The Sinner by Petra Hammesfahr

languishing on the sill. The
sunlight was still strong enough to dazzle her, and she'd forgotten
to bring her sunglasses. On the right, beside the pot plants, lay a
folder. The Cora Bender file, she thought fleetingly. It could only
be a slender file - the case was clear-cut, after all. They would have
to ask her a few questions, of course, but ...
    Those plants needed attention badly. A pitiful sight, with brown
blotches on the leaves, they must have been standing in the full glare
of the afternoon sun. Ten to one the soil was bound to be bone dry.
    "Listen, Herr Berrenrath," she said, "you should take those
plants off the windowsill. They can't stand the sun - it's like putting
them in a furnace. They probably need some water too. Mind if I
take a look?"
    Berrenrath seemed taken aback. After a few moments he nodded
reluctantly.

    There was a sink near the door with an old coffee percolator on
the draining board. An ugly brown film had formed on the glass
jug, which had probably never been rinsed properly. Beside the
percolator was a dirty coffee mug. She rinsed it out carefully, then
picked up the jug and started to rinse that too.
    "No, leave that," Berrenrath said. "Please sit down again."
    "Look," she protested, "you said I could water those plants, and
the jug was dirty. Why shouldn't I clean up a bit?"
    Berrenrath sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Water the plants
if you like, but cleaning up isn't your job."
    "Then I won't," she said. "I meant no harm."
    She filled the jug with water and went over to the window. The
soil really was as dry as dust. Leaving the jug on the windowsill, she
carried the two plants over to a desk, unobtrusively straightened a
couple of chairs and shuffled some papers into a neat pile. This
created a little more room and looked tidier. Then she fetched the
jug and gave the plants a soaking.
    The policemen watched in disbelief as she refilled the jug at the
sink. "They needed it badly," she said when she'd emptied it and
resumed her seat.
    A good minute's silence ensued. She strove to marshal her
thoughts and prepare herself for what would happen next. The
interrogation! Being a moviegoer, she knew the form. A confession
was all that really mattered - to the police; that was the most
important thing, so an interrogation was superfluous in her case.
She'd already confessed. All that remained was to type it out and
get her to sign it. Odd that no one was troubling to do that. She
turned to Berrenrath again. "What are we waiting for?"
    "The officer in charge," he said.
    `Aren't you in charge?"
    "No."
    She smiled at him. It was meant to be an endearing smile, but
her battered features turned it into a crooked grimace. "Look, this
is silly, one policeman's as good as another. I'd sooner we got this
over. Write down what I say, and I'll sign it, then you can knock
off."

    "No, we'll wait for the officer in charge," Berrenrath said. "He
should be here any minute."
    He wasn't, of course. She had often seen movies in which suspects
were left to stew in order to break down their resistance, but she
couldn't understand why this technique was being used in her case.
For one thing she wasn't just a suspect; she was definitely guilty. For
another, she had no intention of causing difficulties.
    The delay was making her nervous. She couldn't help thinking of
Gereon and the way he'd acted on the terrace beside the lake - as
if she were a total stranger. But she could understand that. It must
have been a terrible shock to him. You had to put yourself in his
place. He hadn't wanted to go to the lido at all. It was far too hot,
he'd said when she broached the idea over lunch. He didn't like
swimming in any case. And then, in a few brief seconds, she'd torn
his world to shreds. No wonder he'd beaten her up like a madman.
Was he home already? What would lie have told his parents? They
must have been surprised to see him come home without her.
    She could picture it.