shortly after you went undercover in London, actually, the body of a man named Herman Polti was found in woodland on the eastern outskirts of Berlin. He’d been shot in the chest, and the corpse showed unmistakable signs of having been brutally tortured.”
Bronson sat forward in his chair, hanging on every word.
“But he wasn’t a policeman. Quite the reverse, in fact. Now that we’ve managed to identify Marcus Wolf as the ringleader of this plot, we’ve also been able to trace many of his associates. Herman Polti was one of those associates, and he was also wanted by the Berlin police in connection with at least two robberies and three murders. He was, in short, a career criminal who seemed to have thrown his lot in with Wolf. Who killed him, and who tortured him, are two mysteries that we may never solve. It’s possible that someone from his past life caught up with him to exact revenge, or perhaps Marcus Wolf discovered he was playing both sides against the middle and had him executed. We don’t know, and frankly we don’t care.”
Bronson didn’t even realize he had been holding his breath until he exhaled.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, getting to his feet, “for everything.”
The superintendent smiled.
“Actually, I think it’s the other way round,” he said. “I don’t care what you’re working on now, just clear your desk and take some leave. You’ve earned it. I don’t want to see you back here for at least two weeks. If Angela’s still speaking to you, take her somewhere hot. Just not the Berlin area. It’s possible some of Marcus Wolf’s friends might still be on the loose, and I’d hate you to meet up with them.”
Bronson nodded.
“I hadn’t planned to go back to Germany for some time,” he said. “Maybe never. There’s something about that country that I don’t like. Probably just too many echoes of the past.”
