Rossett picked them up, took his time opening them, and finally drew one out and lit it.

“Do you have family?” Rossett asked, more as a courtesy to break the silence than a genuine inquiry.

“Yes, back in Germany, Lotte, my wife, and Anja, my daughter. I miss them terribly.” Koehler pulled out his wallet, opened it, and proudly leaned forward so that Rossett could see the picture inside.

Rossett barely glanced, then twitched a smile and nodded before Koehler leaned back in his seat, suddenly aware that his statement seemed inappropriate in the face of Rossett’s loss.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” Koehler said as he closed his wallet.

“Don’t be sorry. What happened wasn’t your fault; you didn’t plant the bomb.”

“No, but . . . well, it is thoughtless. It must be difficult enough for you without people like me sticking photos under your nose.”

“Just because I lost my family doesn’t mean everyone else has to forget theirs.” Koehler nodded at the logic and took another drink, then signaled the waitress across the room by holding up two fingers and pointing at his pint. He swallowed and licked his lips before putting down the glass.

“Do you have photos of your family?”

“No, they were taken from me in a POW camp.”

“Maybe I can get them back for you? They’ll be somewhere. I’m sure if I—”

“They were ripped up and thrown on the floor.” Rossett stared flatly at Koehler as he spoke, smoke spiraling up from his hand, which rested on the arm of the chair.

“Why?”

Rossett shrugged. “Because some guard thought it would be funny, I suppose. Like you said, war does terrible things to a man.”

“They died before you got out, didn’t they?”

Rossett nodded.

“I read it in your file, before you came. That bomb, it was—I don’t know how to say it—it was . . .” Koehler looked for the word until Rossett filled in the blank.

“A massacre.”

“A massacre, it was a massacre.” Koehler paused again, looking for a way to push the conversation on. “What about your other family?”

“I don’t have any. I lost my father before the war and my mother in the invasion. I’ve a brother in Liverpool, but we don’t speak.”

“Why?”

“Because of this.” Rossett tapped the swastika on his lapel and shrugged.

“You should maybe try speaking to him again. It’s been awhile now. People have started to get used to us.”

“We didn’t have much to say to each other before the war, and we’ve even less now. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone anymore. I just get by on my own.”

“You should come out in London with me. Maybe we can see a band or a show?”

Rossett shook his head. “I don’t do that sort of thing. I don’t . . . I don’t do anything anymore. My life is simple.” Rossett shrugged at the simplicity of his statement and then shook his head again. “I’m like a monk.” He managed a half smile at Koehler, who smiled back, somewhat sadly.

The waitress appeared and placed two full pints in front of them. Rossett ignored her. Koehler flashed her a charming smile that caused her to smile back and tap at her hair with her free hand.

“Keep the change.” Koehler flashed the smile again and placed some coins on her tray, then watched her walk away from the table. “Is that why you came to work for us?”

“Is what why?”

“The resistance bomb, killing your family, is that why you came to us?”

“No.”

“Why did you choose to work for us then?”

“I didn’t. I just did as I was told. I just do my job. If I’m told to work for the Germans I work for the Germans.” Rossett shook his head as if he’d never considered the point before.