with Friedhelm Döring. The castration. A charge of aggravated bodily harm was brought against the veterinarian, the lawyer, and the pharmacist.”
“Yeah, but not as a favor,” Bodenstein countered in consternation. “We had sent Spusi to the operating room of the veterinary clinic, but there were no viable leads, not a single piece of evidence. I can’t torture suspects to make them talk!”
Pia could see that her boss was getting more and more annoyed the longer he thought about this charge.
“I just wanted to alert you to this in advance, so you’ll be prepared,” she said. “I’m actually rather sure that’s exactly what Behnke is going to start with.”
“Thanks,” said Bodenstein with a grim smile. “I’m afraid you’re right. But he’d better be careful not to lean too far out the window. Because, by God, he’s no innocent lamb.”
“How do you mean?” Now Pia was curious. She recalled the tension that had clearly existed from the first day between Behnke and Dr. Engel. Back then, rumors were flying that their mutual dislike had something to do with an old case in which they’d been involved during their time with the Frankfurt Homicide Commission. During an arrest, a contact man for the Frankfurt police had been shot to death.
“An old case,” replied Bodenstein evasively. “Long ago, but still under the statute of limitations. Behnke is going to need to pull his socks up if he tries to piss on me.”
* * *
“Crap!” Hanna muttered when the green light changed to red right in front of her. Somebody had just snatched the last available spot in the Junghofstrasse parking garage. She glanced in the rearview mirror, shifted into reverse, and turned the Mini that Meike had lent her toward the exit. Luckily, nobody was behind her and the exit was wide enough for this maneuver. It was already ten minutes before noon. She had a lunch appointment with Wolfgang in KUBU. In a plastic sleeve lying next to her on the passenger seat was the battle plan for damage control that she had worked out this morning.
She turned right onto Junghofstrasse and then onto Neue Mainzer at the corner. Just before the Hilton, she veered right, toward the stock exchange, and actually spied a parking place on the left side of the street between a delivery van and a black limousine. She put on the blinker, stepped on the gas, and moved over to the left. She assiduously ignored the wild honking and gesticulations of the driver behind her, who had to stop short to avoid plowing into the Mini. Courtesy and consideration were uncalled for in the inner-city war for free parking spots. The slot would have been too small for her own car, but the Mini slipped into it with no problem.
Hanna got out, sticking the briefcase under her arm. That morning, she’d had the Porsche Panamera picked up and taken to the shop. The owner of the shop had called her an hour later and asked whether she didn’t want to file a police report against an unknown person for property damage.
“I’ll think it over,” she replied, agreeing that the vandalized hood and the four slashed tires should be set aside as evidence. In her mind, Hanna saw again the large letters on her car’s hood spelling out CUNT. Who had done it? Norman? Vinzenz? Who else knew where she lived? All morning, she had banned this worrying thought from her head, but now it pushed to the foreground again.
Hanna decided to take a shortcut but regretted it seconds later, because restaurant row was packed to the gills. All the seats underneath the big awnings were taken in front of all the cafés and restaurants. People who worked in the surrounding buildings and stores were using their lunch hour to take a sunbath; there were teenagers with hardly any clothes on, mothers with strollers, and senior citizens who ambled along the shopping mile at a pace much slower than the usual Frankfurt rush. The heat was slowing down the whole city.
Hanna adapted her gait to
“Yeah, but not as a favor,” Bodenstein countered in consternation. “We had sent Spusi to the operating room of the veterinary clinic, but there were no viable leads, not a single piece of evidence. I can’t torture suspects to make them talk!”
Pia could see that her boss was getting more and more annoyed the longer he thought about this charge.
“I just wanted to alert you to this in advance, so you’ll be prepared,” she said. “I’m actually rather sure that’s exactly what Behnke is going to start with.”
“Thanks,” said Bodenstein with a grim smile. “I’m afraid you’re right. But he’d better be careful not to lean too far out the window. Because, by God, he’s no innocent lamb.”
“How do you mean?” Now Pia was curious. She recalled the tension that had clearly existed from the first day between Behnke and Dr. Engel. Back then, rumors were flying that their mutual dislike had something to do with an old case in which they’d been involved during their time with the Frankfurt Homicide Commission. During an arrest, a contact man for the Frankfurt police had been shot to death.
“An old case,” replied Bodenstein evasively. “Long ago, but still under the statute of limitations. Behnke is going to need to pull his socks up if he tries to piss on me.”
* * *
“Crap!” Hanna muttered when the green light changed to red right in front of her. Somebody had just snatched the last available spot in the Junghofstrasse parking garage. She glanced in the rearview mirror, shifted into reverse, and turned the Mini that Meike had lent her toward the exit. Luckily, nobody was behind her and the exit was wide enough for this maneuver. It was already ten minutes before noon. She had a lunch appointment with Wolfgang in KUBU. In a plastic sleeve lying next to her on the passenger seat was the battle plan for damage control that she had worked out this morning.
She turned right onto Junghofstrasse and then onto Neue Mainzer at the corner. Just before the Hilton, she veered right, toward the stock exchange, and actually spied a parking place on the left side of the street between a delivery van and a black limousine. She put on the blinker, stepped on the gas, and moved over to the left. She assiduously ignored the wild honking and gesticulations of the driver behind her, who had to stop short to avoid plowing into the Mini. Courtesy and consideration were uncalled for in the inner-city war for free parking spots. The slot would have been too small for her own car, but the Mini slipped into it with no problem.
Hanna got out, sticking the briefcase under her arm. That morning, she’d had the Porsche Panamera picked up and taken to the shop. The owner of the shop had called her an hour later and asked whether she didn’t want to file a police report against an unknown person for property damage.
“I’ll think it over,” she replied, agreeing that the vandalized hood and the four slashed tires should be set aside as evidence. In her mind, Hanna saw again the large letters on her car’s hood spelling out CUNT. Who had done it? Norman? Vinzenz? Who else knew where she lived? All morning, she had banned this worrying thought from her head, but now it pushed to the foreground again.
Hanna decided to take a shortcut but regretted it seconds later, because restaurant row was packed to the gills. All the seats underneath the big awnings were taken in front of all the cafés and restaurants. People who worked in the surrounding buildings and stores were using their lunch hour to take a sunbath; there were teenagers with hardly any clothes on, mothers with strollers, and senior citizens who ambled along the shopping mile at a pace much slower than the usual Frankfurt rush. The heat was slowing down the whole city.
Hanna adapted her gait to
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