him, still hampered by his bad knee. As Myles laid his crutches by his seat, Jean-François jumped to his feet and offered to pour Myles a coffee. Myles accepted gratefully.
Glenn arrived, looking more rested than before. He explained he had found a good running route around the lake. Heike-Ann arrived perfectly on time, followed only a minute later by Zenyalena, who was wearing a purple power-suit. Myles guessed her clothes were meant to be fashionable. They were certainly hard to ignore.
Jean-François produced a folder and placed it on the table. Inside was a list of all the files they had from Stolz. As he spread the papers out, it became clear there were three lists. Jean-François had been working hard, typing up the lists in his hotel room. ‘This is what we have,’ he explained. ‘This first list sets out all the files from the official 1945 archive. The second is of the files we found in Stolz’s room, both in the care home and at his apartment. The third describes the papers given to us by Stolz’s lawyer.’ He paused. ‘We could divide the papers between us - but all of us would have to agree …’ The Frenchman lifted his palms. He wanted someone else in the team to make the next suggestion.
Zenyalena responded quickly. ‘How would we decide who gets what?’
Glenn gently pushed the list towards her. ‘Which files would you like to look through?’
Zenyalena wasn’t sure how to react. Then she scowled. ‘If I choose, does that mean I won’t get to see the others?’
Myles tried to defuse the issue. ‘We could photocopy all the papers. We all get a copy of everything. Then we divide up the workload.’
Only Glenn was hostile. ‘Do we really have to photocopy them all ?’ He said the word ‘all’ in an American drawl, as if photocopying large quantities of paper was a European fetish.
Jean-François raised his eyebrows towards Heike-Ann. ‘Heike-Ann – can you handle the copying?’
Heike-Ann didn’t feel humbled by the request at all. ‘I can get everything photocopied within a day. It is no problem,’ she said.
The team split up for several hours, until Heike-Ann called them back together in the early evening. They returned to the hotel’s executive meeting room to find several stacks of paper. ‘There were just 230 sheets in total,’ she declared. ‘Not too many.’
Jean-François was gracious. ‘I hope you didn’t have trouble carrying them,’ he apologised, referring to her pregnancy, as he flicked through the pile of papers. They were neatly ordered, almost perfectly so. Numbered stickers on cardboard separator files divided each subject. Different translations were on different coloured paper: white for the German original, green for English, pink for Russian and light blue for French.
Glenn and Zenyalena eyed the stacks around the room, checking they were identical. They certainly looked the same. Zenyalena, though, wanted to be sure. ‘This looks very good – thank you, Heike-Ann. And you’re sure this is a copy of all the papers we have?’
‘Correct – yes. It was easier than it looks: the computer which did all the translations also did the photocopying.’
Glenn followed up on Zenyalena’s theme. ‘But, Heike-Ann, do you think there could be any others?’
Heike-Ann looked confused by the question. She thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I don’t know.’
Myles was the only one of the team who found the computer translations awkward – and not just because they would be hard to carry with his injured leg. To him, they seemed too neat. Too bureaucratic. It was an odd way to summarise the lifetime’s work of Werner Stolz – the grey man had become a set of multi-coloured papers.
Heike-Ann raised another sheet in the air, waving it for the team to see. ‘I also had this translated for you. It’s the police report about Stolz’s apartment.’
She was about to put the paper down, but Zenyalena peered closer. ‘What else does the
Glenn arrived, looking more rested than before. He explained he had found a good running route around the lake. Heike-Ann arrived perfectly on time, followed only a minute later by Zenyalena, who was wearing a purple power-suit. Myles guessed her clothes were meant to be fashionable. They were certainly hard to ignore.
Jean-François produced a folder and placed it on the table. Inside was a list of all the files they had from Stolz. As he spread the papers out, it became clear there were three lists. Jean-François had been working hard, typing up the lists in his hotel room. ‘This is what we have,’ he explained. ‘This first list sets out all the files from the official 1945 archive. The second is of the files we found in Stolz’s room, both in the care home and at his apartment. The third describes the papers given to us by Stolz’s lawyer.’ He paused. ‘We could divide the papers between us - but all of us would have to agree …’ The Frenchman lifted his palms. He wanted someone else in the team to make the next suggestion.
Zenyalena responded quickly. ‘How would we decide who gets what?’
Glenn gently pushed the list towards her. ‘Which files would you like to look through?’
Zenyalena wasn’t sure how to react. Then she scowled. ‘If I choose, does that mean I won’t get to see the others?’
Myles tried to defuse the issue. ‘We could photocopy all the papers. We all get a copy of everything. Then we divide up the workload.’
Only Glenn was hostile. ‘Do we really have to photocopy them all ?’ He said the word ‘all’ in an American drawl, as if photocopying large quantities of paper was a European fetish.
Jean-François raised his eyebrows towards Heike-Ann. ‘Heike-Ann – can you handle the copying?’
Heike-Ann didn’t feel humbled by the request at all. ‘I can get everything photocopied within a day. It is no problem,’ she said.
The team split up for several hours, until Heike-Ann called them back together in the early evening. They returned to the hotel’s executive meeting room to find several stacks of paper. ‘There were just 230 sheets in total,’ she declared. ‘Not too many.’
Jean-François was gracious. ‘I hope you didn’t have trouble carrying them,’ he apologised, referring to her pregnancy, as he flicked through the pile of papers. They were neatly ordered, almost perfectly so. Numbered stickers on cardboard separator files divided each subject. Different translations were on different coloured paper: white for the German original, green for English, pink for Russian and light blue for French.
Glenn and Zenyalena eyed the stacks around the room, checking they were identical. They certainly looked the same. Zenyalena, though, wanted to be sure. ‘This looks very good – thank you, Heike-Ann. And you’re sure this is a copy of all the papers we have?’
‘Correct – yes. It was easier than it looks: the computer which did all the translations also did the photocopying.’
Glenn followed up on Zenyalena’s theme. ‘But, Heike-Ann, do you think there could be any others?’
Heike-Ann looked confused by the question. She thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I don’t know.’
Myles was the only one of the team who found the computer translations awkward – and not just because they would be hard to carry with his injured leg. To him, they seemed too neat. Too bureaucratic. It was an odd way to summarise the lifetime’s work of Werner Stolz – the grey man had become a set of multi-coloured papers.
Heike-Ann raised another sheet in the air, waving it for the team to see. ‘I also had this translated for you. It’s the police report about Stolz’s apartment.’
She was about to put the paper down, but Zenyalena peered closer. ‘What else does the
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