became obvious to me that a) someone was pressuring you-but there was nothing to go on in that direction, or b) you had your own reasons for leading me down a false trail. And so on, and so forth. All in all, it’s not a bad theory, and that’s all it is. There is no evidence, and I won’t go looking for any. There isn’t even a corpse. I buried it, because I assumed from the start that the murder could only have been committed by a refugee who gained his-or her-freedom. In my book that’s self-defense, even if other motives may have come into play.” I paused briefly, then said: “Now do you understand what I meant by saying nothing will happen to you?”
But he didn’t understand, at least not immediately. He was still hiding his face in his hands. Next to him, Sri Dao contemplated her own hands which lay folded in her lap. I picked up my teacup and leaned back. The first bees of spring hummed into the room, and you could hear children laughing and bouncing balls down in the street. Maybe Elsa Sandmann would accept an invitation to have dinner with me?
Slowly, Weidenbusch raised his head. “But why did you come here, to tell us these things, if you-”
“If I don’t intend to do anything about it? First of all, it was my job to find Mrs. Rakdee. That’s what you were paying me for. Now I have found her. Second, I’ve been involved in this story for too long not to feel the urge to tell it at least once. And third, I don’t enjoy being fooled. So,” I took out my wallet and put three thousand-mark bills on the table, “here’s your money.”
“Oh!” He waved it aside. “No, no, you keep it, please. I don’t know how else to thank you … If that’s the right expression-what I mean is …”
There was still fear in his voice, and I began to wonder what he might need to regain his balance. Maybe his girlfriend ought to give him a hug, I thought. But, for a while now, she had been casting a rather cool eye at him, just as if he had committed some kind of blunder. As far as I could see, he hadn’t been doing anything besides stammering incoherently. Being a murderess safe from prison, arid seeming quite unconcerned about her deed, I felt that she could have been a little nicer to him. I took one of the bills, said “That’s fine,” and prepared to leave. As I picked up my cigarettes I happened to glance at the daily paper lying next to them. In the lower right-hand corner was the result of the tennis game Becker vs. Steeb, two days ago. Six two, six two for Becker. Suddenly I understood Sri Dao’s unfriendly mood. If Slibulsky hadn’t seen the end of the game but had answered Weidenbusch’s phone call, not more than half an hour could have elapsed between my departure and that call. This would have been just enough time for Slibulsky to raise the alarm in Gellersheim and to have the villa evacuated in a panic mode. But it was not enough time for a murder and two phone calls. In other words: by whatever means Sri Dao had managed to reach a phone in that chaos, she must have called Weidenbusch during the evacuation. And when Weidenbusch hadn’t been able to reach me, he himself had driven to Gellersheim.
I looked at the couple. Both of them seemed tense. Weidenbusch interpreted my hesitation in his customary manner and said quickly: “No, just take it all, and if you would like more-”
“Stay where you are.”
Her elbow on the table, Sri Dao was holding her cup under her nose and watching him and me across the rim as if we were playing ping-pong.
“I think that Mrs. Rakdee feels you should tell me something.”
He looked irritated, turned to look at her. “Sweetheart?”
Sweetheart did not react.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, maybe it isn’t such a good start for a wonderful love affair if one party lets the other get away with murder.”
He opened his mouth. Then he nodded, slowly.
Ten minutes later, Weidenbusch had smoked three cigarettes while telling me how he had arrived at the villa, how he had snuck down into the basement, and how he had seen Manne Greiner raping Sri Dao. What followed was pure reflex-a knee between the prone man’s shoulders, a firm grip on his forehead, and a powerful tug to snap his neck.
His voice grew firmer as he spoke. He stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and for the first time in our acquaintance seemed almost calm. “I wouldn’t have thought you could do that.”
He shrugged. “Me neither. So. Are you going to hand me over to the cops?”
“No.” I pocketed my cigarettes. “Just don’t start writing a poem about it when you’re back in shape.”
I was about to get up when Sri Dao grabbed my arm and pointed at the newspaper with a questioning expression. I tapped the tennis results with my finger. She looked perplexed. Then the doorbell rang. Weidenbusch stared at me. I ran to the window. A green and white van stood in the carriageway.
“Police. I’ll take care of them. But you better think of something to get her visa extended. Good luck.”
“But,” Weidenbusch cleared his throat, “I mean, won’t I see you again?”
Without turning, and casting a final glance at the painted breakfast trays, I replied: “That’s entirely up to you. As you know, it’s two hundred a day plus expenses.”
I opened the door. There were four of them: three in uniform and one in plain clothes. The plainclothes guy had a friendly face adorned by a mustache. We looked at each other with a degree of amazement.
“Goodness, Inspector, what are you doing here?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”
I pulled the door shut behind me. “This is my new apartment.”
Klaase craned his neck to read the nameplate. “Oh-but what about Mr. Weidenbusch?”
“I think he moved to Munich. Why?”
“Well, because …” He unfolded a sheet of paper. The uniformed guys were looking at me in a manner indicating that as far as they were concerned, it was a criminal offense for me to be walking on two legs.
“I have here a deportation order against a Mrs. Sri Dao Rakdee. And we’ve been informed that she resides here.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know her. You coming down with me?”
Descending the stairs we exchanged the usual HowAreYouThanksAllRightWeekendComingUpThankGod platitudes. But once we were on the sidewalk, Klaase took me aside, waving the uniformed guys back into the van.
“I hope you treated the information I gave you confidentially?”
“But of course.”
He didn’t look totally convinced. “This morning Hottges asked me if I had told anybody about Gellersheim.”
“Really? Speaking of Hottges-you said such a kind thing about him when we talked on the phone: something to the effect that he’d had a hard life. What were you referring to?”
“Oh, that.…” He cleared his throat, seemed reluctant. “I don’t have any details, exactly.”
“How about some inexact details?”
“Well … he was always so proud of his family, a happy marriage, three kids … but then it all turned bad. Because of infidelities.”
“He doesn’t look like a womanizer.”
“That’s just it.”
“… I see.”
We walked to the van. The uniformed guys watched us through the windows, talking to each other.
“You should change that name plate.”
“Yes, the super’s been at me about that for two days.” I patted his shoulder. “So, keep up the good work. Keep an eye out for things.”
He smiled hesitantly. “Thanks.”
I grinned. “Don’t mention it. Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
I turned and walked down the street. It still was a warm day with blue skies. I took off my jacket and slung it over my shoulder. My wallet now contained a check for twenty thousand marks and Weidenbusch’s thousand. My first purchase was an ice cream cone, and while the vendor scoured the neighborhood to get me my change, I stopped in the drug store next door and picked out a pair of sunglasses, whistling “Say a Little Prayer for You.” It was easy to whistle with that kind of money in my pocket. I wouldn’t be doing it for very long.
I unlocked the door to my office, tossed the mail and newspapers into the clients’ chair, and opened the windows, letting in a blend of odors: vanilla and frying fat. The Chicken Inn across the street had put its soft-ice
