Rosa

As promised, the traffic slowed once they hit the middle of town. The spray from the wheels of the cars rapped mercilessly at the cab’s windows and repeatedly dissolved the outside world into a swirl of melting pictures. Hoffner rolled down his window when they hit Friedrichstrasse, so as to minimize the distortion. He checked his watch; it was about time for tea. Positioning himself back on the seat so as to avoid the splatter, he peered out.

He spotted her at Schuckert’s, just beyond Leipziger Strasse. She had ducked in under the awning, and was waiting for the worst of it to pass. Her coat was too thin for the weather, and she held her arms across her chest for added warmth.

“Pull over!” shouted Hoffner over the patter of the rain.

The driver turned abruptly for the curb. Several horn squawks accompanied the maneuver. “I told you it would be bad.”

Hoffner paid and hopped out. He placed the papers under his coat and darted over to the restaurant. It was not until he had removed his hat that Lina recognized him. She tried to hide her pleasure in a look of surprise, but her face was not yet sophisticated enough to carry it off. Hoffner shook out his hat as he approached. “I thought it might be you,” he said, deciding to play out the charade.

“Herr Kriminal-Kommissar,” said Lina. “What a nice surprise.”

“You look absolutely frozen, Frulein Lina. Let me buy you a coffee.”

She hesitated before answering: “I can’t bring them inside unless I’m selling.” She glanced down at her basket of flowers, then back at Hoffner. “And the tea hour is my best time, Herr Kriminal- Kommissar.”

“Not in this weather, it isn’t,” he said, before she could find another excuse. He looked over and saw the lone waiter who had been stationed for the outside seating. The man was holding his tray across his chest and staring out at the rain. Heated lamps or not, no one would be stupid enough to sit out today. “Herr Ober,” said Hoffner, calling the man over. Hoffner reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. Well trained, the man showed no reaction as Hoffner continued: “This young lady is going to leave her basket out here while we go inside for a coffee. You’ll be good enough to see that nothing happens to it, yes?”

The man gave a swift nod. “Of course, mein Herr.”

“Good.” Hoffner turned to Lina, and motioned her to the door. “Shall we, Frulein?”

Schuckert’s was known for its sweets. The place smelled of raisins and honey, and everything was immaculately white: napkins, tablecloths, even the waiters’ coats. In a lovely old-world touch, the tea silverware was marvelously ornate and heavy, and seemed to overwhelm the small marble tables, each of which was surrounded by a quartet of straight-backed wrought-iron chairs. From the far corner, a violinist played something soothing. Hoffner thought it might have been Mozart, but he could have been wrong.

A plump matre d’ was chatting up one of his customers when he saw Hoffner and Lina come through the door. The man gave an overly gracious bow to the table, and then headed over. It was clear that he recognized Lina; he was kind enough, though, not to mention it. He smiled and extended his hand to the room. “Mein Herr,” he said. “A table for two?”

Hoffner knew that he and Lina were not Schuckert’s usual clientele. Grandmothers and granddaughters sat over hot chocolates and scones; elderly bankers shared a plate of figs-Schuckert’s had just the right sort of connections to keep its pantries full, no matter what the rest of Berlin might be suffering through; and young women, whose husbands would one day be eating those figs, sat with each other and their packages from KaDeWe or Tietz, or wherever else they had spent the day. One or two were tactless enough to stare at Lina as she passed by, but the rest took no notice. It had never occurred to Hoffner: people could think what they liked. But if Lina was bothered by their looks, she showed none of it. She walked past them with an air of seamless ease. Hoffner felt mildly foolish for having put her through it.

They reached the table and sat. Hoffner helped her out of her coat, and she let the collar fall back across the chair. He noticed that the rain had gotten through to her dress. The wet fabric clung tightly to her thighs. They were long and wonderfully slim, and the cloth was nestling deep within the perfect triangle between them. Without acknowledging his stare, Lina aired out the skirt of her dress and then placed her napkin on her lap. Hoffner looked up to see her peering over at him with a knowing smile. He liked the feeling of having been caught. “Let’s find a waiter,” he said, and turned to the room.

A man approached from the other direction; Hoffner failed to see him.

“Et voil,” said Lina. Hoffner turned to see a waiter holding out two menus. Lina was not one to wait. She said ecstatically, “I’m going to have a hot chocolate.”

Hoffner declined his menu, as well. “Coffee for me.”

The man was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

Lina leaned in closer and spoke in a soft, low whisper. “He’s asked me to the cinema twice. Must be strange to take my order, don’t you think?”

Hoffner felt the excitement in her breath, as if telling him had somehow made her more attractive: it had, of course. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. “Must be.” It was Kvatsch’s pack, a nice impressive brand. Hoffner lit one up. “Well, this was lucky,” he said.

“Yes. It was.” She continued to stare at him.

There was something thrilling in not knowing if he was being overmatched. Hoffner said, “I was meaning to send you a note about Hans, but I didn’t have your address.”

“No. You wouldn’t have.”

“Just in case you were wondering where he might have gotten to.”

“Just in case.”

Hoffner looked at the girl. He liked the way her eyes widened almost imperceptibly each time she spoke. He liked the slenderness of her shoulders, and the smallness of her breasts. Most of all, he liked how she continued to bait him. “He’s out of the country for a day or two,” he said. “On an investigation.”

“How very exciting for him.”

Hoffner took a drag on his cigarette; he was enjoying this more than she knew, or, perhaps, as much as she was permitting. He had yet to figure out which.

“In Bruges,” she said. “Yes. Hans managed to get a note to my flat before he left. But thank you for thinking of me, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar.”

“Not at all, Frulein.” The drinks arrived.

Lina spooned up a dollop of the cream with her little finger and slipped it into her mouth. There was nothing sexual in it; she was simply too impatient to reach for her spoon. Her eyes slowly closed. “Heaven,” she said with delight. The waiter was gone by the time she opened them, and she peered over at Hoffner. He marveled at how her smile gave nothing away. She slid the cup toward him. “Have some. Please.”

Hoffner took his spoon and sampled the cream. He nodded. “Very nice.”

She took her own spoon and, leaning toward the cup, delicately dug through for some of the chocolate. Hoffner watched as she deftly tried to bring the liquid up along the side of the cup so as not to disturb the cream. She seemed so intent on the task. It was then that he noticed the half-blackened nail on her right hand; she had bruised it somehow, most likely from a slamming door, or a fall on the ice. She had done nothing to hide it. Hoffner kept his eyes on the nail as she raised the spoon to her lips. She blew gently, then sipped it down. Wincing a moment at the heat, she quickly recovered and went in for a second spoonful.

Hoffner said, “It’s best if you mix it with the cream. Less bitter.”

Lina kept her eyes on the spoon and cup. “I like it this way,” she said. “At least at the start.” Hoffner took a sip of the coffee. It was the first good cup he had had in weeks. Lina looked over at him and said, “Would you like my address?”

It was rare for Hoffner to be caught out like this, but here it was. He felt something sharp run through his chest. It moved up to his throat and made his mouth suddenly dry. He hadn’t felt it in years. It was anticipation. He slowly placed his coffee back on the table. Out of necessity, he said, “Is that such a good idea, Frulein?”

She spoke with certainty: “You came to find me. Didn’t you?”

When he had no choice but to answer, Hoffner said, “I’ve been wondering if you make enough to survive, selling flowers and matches.”

For the first time, he saw the smallest slip in her otherwise perfect stare. Just as quickly, she recovered. “Have you?” She placed the spoon in the cup and began to fold the cream into the chocolate. “I do all right. I’ve