Jonathan Rabb - Rosa

Unfortunately, Hoffner knew Einstein was right. “And would one slathering keep a body fresh indefinitely?”

“That was another problem,” said Kroll. “It had to be reapplied quite frequently. Hence the large quantities and the hallucinations.”

“How frequently?” said Hoffner.

“ Very frequently,” said Kroll. “At least two or three times a day.”

“So, how much of the stuff would one need to keep a body fresh for, say, six weeks?”

“Six weeks?” Kroll said incredulously. “Not possible. You’re talking liters and liters. Vast amounts.”

Hoffner was pleased to hear it. “So nothing your average officer would have been able to ferret away?”

“Impossible,” said Kroll with complete certainty. “It was designed to insulate the flesh for two, maybe three days, and that with constant supervision. And even that became impractical. Too many bodies to manage. The whole thing proved to be a disaster.”

Hoffner sat back and again let the information settle. At least the lone army psychopath was no longer a possibility, not that the alternative was all that much more appealing. “And you’re sure that what I gave you is this same compound?”

“Absolutely. The chemical makeup is unique. It’s like a signature. Meinhof and Klingman might just as well have attached their thumbprints to it. It’s Ascomycete 4, Nikolai. No question.”

The three men sat in silence for nearly half a minute. Hoffner could tell that Einstein wanted to ask a few questions of his own, but was choosing not to venture out of his own realm. Maybe the positioning of the light was more than just bad happenstance. Insulation could be so very comforting.

Hoffner spoke to Einstein: “I could demand all the relevant files, Herr Direktor. This is, after all, a Kripo investigation.”

“Yes, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar, you could, but then I would have to get in touch with the Office of the General Staff-” Einstein stopped himself. “There is still an Office of the General Staff, isn’t there?”

“Yes, Herr Direktor, ” said Hoffner.

“Good,” said Einstein, mildly relieved. “One doesn’t always know these days, what with the revolution. Anyway, given the peculiarity of this case, I’m not sure you’d want them to hear that you’re looking into it, just yet.” The knowing smile returned. “I could be wrong, but that’s up to you, of course.”

Hoffner nodded. “Point well taken, Herr Direktor. ”

Again, the room grew quiet. Einstein said, “I imagine this only complicates your case, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. ”

“Yes, Herr Direktor, ” said Hoffner. “It does.”

Einstein nodded coyly. “That’s not always such a bad thing.”

“I know, Herr Direktor. But right now it doesn’t make things any easier.”

The air outside was pleasantly dry as Hoffner lit a cigarette and stepped onto the plaza. It made the cold all the more piercing and gave the smoke a certain crispness as it raced down into his lungs.

Kroll had been nice enough to run through the remaining files with him, but there had really been nothing more to see. The names of the officers on the General Staff had been omitted, as had any firms that had been used to transport or produce the compound in any large quantities. It was all just science, and that, as Kroll had pointed out, was probably of little use to the Kripo.

“Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. ”

Hoffner turned around. To his complete surprise, he saw Hans Fichte heading toward him. Hoffner tried to remember if he had left a note for Fichte back at the Alex. He knew he hadn’t, which made Fichte’s appearance all the more puzzling.

Fichte was eating something out of a brown bag. He tossed both it and the bag into a dustbin, and quickly made his way over. “Herr Kriminal-Kommissar, ” he repeated.

“Hans. What are you doing here?”

“They told me you were with the Direktor. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Or interrupt your lunch.”

“That, too.”

Hoffner stared at Fichte. “So. . Are you going to explain how you found me here, or do I have to guess?”

Fichte’s face brightened. “A wire came in for you back at the Alex. It was marked ‘urgent.’ On the off chance, I checked the switchboard logs to see if you had made any telephone calls today. There was the one to Herr Doktor Kroll late this morning, so. .” Fichte left it at that.

Hoffner reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his cigarettes, and offered one to Fichte. “Nicely done, Hans.” Fichte took the cigarette; Hoffner used his own to light it, and they began to walk. “So what’s so urgent?”

Fichte coughed several times, unaccustomed to the quality of the tobacco. “Two things. First, a wire came in from Bruges. They’re putting through a call to you at one o’clock this afternoon. I didn’t want you to miss it.”

The Belgians were also full of surprises, thought Hoffner: he had been hoping to hear from them by next Monday at the earliest. “So, nothing at Missing Persons?” The two continued across the plaza.

“Pleasant little spot,” said Fichte. “They actually laughed when I mentioned Brussels. They’re dealing with close to twelve hundred Berliners who’ve gone missing since November. I had no idea.”

“Then let’s hope our girl isn’t from Berlin.” Fichte nodded and Hoffner continued, “You said two things.”

There was a hesitation as Fichte reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded newspaper. “I trust you haven’t seen this.” He handed the paper to Hoffner. “This afternoon’s edition.”

It was a copy of the BZ. Hoffner took it and scanned the front page.

“Page four, at the bottom,” said Fichte.

Hoffner flipped it open. It took him no time to find it. When he did, he stopped and stared in disbelief. Fichte could see the anger rising in his eyes. “That son of a bitch,” was all Hoffner could get out.

It took them forty minutes to get back to the Alex, enough time for Hoffner to cool off. Even so, he headed straight for the KD’s office as Fichte trailed behind.

Without knocking, Hoffner pushed open the door. Luckily, Prager was alone: he looked up calmly as Hoffner bore down on him. “Something I can do for you, Nikolai?”

Hoffner planted the article in front of him. “Have you seen this, Herr Kriminaldirektor ?”

Prager continued to look up at Hoffner; he then slowly picked up the paper and began to read. The telltale chewing of the inner cheek told Hoffner that he had not.

After nearly a minute, Prager said, “I love how they say ‘sources in the Kripo.’ That always gives it such a nice ring of truth.”

“And we have no idea how this got out,” said Hoffner.

Prager shook his head as he reread several of the passages. “It’s obviously from someone who knows something about the case,” he said, still scanning. “At least two victims. A vague reference to something on the back, though no mention of a knife.” He looked up at Hoffner. “This reads more like a teaser. I’m guessing they’ve got more information than they’re letting on.”

“Agreed,” said Hoffner. “You know we had a nice little chat with Weigland last week.”

“Yes,” said Prager, with just a hint of reproach. “ Kriminal-Oberkommissar Braun stopped in to ask me to make sure you understood the parameters of the case.” With mock sincerity, Prager said, “You do understand the parameters of the case, don’t you, Nikolai?”

“It’s just Oberkommissar now,” said Hoffner. “That’s the way they like it upstairs.”

“Well, we’re not upstairs, are we?” Prager handed the paper back to Hoffner. “The Polpo likes its turf, Nikolai, but there’s no reason they would do this. Just consider yourself lucky there wasn’t any mention of Luxemburg.”