shrugged.
‘Overcast, I suppose. And windy. Mind you, the bar is indoors, as you may have noticed.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Rooth, taking the rest of the peanuts.
‘How do you get here?’ Jung asked. ‘Do you also use the car park? I mean, you don’t live in Dikken, do you?’
Kummer shook his head and displayed his teeth again.
‘I generally come by tram,’ he said. ‘I sometimes get a lift with Helene or one of the others. But none of the staff uses the car park. There are a few private parking places round the back.’
‘How many staff are there here?’ Rooth asked.
‘A dozen or so,’ said Kummer. ‘But only three or four of us are on duty at any one time. As we’ve already said, it’s low season at this time of year.’
‘Yes, as we’ve already said,’ said Rooth, looking round the deserted bar. ‘So you don’t know who the murderer is, then?’
Kummer stood up straight.
‘What the hell do you mean? Of course I don’t bloody well know. It’s not our fault if somebody gets attacked in our car park.’
‘Of course not,’ said Rooth. ‘Anyway, thank you for your cooperation, but we’d better be moving on now. We might well be back.’
‘Why?’ asked Kummer.
‘Because that’s the way we work,’ said Jung.
‘Because we like peanuts,’ said Rooth.
Moreno and Reinhart went together to Ockfener Plejn on Sunday evening. It was only a few blocks from the police station, and despite the wind and the driving rain, they went on foot.
‘We need to give our minds a good soaking and blow away all the dust,’ explained Reinhart. ‘And it would be no bad thing if our internal and external landscapes were in harmony.’
‘How did he take it?’ Moreno asked.
Reinhart thought it over before answering.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ll be damned if I know. But he didn’t have much to say for himself, that’s for sure. Mün-ster found it hard to cope. It’s such a bloody mess.’
‘Was he on his own?’
‘No, he had his new woman with him, thank God.’
‘Thank God for that,’ agreed Moreno. ‘Is she okay?’
‘I think so,’ said Reinhart.
They came to the old square, and located the property. One of a row of cramped houses with high, narrow gables: pretty run-down, filthy frontages and badly maintained window frames. A few steps led up to the front door, and Moreno pressed the bell push next to the handprinted name plate.
After half a minute and a second ring, Marlene Frey opened the door. Her face seemed to be a little swollen, and her eyes were about three times as red and tearful as they had been when Moreno interviewed her in her office at the police station that morning. Nevertheless, the frail-looking woman displayed signs of willpower and strength.
Moreno noted that she had changed her clothes as well. Only a different pair of jeans and a yellow jumper instead of a red one, it was true: but perhaps that indicated that she had begun to accept the situation. Understood that life must go on. Nor did she give the impression that she had been taking sedatives – although that was hard to judge, of course.
‘Hello again,’ said Moreno. ‘Have you managed to get any sleep?’
Marlene Frey shook her head.
Moreno introduced Reinhart, and they went up the stairs to the second floor.
Two small rooms and a cramped, chilly kitchen, that was all. Wine-red walls and a minimum of furniture, mainly big, colourful floor cushions to sit or lie down on. A few big, green plants and a couple of posters. In the bigger room two wicker chairs and a low stool stood in front of a calor gas stove. Marlene Frey sat down on the stool, and invited Moreno and Reinhart to sit on the wicker chairs.
‘Can I offer you anything?’
Moreno shook her head. Reinhart cleared his throat.
‘We know that this is extremely difficult for you,’ he said. ‘But we have to ask you a few questions even so. Say if you don’t feel up to it, and we can come tomorrow
‘Overcast, I suppose. And windy. Mind you, the bar is indoors, as you may have noticed.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Rooth, taking the rest of the peanuts.
‘How do you get here?’ Jung asked. ‘Do you also use the car park? I mean, you don’t live in Dikken, do you?’
Kummer shook his head and displayed his teeth again.
‘I generally come by tram,’ he said. ‘I sometimes get a lift with Helene or one of the others. But none of the staff uses the car park. There are a few private parking places round the back.’
‘How many staff are there here?’ Rooth asked.
‘A dozen or so,’ said Kummer. ‘But only three or four of us are on duty at any one time. As we’ve already said, it’s low season at this time of year.’
‘Yes, as we’ve already said,’ said Rooth, looking round the deserted bar. ‘So you don’t know who the murderer is, then?’
Kummer stood up straight.
‘What the hell do you mean? Of course I don’t bloody well know. It’s not our fault if somebody gets attacked in our car park.’
‘Of course not,’ said Rooth. ‘Anyway, thank you for your cooperation, but we’d better be moving on now. We might well be back.’
‘Why?’ asked Kummer.
‘Because that’s the way we work,’ said Jung.
‘Because we like peanuts,’ said Rooth.
Moreno and Reinhart went together to Ockfener Plejn on Sunday evening. It was only a few blocks from the police station, and despite the wind and the driving rain, they went on foot.
‘We need to give our minds a good soaking and blow away all the dust,’ explained Reinhart. ‘And it would be no bad thing if our internal and external landscapes were in harmony.’
‘How did he take it?’ Moreno asked.
Reinhart thought it over before answering.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ll be damned if I know. But he didn’t have much to say for himself, that’s for sure. Mün-ster found it hard to cope. It’s such a bloody mess.’
‘Was he on his own?’
‘No, he had his new woman with him, thank God.’
‘Thank God for that,’ agreed Moreno. ‘Is she okay?’
‘I think so,’ said Reinhart.
They came to the old square, and located the property. One of a row of cramped houses with high, narrow gables: pretty run-down, filthy frontages and badly maintained window frames. A few steps led up to the front door, and Moreno pressed the bell push next to the handprinted name plate.
After half a minute and a second ring, Marlene Frey opened the door. Her face seemed to be a little swollen, and her eyes were about three times as red and tearful as they had been when Moreno interviewed her in her office at the police station that morning. Nevertheless, the frail-looking woman displayed signs of willpower and strength.
Moreno noted that she had changed her clothes as well. Only a different pair of jeans and a yellow jumper instead of a red one, it was true: but perhaps that indicated that she had begun to accept the situation. Understood that life must go on. Nor did she give the impression that she had been taking sedatives – although that was hard to judge, of course.
‘Hello again,’ said Moreno. ‘Have you managed to get any sleep?’
Marlene Frey shook her head.
Moreno introduced Reinhart, and they went up the stairs to the second floor.
Two small rooms and a cramped, chilly kitchen, that was all. Wine-red walls and a minimum of furniture, mainly big, colourful floor cushions to sit or lie down on. A few big, green plants and a couple of posters. In the bigger room two wicker chairs and a low stool stood in front of a calor gas stove. Marlene Frey sat down on the stool, and invited Moreno and Reinhart to sit on the wicker chairs.
‘Can I offer you anything?’
Moreno shook her head. Reinhart cleared his throat.
‘We know that this is extremely difficult for you,’ he said. ‘But we have to ask you a few questions even so. Say if you don’t feel up to it, and we can come tomorrow
Similar Books
