She showed Willi the log entry. The name – Friedrich Grosz – and the address the man had given were undoubtedly false.
‘Why do you think they were false?’
‘The way he looked at me when he gave his name? The sound of his voice? I don’t know exactly, but I’m pretty sure he was lying.’
‘Is Dr Rosenberg here tonight?’ said Willi.
‘No,’ said the nurse. ‘He won’t be in until tomorrow.’
‘Would you give me the doctor’s address?’ The nurse hesitated. ‘This is an urgent matter,’ said Willi.
The nurse, Irmgard Grosz, gave a good description of the patient.
‘Well, of course I was watching him for signs of shock, that sort of thing, so I got a good look. Thirty or so years old. Boyish, in any case. Light brown hair, cut short on the sides, clean shaven. His ears stuck out. Blue eyes, a bit too far apart. He had a long thin nose, and almost no lips. When he smiled his lips disappeared altogether.’
‘He smiled?’
‘Sort of. He had perfect teeth. Not a friendly smile though. He even laughed once, at the coincidence of our same last names.’
‘What do you remember, if anything, about how he spoke?’
‘He had a soft voice, a high voice, almost like a boy’s voice.’
‘Anything else you noticed about him?’
‘He bit his nails. They were bitten to the quick.’
‘How was he dressed?’ said Willi.
‘A suit and tie and an overcoat.’
‘A tie? Was he disheveled?’
‘No, and that surprised me. And he didn’t want to take anything off.’
‘But he did?’
‘He had no choice. We had to help him, of course. Overcoat, suit coat, and shirt all had blood on them. He kept trying to cross his arms over his chest, like he was ashamed of his body.’
Willi continued in this direction, asking about body hair, scars, tattoos, jewelry. ‘Was he wearing any military insignia? What about his undershirt, his belt, his shoes?’
‘Nothing seemed to be military.’
‘He came in with some sort of bandage around his arm?’
‘He did. More of a rag than a bandage.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Odd,’ said Irmgard. ‘It was yellow, with a small red and green pattern, tiny flowers, I think. I remember wondering where he had got that. I mean, when you have an accident like that … the bandage looked like it came from a curtain or a dress or something. So, how did that become his bandage? I mean, he had obviously been outside, probably when it happened – his pant legs were wet from the snow – so where do you find a piece of fabric like that lying around outside?’
‘I understand,’ said Willi. ‘What happened to that rag, Frau Grosz? Do you think it might still be in your trash?’
‘No. That’s odd too,’ she said. ‘I started to throw it away – it was soaked with blood – but he grabbed it out of my hand. Really grabbed it. He wadded it up and stuffed it in his pants pocket. I wondered why. Now I know.’
‘Frau Grosz, have you ever thought of going into police work?’ said Willi.
‘No. Why?’
‘It’s just, I think you might be very good at it.’
It was late in the evening when Willi rang the Rosenbergs’ bell. Samuel Rosenberg answered the door himself. Willi identified himself as a detective. He could hear there was a party going on. Dr Rosenberg was not happy to have his evening interrupted. But once Willi explained that it was about the wounded man he had treated, and that this man was a person of interest in a criminal investigation, Dr Rosenberg showed Willi into a small office just off the entry hall. The office was comfortably furnished with leather chairs, a desk, and what looked to be a Tiffany lamp. The walls were covered with paintings and drawings.
‘Paul Klee?’ said Willi, nodding toward one small painting.
‘He was a patient,’ said Doctor Rosenberg. ‘This person of interest, are you talking about the young woman who was killed the other night?’
Willi said that he was.
The doctor remembered the wounded man very clearly. He confirmed Irmgard Grosz’s description of the patient and of his treatment of the wound as well. ‘It was a deep and violent injury.’
‘Did he need more medical attention?’
‘He did. I told him I thought he might have suffered some nerve damage and that vascular surgery might be necessary as well. In any case, someone should check the wound to see that it is healing properly. And he’ll need the stitches removed.’
‘How did he react to your advice, Doctor?’
‘He didn’t react. And given what I now know, I doubt that he’ll follow my recommendations.’
‘Did he say anything about how he was injured?’
‘I asked,’ said the doctor, ‘but he didn’t answer.’
‘You mean he didn’t say anything?’
‘I told him I was required to keep a record of all injuries in the treatment log, to which he said, “Put down: accident.” I remember thinking that was odd. Not “It was an accident,” but “Put down: accident.”’
‘Was he in pain?’ said Willi.
‘A good bit of pain, I think, yes. I knew he’d be in a lot more pain soon, and I told him so.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He seemed frightened and asked me to give him something. I had given him an injection earlier, and I wrote him a prescription for later. But he wanted something right away.’
‘What did you give him, and what was your prescription for?’
‘Eukodol in both cases. It’s an oxycodone-based pain killer.’
‘Do you have a list of all-night pharmacies, Doctor?’
‘There are four in Munich.’ The doctor paused and thought for a moment. ‘You know,’ he said,
