“
Hoffner pulled the door shut behind him, and the two headed back down the stairs. They walked in silence until they reached the courtyard, where Fichte finally managed to get something out. “I’m-sorry for all that, Herr
“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” said Hoffner.
“I shouldn’t have been trying to impress Lina.”
“No. That was stupid. Don’t do that again.” Hoffner began to button his coat. “As for the rest, you were fine, Hans. You handled yourself very well.”
Fichte’s concern gave way to genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Herr
They passed through the door to the atrium. FliegFlieg was dozing; Hoffner didn’t bother to sign out. Out in the drizzle, the soldiers barely gave them a second glance.
When they had moved out of earshot, Hoffner said, “You didn’t mention anything about today’s discovery, did you?” They continued to walk. “Nothing about the woman in the Rosenthaler station?”
“No, Herr
“Good.” They reached the middle of the square. Hoffner stopped and turned to Fichte. “Go home, Hans. Take a cold bath. We start in at eight tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Herr
Hoffner stared at his young
Five minutes later, Hoffner watched as the Peace Column flew past his window, the cab racing him south to Kreuzberg.
The scarf, he thought. I forgot the damn scarf.
TWO
The wail of a siren reached up through the bathroom window and momentarily drowned out the street sounds of early morning. Hoffner tapped his cigarette into the basin, retrieved his razor, and set to work on the stubble just under his chin.
The fires were still burning out in Treptow, where, up until a few days ago, a “unit” of university students had been fighting with epic navet. The last of them had fallen on Tuesday to a roving band of
“And he still won’t admit it?” said Martha from the bedroom. “Even after all this time.”
Hoffner waited while another siren passed. “Of course not,” he said. For some reason he was having trouble with the angle this morning: his neck was sore. He did what he could, then unplugged the drain. He was wiping off the last of the shaving soap when Martha brushed by him with a pile of clean towels. She placed them in a cupboard by the tub. Hoffner tossed his into the hamper.
“You can use them more than once, you know,” said Martha.
Hoffner picked at a piece of raw skin on his cheek. “I thought I had.”
She retrieved the towel and hung it on a rack. “Did he mean it as a threat, do you think?”
Hoffner continued his examination. “He’s never been that clever.” He splashed some cold water on his face.
“Then why bring it up?”
“Make things right,” he said. “I don’t know. He’s an old man.” Hoffner dried off, put on his shirt, and started in on his tie as Martha knelt down to rub a damp cloth over the tub. He said, “You know, I think he was actually asking for my forgiveness.”
“For something he claims he never did?” She shook her head and pushed herself up. Hoffner said nothing. “You shouldn’t work with those people, Nicki. Especially now.”
“Not my choice.”
Nudging him to the side, she wrung out the cloth in the sink. “Sa-” She caught herself. “Alexander has a match this afternoon. Four o’clock.” She hung the cloth next to the towel. “You should be there.”
The morning had been progressing so nicely, thought Hoffner, talk of Weigland notwithstanding. Now he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach: why was it that she could never understand he would be the last person Sascha would want to see at a match?
“I’ll try,” he said.
“Try hard, Nicki.”
She moved past him and into the hall. Hoffner was left alone to sort out the mess he had made of his tie.
Hans Fichte was waiting for him outside his office when Hoffner got to headquarters. The boy’s face was bloated from last night’s alcohol, and his inhaler seemed to be doing double duty. Fichte was in the midst of a good suck when Hoffner walked up.
“Glad to see you’re here early,” said Hoffner, busying himself with his coat so as to give Fichte a moment to recover. He stepped into the office, tossed his hat onto the rack, and settled in behind the desk. “Come in, Hans. Close the door.” Fichte did as he was told. “You’re not a drinker, Hans. Try to remember that. Take a seat.”
Fichte moved a stack of papers from a chair. “Yes, Herr
“Your girl get home all right?”
“Yes. Thank you for asking, Herr
“Good.” Hoffner watched Fichte’s expression; the boy had no idea what he had signed on for with this Lina. Hoffner wondered if he had been any less thickheaded at Fichte’s age. He hoped not. With a smile, Hoffner leaned back against the wall, his elbows on the chair’s armrests, his hands clasped at his chest, and said easily, “So. What exactly do you think we learned last night?”
Fichte thought for a moment and then said, “That I shouldn’t bring Lina-”
“Yes,” Hoffner cut in impatiently. “We’ve been through all that. What about from upstairs?”
This took greater concentration. “That-this is a political case and we shouldn’t overstep our bounds?”
“Exactly right,” said Hoffner. Fichte’s surprise was instantaneous. “Something wrong?” said Hoffner coyly.
“Well”-Fichte showed a bit more fire-“I didn’t think you-we-would back down so easily.” He waited for a reaction. When Hoffner said nothing, Fichte added, “It is our case, after all.”
“It is, isn’t it.” Hoffner sat staring across at Fichte.
Uncomfortable with the silence, Fichte said, “I’m not sure I understand, Herr
Hoffner sat forward. “You need to ask yourself, Hans: Is Luxemburg an element of our case?”
“Of course,” said Fichte.
“According to the Polpo?”
“I suppose not, no.”
The response provoked several quick taps of Hoffner’s fingers on the desk. “And so their focus will be-” He waited for Fichte to complete the thought.
“Luxemburg.”
“And ours?”
Fichte was anxious not to stumble, having come this far. “Everything else. .?” he said tentatively.
