He rolled himself a cigarette with the tobacco that they dried green, and was thoughtful enough to go and smoke it in the garden. A lovely warm night,' he called. 'Come on out.'
'We're going up to bed.' his daughter called back. 'Goodnight, Father. Ben, Ralf, help Grandma clear away and don't stay up too long. Coming, Klaus?'
He picked up the dynamo lamp that was part of every household's equipment and lit the way upstairs. They undressed in silence. In spite of the slight drizzle, the night was light enough for him to see her figure - medium height, with breasts still firm and a slender waist above the feminine curves of her hips. He sat on the edge of the bed, undid his prosthesis, and put it aside together with its shoe and sock. She knelt in front of him and took him between her warm lips. Then they sank back on the bed. Their lovemaking was calm and satisfying.
The telephone rang in the middle of the night, its sound muted because Klaus Dietrich had wedged some cardboard between the bell and the beater so that it wouldn't wake Inge. Sergeant Franke was on the line. Another murder, sir. This time right up by the fence of the Yankee zone.'
'Where exactly?' Dietrich kept his voice low.
'Right at the back, where the weekly market used to be. I'll wait for you there. Over.'
He dressed quietly, but the prosthesis slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. 'What is it, darling?' asked Inge sleepily.
'Business.' He fetched his bike from the veranda and cycled off. The direct way through the prohibited area was out of bounds to him, so he went the long way round, over Waltraudbriicke and through the Fischtal park. An owl hooted among the fir trees. A duck, waking early, quacked on the pond. The first hint of dawn shimmered in the east. It was infinitely quiet and peaceful.
Franke had parked the gas-powered Opel so that its headlights illuminated a place in the fence. A Military Police jeep stood slightly to one side, and Sergeant Donovan was leaning against it with his arms folded. The inspector parked his bike and nodded to him, but Donovan ignored him. Franke pointed to the fence. At first all Dietrich could make out was a roll of barbed wire. Then he saw its ghastly contents.
'Woman called Jutta Weber found the body,' his sergeant told him. 'Cycled to the Zehlendorf-Mitte police station to report it. I've asked her to come and see us this afternoon.'
Klaus Dietrich looked at the pale face, surrounded by strands of blonde hair. Lifeless blue eyes stared at him through the coils of wire. 'What do we know about her?' he asked, without turning round.
'Her name's Helga Lohmann, she's thirty-five and works for the Yanks. Her shopping bag, containing her pass and four cans of corned beef, was lying by the fence here.'
'Clues?'
'Maybe that rag?' Franke pointed to a piece of fabric caught in the barbed wire.
Dietrich took it from him and held it in the light to examine it. 'Olivegreen gabardine. Could come from an American trench coat.'
A hand reached into the beam of the headlights and removed the fabric from his grasp. 'Confiscated,' said Sergeant Donovan, adding it in German. 'Beschlagnahmt.' The word tripped off his tongue so fluently it was clear he'd used it many times before.
'But we need it as evidence,' Dietrich protested.
'Shut up, you goddam Kraut!' Donovan barked, and put his hand on his Magnum. Then he swung himself into his jeep and raced away, tyres squealing.
'What are we going to do with her?' asked Franke, a little helplessly.
Dietrich pointed to the luggage rack on the car roof. 'If we strap her firmly in place we can get her to Waldfrieden hospital in one piece.'
'It's all the same to the lady now,' muttered Franke, lending Dietrich a hand.
Dr Mobius set to work with the wire-cutters. And regards from the caretaker,' he said. 'The old boy wasn't best pleased when Nurse Dagmar woke him and asked to borrow these.' It was four in the morning. The power had been back on at the hospital for the last half-hour.
'We're going up to bed.' his daughter called back. 'Goodnight, Father. Ben, Ralf, help Grandma clear away and don't stay up too long. Coming, Klaus?'
He picked up the dynamo lamp that was part of every household's equipment and lit the way upstairs. They undressed in silence. In spite of the slight drizzle, the night was light enough for him to see her figure - medium height, with breasts still firm and a slender waist above the feminine curves of her hips. He sat on the edge of the bed, undid his prosthesis, and put it aside together with its shoe and sock. She knelt in front of him and took him between her warm lips. Then they sank back on the bed. Their lovemaking was calm and satisfying.
The telephone rang in the middle of the night, its sound muted because Klaus Dietrich had wedged some cardboard between the bell and the beater so that it wouldn't wake Inge. Sergeant Franke was on the line. Another murder, sir. This time right up by the fence of the Yankee zone.'
'Where exactly?' Dietrich kept his voice low.
'Right at the back, where the weekly market used to be. I'll wait for you there. Over.'
He dressed quietly, but the prosthesis slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. 'What is it, darling?' asked Inge sleepily.
'Business.' He fetched his bike from the veranda and cycled off. The direct way through the prohibited area was out of bounds to him, so he went the long way round, over Waltraudbriicke and through the Fischtal park. An owl hooted among the fir trees. A duck, waking early, quacked on the pond. The first hint of dawn shimmered in the east. It was infinitely quiet and peaceful.
Franke had parked the gas-powered Opel so that its headlights illuminated a place in the fence. A Military Police jeep stood slightly to one side, and Sergeant Donovan was leaning against it with his arms folded. The inspector parked his bike and nodded to him, but Donovan ignored him. Franke pointed to the fence. At first all Dietrich could make out was a roll of barbed wire. Then he saw its ghastly contents.
'Woman called Jutta Weber found the body,' his sergeant told him. 'Cycled to the Zehlendorf-Mitte police station to report it. I've asked her to come and see us this afternoon.'
Klaus Dietrich looked at the pale face, surrounded by strands of blonde hair. Lifeless blue eyes stared at him through the coils of wire. 'What do we know about her?' he asked, without turning round.
'Her name's Helga Lohmann, she's thirty-five and works for the Yanks. Her shopping bag, containing her pass and four cans of corned beef, was lying by the fence here.'
'Clues?'
'Maybe that rag?' Franke pointed to a piece of fabric caught in the barbed wire.
Dietrich took it from him and held it in the light to examine it. 'Olivegreen gabardine. Could come from an American trench coat.'
A hand reached into the beam of the headlights and removed the fabric from his grasp. 'Confiscated,' said Sergeant Donovan, adding it in German. 'Beschlagnahmt.' The word tripped off his tongue so fluently it was clear he'd used it many times before.
'But we need it as evidence,' Dietrich protested.
'Shut up, you goddam Kraut!' Donovan barked, and put his hand on his Magnum. Then he swung himself into his jeep and raced away, tyres squealing.
'What are we going to do with her?' asked Franke, a little helplessly.
Dietrich pointed to the luggage rack on the car roof. 'If we strap her firmly in place we can get her to Waldfrieden hospital in one piece.'
'It's all the same to the lady now,' muttered Franke, lending Dietrich a hand.
Dr Mobius set to work with the wire-cutters. And regards from the caretaker,' he said. 'The old boy wasn't best pleased when Nurse Dagmar woke him and asked to borrow these.' It was four in the morning. The power had been back on at the hospital for the last half-hour.
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