The Pale Criminal by Philip Kerr

asking them if there is not some propaganda that can be directed towards young girls being made more aware of the need to be careful. At the same time, any such campaign would have to receive the blessing of the Obergruppenführer. He is most anxious that there is nothing said which might create a panic amongst German women.’
    The count nodded. ‘And now,’ he said, looking at me, ‘I have a question for the Kommissar.’
    He smiled, but I wasn’t about to place too much reliance on it. He gave every impression of having attended the same school in supercilious sarcasm as Obergruppenführer Heydrich. Mentally I lifted my guard in readiness for the first punch.
    â€˜As the detective who ingeniously solved the celebrated case of Gormann the strangler, will he share with us now his initial thoughts in this particular case?’
    The colourless smile persisted beyond what might have seemed comfortable, as if he was straining at his tight sphincter. At least, I assumed it was tight. As the deputy of a former SA man, Count Wolf von Helldorf, who was reputed to be as queer as the late SA boss Ernst Röhm, Schulenberg might well have had the kind of arse that would have tempted a short-sighted pickpocket.
    Sensing that there was even more to be made of this disingenuous line of inquiry, he added: ‘Perhaps an indication as to the kind of character we might be looking for?’
    â€˜I think I can help the administrative president there,’ said Frau Kalau vom Hofe. The count’s head jerked irritatedly in her direction.
    She reached down into her briefcase and laid a large book on to the table. And then another, and another, until there was a pile as high as one of von der Schulenberg’s highly polished jackboots.
    â€˜Anticipating just such a question, I took the liberty of bringing along several books dealing with the psychology of the criminal,’ she said. ‘Heindl’s Professional Criminal, Wulf-fen’s excellent Handbook of Sexual Delinquency, Hirschfeld’s Sexual Pathology, F. Alexander’s The Criminal and his Judges — ’
    This was too much for him. He collected his papers off the table and stood up, smiling nervously.
    â€˜Another time perhaps, Frau vom Hofe,’ he said. Then he clicked his heels, bowed stiffly to the room and left.
    â€˜Bastard,’ muttered Lobbes.
    â€˜It’s quite all right,’ she said, adding some copies of the German Police Journal to the pile of textbooks. ‘You can’t teach Hans what he won’t learn.’ I smiled, appreciating her cool resilience, as well as the fine breasts which strained at the material of her blouse.
    After the meeting was concluded, I lingered there a little in order to be alone with her.
    â€˜He asked a good question,’ I said. ‘One to which I didn’t have much of an answer. Thanks for coming to my assistance when you did.’
    â€˜Please don’t mention it,’ she said, starting to return some of her books to the briefcase. I picked one of them up and glanced at it.
    â€˜You know, I’d be interested to hear your answer. Can I buy you a drink?’
    She looked at her watch. ‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘I’d like that.’
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    Die Letze Instanz, at the end of Klosterstrasse on the old city wall, was a local bar much favoured by bulls from the Alex and court officials from the nearby court of last instance, from which the place took its name.
    Inside it was all dark-brown wood-panelled walls and flagged floors. Near the bar, with its great draught pump of yellow ceramic, on top of which stood the figure of a seventeenth-century soldier, was a large seat made of green, brown and yellow tiles, all with moulded figures and heads. It had the look of a very cold and uncomfortable throne, and on it sat the bar’s owner, Warnstorff, a pale-skinned, dark-haired man wearing a collarless shirt and a capacious leather apron that was