Rosa

lost to the shadows. He sat up eagerly as Hoffner entered.

“Kriminal-Assistent,” said Hoffner with a look to keep Fichte where he was.

Fichte seemed slightly disappointed; he settled back into his chair. “Herr Kriminal- Kommissar,” he replied quietly.

“Ah, here we are, Nikolai,” said the man from behind the desk. “Nice to see you again.”

Polpo Kriminaldirektor Gerhard Weigland stood and offered his hand. He had aged considerably since Hoffner last saw him: the hair was virtually gone except for a neat ring of curly white at the temples; the beard had grown long and full, stained a mucinous yellow around the chin and moustache from decades of cigarettes; and the face had thickened, pressing the eyes deep into the twin cavities above the gray-red cheeks. Never tall, Weigland seemed squatter still from the added weight. His hand, though, remained powerful. The knuckles drove up through the flesh as if the fingers intended to squeeze the life out of anything they touched.

Hoffner peered at the two other men, then stepped over and took the PKD’s hand. “Herr Kriminaldirektor,” said Hoffner.

“It’s been a long time, Nikolai,” said Weigland; he released and sat. “Only a floor above and-well, a long time.”

“Yes, Herr Kriminaldirektor,” said Hoffner, who remained standing at the edge of the desk.

“It seems your man was in the midst of giving a little tour,” said Weigland through a half-smile.

Hoffner said, “Hans is very enthusiastic, Herr Kriminaldirektor.”

“As we discovered,” said Weigland with a laugh. The other men laughed, as well.

Hoffner waited. “I’m sure that’s not why we’re here, Herr Kriminaldirektor. After all, we were all Assistenten once.”

Weigland stared up with a smile that claimed to know Hoffner better than it did: everything about Weigland claimed to know more than it did. “Always right to it,” he said. “A lesson for us all, eh, Herr Oberkommissar?”

Braun, who was now at Weigland’s side, seemed to grow tauter still. “Indeed, Herr Direktor.”

“We needed a bit more time with the Luxemburg body,” said Weigland in an equally casual tone. “You understand.”

“We?” said Hoffner, peering again at the two other men.

Weigland followed Hoffner’s gaze. “You know Kommissaren Tamshik and Hermannsohn?”

“No, Herr Kriminaldirektor.”

“Ah,” said Weigland. “My mistake.” He made the introductions. “They’ve been brought in, now that it’s a political case.”

Ernst Tamshik had the look of the military about him, the way he kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back, the way his broad shoulders hitched high so as to keep his back ramrod straight. There might even have been something protective to him had it not been for the expression on his face: he was a bully, and a particularly brutal one, judging from the child’s sneer in his eyes, an ex-sergeant major, Hoffner guessed, who had reveled in the terrorizing of his young recruits. But, like all bullies, he had learned to play the innocent while under his mother’s watchful gaze. Hoffner had yet to figure out which of the two, Weigland or Braun, had assumed that role.

Walther Hermannsohn was far less graspable. He was slighter, though just as tall, and had no need for Tamshik’s stifled violence or Braun’s clipped affectation. He projected nothing and, for Hoffner, that made him the most dangerous man in the room.

“A political case?” said Hoffner. “That seems a bit premature, don’t you think, Herr Kriminaldirektor?”

Weigland was momentarily confused. “Premature? Why do you say that?”

Hoffner explained, “Luxemburg has the same markings as the other homicides. Why assume that it wasn’t simply bad luck for her and poor timing for us-or, rather, for you, Herr Kriminaldirektor?”

Weigland tried another unconvincing smile. He shifted slightly in his chair. “It’s just Direktor now, Nikolai. Direktor,Kommissar,Oberkommissar. We’ve dispensed with the Kriminal up here.”

Hoffner waited before answering. “That’s convenient.” Weigland showed no reaction. “Then, my mistake, Herr Direktor.”

Weigland’s smile broadened. “No mistake, Nikolai. Just a bit of new information.”

Hoffner nodded once. “Is it also new Polpo policy to take Kripo bodies from the morgue in the middle of the night?”

Weigland was unprepared for the question. Tamshik, however, was not so reticent. He spoke with a clumsy arrogance. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The look from Braun told Hoffner where the teat lay.

“If,” Braun said calmly, “this is a political case-as the Direktor has just said-then your confusion, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar, seems unwarranted.”

Hoffner continued to look at Weigland. “And the body would simply have found its way back to the morgue by tomorrow morning? Or would my confusion have begun then?”

Braun answered with no hint of condescension: “There are things here you can’t fully understand, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. Luxemburg’s been our case since she got back to Berlin in early November. A Kripo officer happens to find her body in mid-January and you think she’s no longer ours? You must see what little sense that makes.”

“Yes,” said Hoffner. “I’m beginning to see the lack of sense. Did you have a man waiting for her outside the prison gates, Herr Oberkommissar, or does the Polpo leave the distant edges of the empire to someone else?”

Braun said, “Frau Luxemburg was a threat no matter where she was, Herr Kriminal- Kommissar. Breslau, Berlin, it makes no difference. That’s why she spent the war inside a cell. The last few months should have made that obvious, even to you.”

“I see.” Hoffner saw how pleased Braun was with his answer. “Funny,” said Hoffner, “but I thought the last few months were all about how the generals and politicians were divvying up what the Kaiser had left behind when he ran off to Holland. I wasn’t aware that one little crippled woman had played so important a role. Unless the game was charades.”

Braun’s jaw tightened. “And I wasn’t aware that officers in the Kripo had sympathies for such extremists.”

“Just for pawns, Herr Oberkommissar,” said Hoffner. Braun said nothing. “May I see the body?”

Braun said, “And what would be the reason for that?”

Hoffner waited. Braun’s expression told him nothing. Hoffner turned to Weigland. “I assume the body will not be coming back to us tomorrow.”

“No,” said Braun.

Hoffner continued to speak to Weigland: “I didn’t know the fourth floor had storage and examination facilities, Herr Direktor.”

“A recent addition,” said Braun.

Hoffner kept his gaze on Weigland. “Can I assume the markings on the back will go untouched?”

Braun said, “Again, I’m afraid we can’t promise that, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. But we’ll do our best. For your case, of course.”

Hoffner finally turned to Braun. “Of course,” said Hoffner. The room became silent as the two men stared at each other.

“Why not simply take her this afternoon?” The voice came from behind them. Hoffner turned. It was Fichte from the corner; he showed no fear at all. “I mean, if it was your case, Herr Oberkommissar,” Fichte continued. “Why not take the body then?”