Time slipped by, an hour immeasurable.  The woman in the shadows leaned against the wall with practiced ease, and aired a gentle sigh, the fog lifting from her lips like untethered hope.  It was time.  Whether the hour had passed forever ago, at that moment, or was still an hour away, she<span style="font-style: italic">felt</span>that<span style="font-style: italic">now</span>was the time.<br/><br/>Her blonde head raised from the ground, where she let eyes pass over her as she watched the flat. There had been comers and goers, but of a regularity that commented on something other than "regular" and she had made note to herself to return for the rats when she was done with this mission.  The commander moved to take her first step toward the flat, while none would be entering or leaving, but someone did.  A man, in uniform like hers, walked up to the stoop and stood at the doorway, still, for just a short time, but enough to alert his audience.  He had not knocked, he did not simply open the door, and she did not hear the natural jangle of even a single key - he was trying to be quiet, but marked up as he was, he was trying to be quick.  What was he up to?<br/><br/>As soon as the door closed, Officer Wojcik crossed the street to it.  She made no effort to hide her actions as she laid her head gently against the door.  Military boots moved swiftly and carefully up the steps.  Another pause, then a door opened and shut.  She followed then, using the key she'd had made after her first visit in case she needed to discover more of the woman or her involvement with the man who would be her downfall.  She gave a full minute count before entering with as much noise as she could make without bordering theatrics.  Up the stairs she counted her steps and continued beyond the 20 of the inspektur, ending precisely at Memselle Devereaux's door, checked a door beyond, then shuffled back down the steps and out the door, back to her corner and leaned into the shadow once more.<br/><br/>The man was wearing his marks, so none would warn him of her should they have seen.  She was wearing hers, so none would bother her while she stalked her quarry, not while he was one of her own and not theirs.  She could come back to the flat, as looted or not as it was, but whatever he was there for she would not know without following him to find out.  Isolde hadn't been back to her flat in all that time, so he could only be there, under such circumstances, to find something else - an item, a clue, or to lay one, and if it were the last of these then the questions would be even broader and she'd be better off following him for those answers sooner rather than later.<br/><br/>As he exited, she took in his face from her periphery and she recognized it almost immediately.  The man in the reports on Officer Grazzienelli, who had been murdered during the raid of the clinic preceding the interrogation of Frau Devereaux.  Hamish James Buchannen.  She had surmised his involvement with Oberstluetenant Kohler and the late Italian to be professional and brief, given his rank and tendency to jump from one task to another with the precision deserving it.  His records made him a suspect in the man's murder, but the commander reserved her judgment until further information could be gathered, and more importantly, until she could find the healer.  That was her top priority.  It just so happened that Kohler was her major lead, even if his men tossed her in the gutter without a trace to follow that same night.<br/><br/>Now here was an associate, breaking into the woman's flat with urgency and scrupulous care.  God be her witness if it wasn't tied together.