Jonathan Rabb - Rosa

Hoffner nodded as if in agreement. “I said I wasn’t going to kill you, Herr Braun. I can’t speak for my friends, here.” Hoffner hurled the jar against the wall and watched as the glass and grease shattered to the ground. “Wouters,” he said, again nodding to himself. “That was such a clever choice, wasn’t it? Old women and lace. Luxemburg and Jew-baiting, all in one.” He turned to Manstein. “It must have taken you months to find him. . all the way back to June of ’18. But then, you were already familiar with Sint-Walburga and their intriguing new patient, weren’t you?” Hoffner saw a moment of recognition in Manstein’s otherwise implacable stare. “Did they call you in to consult on the original case? Or was it a letter from a colleague that introduced you to Herr Wouters?” Manstein’s silence was confirmation enough. “Very impressive, Herr Doktor. You knew the war was lost, the Kaiser was on shaky ground. And we were suddenly at peace with the Russians-who knew what to expect from the socialists after that? But to see all the way through to November, to revolution. .” Hoffner looked across at Pimm. “That was very impressive, don’t you think?”

Pimm perked up at being included. “Oh yes,” he said with a nod. “Very.”

Manstein snorted dismissively.

“It wasn’t very impressive, mein Herr ?” said Hoffner.

Manstein refused to look at Hoffner. “Just because you don’t understand a thing doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.” His voice had a refined quality: schools, breeding, a sense of entitlement. Manstein did nothing to hide his contempt. “It was a precautionary measure.” He now looked up. “Evidently it was a precaution worth taking.”

Hoffner said, “So you did all of this just to cover up killing Luxemburg?”

Manstein looked genuinely perplexed by the question. “Is that what you think, Herr Policeman?”

It wasn’t, but Hoffner needed to engage the man. Braun saw what Hoffner was after and tried to stop it. “Herr Doktor, you don’t have to say anything-”

“Shut up, Braun.” Manstein continued to stare up at Hoffner.

Braun held his own. “You’d be wise to let me take care of this.”

“I’m tied to a chair in an excavation pit. I think you’ve done all you can.”

Braun insisted: “He hasn’t an inkling of what’s going on here.”

“He has her, ” Manstein cut in. “And I don’t think he’ll be giving her back.” It was a cold, unflappable stare that now peered at Hoffner. “You won’t be giving her back to us, will you, Herr Oberkommissar ?”

Evidently the marriage between the Thulians and the Polpo had been one of convenience. Hoffner knew he needed to take full advantage of that. “Did you enjoy the work, Herr Doktor ?” he asked.

For the first time, uncertainty flashed through Manstein’s eyes. “Excuse me?”

Hoffner gave Braun no time to interrupt: “It’s a shame you didn’t study your patient more closely. I imagine you were a bit too clever there, as well.” Hoffner watched as the uncertainty grew. “For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why Wouters’s knife work was so smooth while the second carver’s was so jagged and angled. I assumed it was someone like Tamshik, or even Braun here, but then the accuracy of the lines on the back was too good-too close to the original-not to be someone who actually had some skill with a knife. But to make it look too good, that would have been a problem, wouldn’t it? So you had to alter your hand. After all, Wouters was mad, and didn’t madness imply a kind of frenzy with the cutting? You must have watched him, seen him slice up the backs of those women, so you’d know how to re-create the pattern. But you didn’t watch him closely enough, did you? This was an art for him. Battered and bloody hands hadn’t stopped him as a boy from creating the most delicate lace patterns. His work was pristine.” Hoffner paused. “Unlike yours.”

Manstein stared coldly ahead.

“The Tiergarten whore,” said Hoffner. “You got impatient. The Polpo wanted you to wait, but that was unacceptable. Wouters wasn’t killing fast enough, and he was staying in the wrong part of town. You needed him in the Westend so you could get the kind of hysteria you wanted. Such a perfect spot, the U-Bahn station at the zoo. The threat of east coming west. Tell me, Herr Doktor, was it only the carving, or did you do the killing, as well?”

Braun had heard enough: “Don’t let him do this.”

Manstein ignored Braun: “More efficient that way, wouldn’t you say, Herr Oberkommissar ?”

With sudden venom, Hoffner cracked the back of his hand across Manstein’s face. Manstein showed almost no reaction, while Braun flinched. Manstein’s lip began to bleed and he licked at it with his tongue. “Does that make you feel better, Herr Oberkommissar ?”

Hoffner was doing all he could to maintain his self-control: how easy it would be to beat this man to death, he thought. “Why Luxemburg?” he said.

Manstein spat a wad of blood. “You seem to be doing so well on your own. Why don’t you tell me?”

Braun tried again. “This is exactly what he wants. How is it that you’re incapable of seeing that?”

Manstein spat again. “Never the larger picture with you, Braun, is it?” Manstein wiped his chin on his shoulder and then looked up at Hoffner. “Go on, Detective. See if you can figure this out before Herr Braun here manages it.”

It was clear that Manstein wanted to be pressed: that Hoffner had yet to figure out why was no reason to disappoint him. “She was a means to an end,” he said.

Manstein offered another snort of contempt. “If we’re going to state the obvious, I’d prefer the bullet.”

Hoffner was inclined to grant the request, but that wasn’t why he was here; instead, he tried to imagine where Jogiches might have taken things now. “All right,” he said. “Berlin on edge. . Rosa’s body discovered. . not much of a stretch to stir up fear of a Red reprisal for her killing. The Reds ready to strike. .” Hoffner was building momentum. “Enter the Freikorps. Naturally the government gives them free rein to eliminate the problem-we can thank your former General Nepp in Defense for that-and you kill two birds with one stone. The socialists are purged, and your military wing gets a foothold in the political door, and all in the name of reestablishing order.” Hoffner knew there were too many holes in the theory to count. His only hope was that Manstein had found it equally unimpressive.

“A dead Luxemburg?” said Manstein. “Triggering socialist reprisals with the design etched onto her back? And that makes sense to you, Herr Oberkommissar ?” Ego was always so transparent with men like this. “Wouldn’t that, in fact, have done just the opposite-allow the Reds to stop worrying about who had killed their beloved Rosa because, now, she would have been nothing more than another unfortunate victim of some madman?” Manstein seemed almost disappointed by Hoffner’s attempt. “Nothing gained there. No one to blame, Herr Oberkommissar. No reason to bring in the Korps. ”

It was an odd choice-the word “blame”-thought Hoffner. He tried to see beyond it. If not Wouters, then who? Even Manstein had to admit that the Jews were too vague a target, lace designs notwithstanding. No. Manstein had made it clear that someone else was meant to take responsibility for her death. That was the key. That was why the bodies were piling up all over again. Someone who could. .

Hoffner stopped. Of course. He looked across at Pimm, and the words came back to him. This was a crime like any other, no matter how intricate its planning: and like all crimes, misdirection lay at its core.