepted that and gave up looking. It was well into the early hours of the morning, and all Annja wanted to do was sleep.
    All the while Lars had been shooting, getting a couple of hours’ worth of material in the can.
    â€œGet anything worthwhile?” she asked as he packed his camera back away in the flight case.
    â€œMore than enough,” the cameraman said. “I’ll put it together as a montage for you do to a voice-over.”
    â€œNow all we’ve got to do is find a way to actually link the story to the golem.”
    â€œDifficult given that one of our witnesses is dead and the other is in the wind.”
    â€œThat’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Annja said. “Anyway, it’s time to head back to the hotel. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
    â€œI don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind a beer before hitting the sack,” Lars said. Turek took little persuading.
    Annja checked her watch. It was past three in the morning, but there were still plenty of clubs with their neon signs sizzling. “Not for me. I need my beauty sleep,” she said, offering a smile. “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow. No hangovers.”
    â€œWe can’t let you walk back to your hotel on your own. I’ll call you a cab.”
    â€œNo need,” Annja said. “I’ll be fine.”
    â€œIn a strange city with a killer on the loose?” Turek shook his head. “Are you crazy? There’s no way we can let you do that.”
    â€œVery chivalrous, but you’re not actually letting me do anything,” she said. “Besides, the one thing that’sbeen pretty well established is that our killer isn’t interested in tourists. He’s hunting people who are sleeping on the street. Now look at me and tell me how I fit the profile.”
    â€œYou don’t,” Lars agreed.
    â€œVery observant. Now run along and have some fun.” She felt like a mom sending her kids off to school.
    â€œJust one?”
    â€œWhich will lead to two, then three. No, it’s fine. But thanks.”
    She was long gone before they’d even reached the steps leading up to the black doors of the bar that Turek had chosen.
    The streets were much quieter than when she had left the hotel earlier in the evening. There was no traffic along the main road for one thing. The moon was full and high in a sky that was devoid of clouds. Annja enjoyed the stillness of the cool air as she walked. The closer she came to the hotel, the quieter the streets became. There was no late-night revelry now, just the dim background noise of a city asleep.
    Without even thinking about it, Annja had brought herself back to