Jonathan Rabb - Rosa

“All right,” said Mueller impatiently. “If he’s going to be sleeping the whole way there, you and I’ll need to make up for his lack of commitment.”

Van Acker had known Mueller for less than an hour and was already a devotee. “One of us has a wife, Mueller,” said van Acker with a grin.

Mueller said, “Well, don’t look at me.”

The whistle blew, and Fichte gathered up his things. “I leave you in good hands, Chief Inspector,” he said. He shot a glance at Mueller. “Well, at least a few good fingers.”

Mueller laughed. He then turned to van Acker. “You do keep your pants on until the second course, don’t you, Inspector? Not like the Berlin boys?”

Fichte mounted the steps and van Acker said, “I’ll expect cables.” Fichte turned back and nodded. “Safe journey,” said van Acker. Another nod from Fichte. Van Acker then slapped Mueller on the back and started off. “Come on, Toby. I’ll introduce you to my wife.”

Fichte was out cold by the time the train had reached the outskirts of town.

At ten-thirty, Hoffner stopped by the wire room to send Sascha up to the attic for the night. It was too late for a cable now, not that he needed one to tell him what they had found. Anything other than Wouters would have caused a minor panic. Fichte, no doubt, had his hands full. Still, Hoffner would have liked to make sure that Fichte was loading them down with the right material. That, however, would have to wait for tomorrow.

It was nearly eleven, then, when Hoffner finally turned onto Kremmener Strasse.

He had long ago dispensed with the empty distinctions between character and weakness, at least when it came to decisions like these. To his mind, only men who claimed to have no choice struggled with those labels: to them, lack of choice granted a kind of freedom from consequence, or at least a softening of responsibility. Their angst, their wailing, their mea culpas of self-betrayal, all stemmed from that initial claim of powerlessness. Hoffner had never been that stupid or that impotent. He knew there was nothing inevitable about his seeing Lina. He was making the choice to venture back into the familiar of the unknown, and she was willingly inviting him in. Of course, had he seen Lina as anything more than that, he might have persuaded himself to hope for more, and that would have been dangerous. Hope fostered despair, and Hoffner had no desire for either.

The moon had broken through, and the houses melded into one another like a wide sheet of chalky gray stone. Lina’s building stood in the middle of the row, six wide steps leading up to its stoop, which boasted two flower boxes, each with a clump of frozen mud and a few gnarled twigs as reminders of some distant strains of life. Like the street itself, the boxes lay barren. Kremmener was one of the last outposts of the city’s Mitte district, a single street removed from the criminal haunts of Prenzlauer Berg. Ten years ago the gulf between the two would have been immeasurable; now it was a distinction only in name.

Lina had found a room on the top floor of Number 5, and although a woman living alone was far less of a shock these days-especially in this part of town-she had taken a roommate. Elise worked the coat-check room at the White Mouse. She was someone to know, according to Lina, a girl who was moving up. She was also rarely home before 2:00 a.m., and was infamous for forgetting her keys. A ring of the bell and the sound of scurrying feet up the stairs no longer drew the watchful eye of the landlord. He had grown fond of Elise and equally accustomed to her late-night, keyless returns.

Hoffner, with no inkling of a roommate, rang the bell anyway. He suspected that Lina had taken care of any possible awkwardness, and he was right. Two minutes into his wait, she appeared through the glass and opened the door. She was wearing a long lilac dressing gown that pretended to be silk, with tatty little ruffles at the sleeves and collar. On anyone else, they might have seemed vulgar; on her, they looked playful. She had kept her hair up, the tight ringlets along her forehead holding firm in a little row of Os that, from a certain angle, seemed to be ooh ing at him. She was wearing a bit more rouge than he remembered from this afternoon. Hoffner liked that.

She quickly put a finger to her lips. In a loud voice she said, “Nice and early tonight, Elise. That’s a lucky break.” Lina stifled a laugh and motioned for Hoffner to head up the stairs. He did as he was told; she followed.

The room was more cluttered than he had imagined. The slant of the roof left little space for windows. Two small ones, recessed into narrow alcoves, peered up more than out, and gave a cropped view of the starless sky. Everything else also came in twos-bed, dresser, chair-except for the small stove and washstand. Those the girls shared. Hoffner noticed a large rectangular gap on one of the walls. A picture had clearly hung there for years. He wondered what could have been so offensive as to merit its removal.

“A bare-bosomed slave girl,” said Lina, having followed his gaze. “Horrible. She was being sold to some old letch, or something like that. We hated it.” Lina closed the door. She saw Hoffner reaching for his cigarettes. “Not in the room, please,” she said. Hoffner found the request charming. Or perhaps Lina was more concerned with Fichte’s highly developed sense of smell. Hoffner returned the pack to his pocket.

She moved past him and over to an icebox that he had failed to see until now. She opened it and pulled out a plate of various goodies: crackers and pastes and cheeses, and something that looked like chocolate. Hoffner knew otherwise; Lina could never have afforded the real thing. She placed the plate on a small side table by the bed. Two glasses and a bottle of kmmel already stood at the ready.

Hoffner said, “I wasn’t expecting all of this.”

Lina continued to organize the treats. “So you were thinking it would be off with your pants and into bed,” she said with a smile as she pulled open a drawer and retrieved a few more crackers. She placed them along the rim of the plate. “I thought you’d be hungry.” She licked at a bit of paste that had grazed one of her fingers. “I also thought you’d be here a bit earlier. The paste’s too cold now. Oh, well.” She smoothed out the blanket on her bed and sat. She motioned for Hoffner to join her.

Hoffner took off his coat.

“Just there on the chair,” she said, pointing across the room.

Hoffner laid his coat across the chair and then joined her on the bed. He sat with his hands on his thighs. He said nothing. Lina reached over and poured out two glasses of the liqueur. A bit dripped on her hand, and again she quickly lapped it up. She handed Hoffner his, and they toasted. Lina then placed hers back on the table before bringing the plate to the bed and setting it between them.

“The other bed,” he said. “I’m assuming that one belongs to Frulein Elise.”

Lina handed him a cracker with a thin slice of cheese. “She knows not to come home before two. We’ve plenty of time.”

Hoffner was unsure how to react to the precision of the night’s planning. He took a bite; the cheese had no taste, at all. He said, “She’s used to this sort of thing, your Elise? Does it on a regular basis?”

Lina looked up. The implication was obvious. She smiled disingenuously. “She’s at the White Mouse most nights.” She took a cracker for herself. “And she does it only for Hans. There haven’t been any others.”

“I didn’t imagine there were,” he said.

Lina chewed as she stared at him. Her smile softened. “So,” she said. “Do you like my little place?”

Hoffner took another quick scan. “Very nice.” He reached for a piece of the faux chocolate. To his amazement, it was real.