“How did they find your defendants?”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that the police simply stormed their apartment three days after the explosion. There had been no search to speak of.”
“Maybe someone squealed.”
“Yes …”
“Could have been that fifth man.”
“Maybe …”
“The police didn’t say how they managed to find the suspects so quickly?”
“The man in charge, Detective Superintendent Kessler, was quite reticent about it. He merely said that the suspects had been arrested at the end of a quickly organized investigation.”
“Not a word about the fifth man?”
“Not a word.”
“Are they looking for him now?”
“I assume they are.”
“On what grounds?”
“Well, he’s just as suspect as my clients are.”
“What if he made a little deal with the cops? His freedom for the address of your clients?”
“I don’t think so. Not in a case that has attracted so much political attention. The police can’t afford it.”
“All right. So the cops are after him-but you think you need a P.I. to chase him too. Who do you think I am? If the guy has half a brain, he’s made tracks, and not just from Sachsenhausen to the North End or the other way round, but much farther. If you like, I’ll take your money and drive around. But it’s a bit out of my league.”
“In my opinion, a discreet loner may be more effective. Naturally I’ll take care of your expenses …”
He hesitated.
“If I didn’t think you were a good detective-I would have got up and left long ago.”
“I’ve been sitting around in these wet rags for three hours. I can’t stand it when people smack their lips while eating. And I would have preferred to meet your friend alone, on a night with a full moon.”
“You were none too kind to Miss Reedermann.”
“There was no full moon, either.”
“Furthermore, in this case … I don’t know your political views, but …”
“I’m just supposed to find this guy, right?”
“Yes, of course, but political views do come into play. People want to see my clients convicted. So-called Green terrorists are grist to the mill for the Right. They’re the best thing that could have happened, from the Rightists’ point of view. Considering the business with the Rhein Main Farben plant, and …”
“All right. To set your mind at rest, I really believe that hand-knitted socks, free-range chickens, and argumentative women are terrific. I don’t look good in seal fur. But don’t ask me for the next paper recycling date.”
“Well, then.” He sighed. “So you accept?”
“Two hundred marks a day plus expenses.”
“No reduced rates for a good cause?”
“It’s included.
He nodded, looking a little sour. “How do you intend to start?”
“First I’ll have a word with your clients. Then I’ll drive to Doppenburg.”
“My clients? But that’s out of the question. They refuse to talk to anyone but me.”
“In that case, I need official reports, background information, and so on.” I considered this for a moment.
“The Bollig plant doesn’t employ a night watchman?”
“He was knocked out.”
“And?”
“He saw the person. At a lineup, he didn’t recognize a single one of my clients.”
“The fifth man?”
I stood up and pocketed my pack of cigarettes. “When can I see you in your office?”
“Tonight.”
“Around eight, then. Where is Doppenburg?”
“On the Frankfurt-Heidelberg freeway, past Darmstadt. It has its own exit.”
“I’ll see you tonight. See if you can make that lakeside camper be there too.”
I left. The sky had lightened and the rain had slackened to a drizzle. A couple of small clouds stuck to the tall downtown buildings like dirty cottonballs. I turned up my coat collar and hurried to the nearest subway station.
3
I pushed the front door and turned on the light in the entrance hall. Almost instantly the greengrocer popped out of his ground-floor apartment. In his corduroy slippers, turned-up jeans, and green nylon pullover, he barred my way, his shiny blond hair combed severely to the right. He was waving an empty cigarette pack excitedly.
“What is this? Tell me, what is this?”
His head bounced forward and back, as if pummeled from behind by an invisible fist.
One more time. “What is this?”
I unlocked my mailbox.
“I have no idea.”
“It is an empty cigarette pack and I found it this morning, on the landing! Because
He raised his eyebrows and went on ranting.
“Ha! That strikes you dumb, doesn’t it! But let me tell you something-if ever again I find one of these on the landing, I’ll get the owner and show him the mess. Your mess! Then you’ll have to deal with him. Do you understand?”
I felt like pasting him.
“Come on, say something! You’re always such a smartass, how come you don’t know what to say?”
I took the mail out of my box, locked it again, and advanced. We were still two meters apart when he began to stammer.
“If you do anything to me … if you dare … I’ll, I’ll call the police … and they, they’ll arrest you, and there’ll be some peace in this building, at long last … They’ll put you in jail, and we’ll be rid of you!”
He fluttered his hands in front of me like a man shooing off pigeons.
“Now, now … I’m warning you … if you touch me, I’ll … I’ll call for help …”
He was out of breath. I pushed past him and climbed the stairs to my apartment. Once inside, I pulled off my damp clothes and took a hot shower. I had an unpleasant prickling sensation in my feet. Drying myself off, I thought about Carla Reedermann. Then I put on a pair of wool pants and two pullovers and a pair of hiking boots. The kitchen smelled of burnt onions. I poured myself a tumbler of Chivas and went to the phone. I dialed the number of my garage and listened to the phone ring for a while.
“Riebl Auto Repair.”
“Kayankaya. Is my car ready?”
“I’m just working on it.”
“It’s been three weeks since you told me you’d have it ready for me in a week.”
