Rosa by Jonathan Rabb Page A

You’re a very capable detective, Nikolai. So why not do what you do well, and leave this other piece to us.”
    Hoffner reached over and took two more cubes; he slipped them into his pocket for Georgi. “And if Herr Braun needs another body from the morgue?”
    “I’m sure he thought he was doing all of us a favor. Think about it. If your man doesn’t come back in tonight, no one’s the wiser.”
    “You really think I wouldn’t have noticed?”
    “Fine,” Weigland conceded, “I’m sure you’re just that good.” He waited, then said more emphatically, “This is a touchy business, Nikolai. Ebert’s still not on firm ground. You don’t want to make the same kind of mistake your father did.”
    And, like a slap to the face, Hoffner understood. It required every ounce of restraint to answer calmly. “And what mistake was that, Herr Direktor ?”
    There was nothing comforting in Weigland’s tone: “Understand the situation, Nikolai. Luxemburg, a Jew. Your mother, a Jew. And a Russian, to boot. Times haven’t changed all that much.”
    Hoffner nodded slowly. He thought to correct Weigland: Luxemburg had been a Pole. Instead, he pushed his cup across the table and stood. “Thank you for the coffee, Herr Direktor. ”
    Weigland reached out and grabbed Hoffner’s forearm; the grip was as impressive as Hoffner had imagined it would be. “People make mistakes, Nikolai, and the rest of their lives are filled searching for penance.” Weigland continued to squeeze Hoffner’s arm. “Understand that, and do what I’m asking you to do.”
    Hoffner felt the blood pulsing in his hand. He twisted his arm slightly and Weigland released it. “Technically, Herr Direktor, I’m not sure I’m in a position to give or receive absolution.” Not waiting for a response, Hoffner turned and walked back down the hall. He opened the door to the office and poked his head in. “We’re done here, Hans.” He turned to the rest of the room. “Gentlemen.” None of the three said a word.
    Unsure for a moment, Fichte stood and moved across to the door. He then turned back with a little bow. “ Oberkommissar, Kommissare. ”
    Hoffner pulled the door shut behind him, and the two headed back down the stairs. They walked in silence until they reached the courtyard, where Fichte finally managed to get something out. “I’m—sorry for all that, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. ”
    “You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” said Hoffner.
    “I shouldn’t have been trying to impress Lina.”
    “No. That was stupid. Don’t do that again.” Hoffner began to button his coat. “As for the rest, you were fine, Hans. You handled yourself very well.”
    Fichte’s concern gave way to genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. ”
    They passed through the door to the atrium. FliegFlieg was dozing; Hoffner didn’t bother to sign out. Out in the drizzle, the soldiers barely gave them a second glance.
    When they had moved out of earshot, Hoffner said, “You didn’t mention anything about today’s discovery, did you?” They continued to walk. “Nothing about the woman in the Rosenthaler station?”
    “No, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. ” Fichte was doing his best to keep up. “Absolutely not. Nothing.”
    “Good.” They reached the middle of the square. Hoffner stopped and turned to Fichte. “Go home, Hans. Take a cold bath. We start in at eight tomorrow morning.”
    “Yes, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. ” Fichte was about to head off when he said, “The PKD, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar. You know him well, don’t you?”
    Hoffner stared at his young Assistent. “Good night, Hans.”
    Five minutes later, Hoffner watched as the Peace Column flew past his window, the cab racing him south to Kreuzberg.
    The scarf, he thought. I forgot the damn scarf.

         
    TWO
    MECHLIN RSEAU
    T he wail of a siren reached up through the bathroom window and momentarily drowned out the street sounds of early morning. Hoffner tapped his