Luke McCallin - The Man from Berlin

‘But of course ! Show them in, show the brave officers in!’

The maid reappeared at the entrance to the living room, and shy;beckoned them forward. They paused at the door while she took Rein shy;hardt’s hat, and even Padelin seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer volume of lace and frills in the living room, such that it took them a moment to spot Frau Hofler, sitting with her back regally straight in an armchair with ornate wooden arms. She wore a flowing dress of a creamy colour and fabric that fell and pooled around her feet and looked like it might have been fashionable in Vienna in the last century. A small dog sat upon her lap, a pink bow tying its hair back above beady black eyes. Hofler sat with the light behind her, grey hair forming a halo around her head. A heavy smell of perfume and talcum powder deadened the still air.

‘ Officers! ’ she gushed as they came in, her eyes lingering on Reinhardt. She wore heavy red lipstick that split in a smile to reveal teeth far too white and even to be real on a person of her age. She held out a frail-looking hand, a ring on each finger. ‘ Do come in,’ she said, fluttering her hand like a piece of paper caught in a breeze. The two moved into the room, walking carefully around small tables and display stands that held a profusion of porcelain figurines. ‘Sit down. Sit down there. There , on the sofa.’ Padelin inched his bulk onto a wickerwork sofa strewn with cushions. It groaned under his weight, shifting and squeaking. Padelin looked straight at the old lady, his face carefully blank. Reinhardt hid a smile and took a chair to the left of Frau Hofler. She looked between the two of them, a broad smile deepening the wrinkles around twinkling eyes.

‘ Well! ’ she exclaimed, beaming proprietorially at them. ‘ What can I do to help two such fine-looking servants, one of our dear Fatherland, and the other of our dear Poglavnik? But no !’ she said, holding up her hand as if to stop any questions. ‘My manners.’ She put her chin down, eyes up, then called out in a ringing voice, ‘Gordana! Gordanaaaa! Ah, there you are, child. I was calling you for an age. Bring some of the coffee you just made, for the two officers. And perhaps a little something stronger on the side,’ she added, with a conspiratorial wink at Padelin. Reinhardt hid another smile, the old woman already figuring Padelin for the burly, honest policeman not averse to the odd tipple. ‘Chop-chop, dear,’ said Hofler as she dismissed the maid. The lapdog glared at Reinhardt with its round, wet eyes while Hofler smiled genially at them.

‘You are Austrian, Frau Hofler?’ said Padelin, filling the silence.

‘From Vienna. My husband is the general manager at the tobacco factory,’ she replied.

‘And have you been here long?’

‘My dear , sometimes it feels like forever. Not that there’s anything wrong with the city, or the wonderful country,’ she hastened to add, bringing Reinhardt into her confidence with wide eyes. ‘But, it’s not Vienna . You understand, of course , Captain.’

‘Quite,’ said Reinhardt.

‘Do you know Vienna, Captain?’

‘I do. I lived there for a year. In 1938.’

‘Ah, what a year,’ enthused Hofler. ‘A great year.’ Reinhardt only smiled. That year, for him, for Carolin, had been anything but great.

‘Frau Hofler,’ said Padelin, clearing his throat and pulling out a notebook. ‘We are investigating the murder of Miss Vukic, who was your neighbour, and were wondering if we might ask you a few questions about the statement you gave earlier?’

A lace handkerchief appeared suddenly in Hofler’s hand, and she dabbed delicately at the corner of one eye. ‘Yes. Yes, the poor child. Please, ask me anything ,’ she said with a decisive sigh, drawing herself up even straighter.

‘You told the police you saw a strange car on Saturday night. Please can you tell us more?’

Frau Hofler sighed again and stroked the back of the little dog, which thumped its tail once, then put its head down. ‘I was walking my little Foxi as I often do at night, as I’m something of a late sleeper. It was around nine o’clock at night. I can’t be more exact, I’m sorry. And then, as we were approaching poor Miss Vukic’s house, Foxi began getting all restless , like he never usually does. I wondered what was happening, and then I smelled this horrible smell, terribly acrid, and I saw smoke coming from a car parked just in front of Miss Vukic’s. Well , Foxi was growling – he’s terribly sensitive to smells, you know – and I picked him up before he began making a fuss and walked by the car. I looked in and saw a man inside smoking a cigarette, and that was what was making the smell. And such a smell! When I came back, perhaps half an hour later, he was just driving away. He came past me and honestly I could still smell that beastly smoke.’

‘Can you describe the man, Frau Hofler?’ asked Padelin, pencil poised over his pad.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think so. It was dark , you see. But he was wearing a cap. Like a chauffeur’s cap.’ Reinhardt and Padelin exchanged a glance, and the detective made to ask another question, but the maid arrived with a silver tray, which she set down next to Frau Hofler. The old lady held up an imperious hand. ‘One moment, Inspector.’ Padelin set his pencil down on his notebook, clearly holding his temper in. Reinhardt watched him carefully. Brauer, Reinhardt’s company sergeant during the first war, and then later his partner on the Berlin detective force, had had an explosive temper on him, a temper that had terrified Reinhardt as a young lieutenant new to his regiment. Like Brauer, Padelin was flushing at the back of his neck, a thin crease of white skin showing along the line of his collar. Never a good sign with Brauer; Reinhardt wondered how Padelin would control himself. Hofler shooed the maid away, insisting on serving her gallant officers herself.

‘Frau Hofler…’ Padelin tried to continue.

‘How is the coffee?’ She beamed at him, stroking her little dog.

‘Very good.’ Hofler gave a coquettish smile and sat straighter. ‘Can you tell me anything more about the car, perhaps? What colour, or what make?’

‘Oh dear, I don’t think so. It was dark.’ She pursed her lips in thought. ‘It was big. Long. I suppose it was a dark colour.’ She fluttered her eyelids and smiled. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m not terribly helpful, am I?’ she said, turning to Reinhardt. She smiled at him, a tight pull of her mouth.

‘Not at all, Frau Hofler,’ said Reinhardt, who had been thinking about her description of the cigarettes this man had smoked and wondering why it sparked a memory. ‘You are being most helpful.’ He exchanged a glance with Padelin. ‘Now. Just think. Close your eyes, try to see the car. Can you see anything? Anything at all?’

The old lady put her head back with her eyes closed. For a long moment she stayed that way. ‘You know, it does seem to me it was an official sort of car. The sort that important people drive.’

Reinhardt gestured to Padelin to continue. ‘So that means that it might have had a special licence plate, or a badge on the door, or a flag at the front?’ said Padelin.

Frau Hofler stayed with her eyes closed, the dramatic effect somewhat spoiled by the beady-eyed little dog that had begun to drool on her skirts. ‘A flag. Yeesssss… I do believe there was perhaps a flag, at the front.’ She opened her eyes and gave that coquettish little smile again. ‘Why, Inspector , how clever and persistent of you.’