Every trace of her initial relief, jubilation and
triumph had gone. She needed a rational explanation.
When the door finally opened again she started to count in her
head - eighteen, nineteen, twenty - in the hope that it would help
to calm her. The man who came in looked to be in his early fifties.
He made an easy-going, good-natured impression, said hello all
round and nodded to the two constables. Berrenrath returned
the nod, combining it with a nod in her direction that struck her
as somehow odd. The man in the sports coat got up, and the
newcomer went out again, accompanied by him and Berrenrath.
Again she waited, wondering what the trio outside the door were
talking about and what that strange nod had signified. If only the
younger policeman would say something. She found the silence
unbearable because it was only superficial. It was almost like a
Saturday night. Her head wasn't silent inside; the tune was playing
there. The dripping tap sounded almost like the drums. The tune
was always followed by the dream, and she wasn't asleep now! If
those men didn't come back soon ...
They were gone for only ten minutes, but that was six hundred
seconds, and every second spawned a new idea that gnawed away
at her mind. What alarmed her most were the feelings aroused in her by the act of killing. Any normal person would have been in
despair, horrified and tormented by guilt at having done such a
thing. And she had felt good. That wasn't normal.
At last they returned. The man in the sports coat resumed his
seat at the typewriter, and Berrenrath his place beside the window
The chief sat down facing her. He gave her an amiable smile and
stated his name, which she registered as little as the rest of what he
said. Everything inside her tensed. If she wasn't to be suspected of
insanity, she must come up with some brief, precise answers and a
demonstrable motive.
Berrenrath was holding something in his hand: her purse. She
didn't know where he had produced it from so suddenly; she hadn't
noticed it. The whole procedure was repeated: name, maiden
name, date of birth, place of birth, marital status, occupation,
parents, siblings.
"Is this a quiz?" she asked angrily. "If so, you're too late, I've
already earned my points for the answers. Or are you simply
trying to find out if I've lost my marbles? Don't worry, they're all
there. This is the third time I've been asked the same questions
- I noticed. Here's a suggestion for you: ask your colleague for a
change, he's got all the answers written down. Besides, that man
there has my papers."
She regretted having called Berrenrath "that man there"; he
didn't deserve such a disparaging designation. He'd been really
very nice to her so far, and besides, it would be more advisable to
display a polite, cooperative manner. She was being cooperative,
but they must hurry it up a bit. She couldn't endure it if they kept
up this snail's pace.
Her insolence evoked no reaction. The younger constable gave a
momentary frown, but that was all. Berrenrath brought her purse
over to the desk, and the man in the sports coat took it from him.
She became aware that she'd failed to register both his name and
the chief's. She strove to remember them, but her every thought
became entangled with the dead man's face. She couldn't say:
"Sorry, I wasn't on the ball just now, I've forgotten your names."
They would jump to the conclusion that she was deranged.
The two uniformed policemen left the room. She would have
preferred Berrenrath to stay, he was such a sympathetic fellow, but
she couldn't ask. It mustn't look as if she needed moral support.
The man in the sports coat opened her purse, removed her ID and
handed it to his boss. Then lie examined her driving licence and
glanced up quickly.
It was the face that had fazed him, she felt sure. The sick, grey
face on her licence, which looked as if it belonged to an old
woman. For a moment she was afraid he
triumph had gone. She needed a rational explanation.
When the door finally opened again she started to count in her
head - eighteen, nineteen, twenty - in the hope that it would help
to calm her. The man who came in looked to be in his early fifties.
He made an easy-going, good-natured impression, said hello all
round and nodded to the two constables. Berrenrath returned
the nod, combining it with a nod in her direction that struck her
as somehow odd. The man in the sports coat got up, and the
newcomer went out again, accompanied by him and Berrenrath.
Again she waited, wondering what the trio outside the door were
talking about and what that strange nod had signified. If only the
younger policeman would say something. She found the silence
unbearable because it was only superficial. It was almost like a
Saturday night. Her head wasn't silent inside; the tune was playing
there. The dripping tap sounded almost like the drums. The tune
was always followed by the dream, and she wasn't asleep now! If
those men didn't come back soon ...
They were gone for only ten minutes, but that was six hundred
seconds, and every second spawned a new idea that gnawed away
at her mind. What alarmed her most were the feelings aroused in her by the act of killing. Any normal person would have been in
despair, horrified and tormented by guilt at having done such a
thing. And she had felt good. That wasn't normal.
At last they returned. The man in the sports coat resumed his
seat at the typewriter, and Berrenrath his place beside the window
The chief sat down facing her. He gave her an amiable smile and
stated his name, which she registered as little as the rest of what he
said. Everything inside her tensed. If she wasn't to be suspected of
insanity, she must come up with some brief, precise answers and a
demonstrable motive.
Berrenrath was holding something in his hand: her purse. She
didn't know where he had produced it from so suddenly; she hadn't
noticed it. The whole procedure was repeated: name, maiden
name, date of birth, place of birth, marital status, occupation,
parents, siblings.
"Is this a quiz?" she asked angrily. "If so, you're too late, I've
already earned my points for the answers. Or are you simply
trying to find out if I've lost my marbles? Don't worry, they're all
there. This is the third time I've been asked the same questions
- I noticed. Here's a suggestion for you: ask your colleague for a
change, he's got all the answers written down. Besides, that man
there has my papers."
She regretted having called Berrenrath "that man there"; he
didn't deserve such a disparaging designation. He'd been really
very nice to her so far, and besides, it would be more advisable to
display a polite, cooperative manner. She was being cooperative,
but they must hurry it up a bit. She couldn't endure it if they kept
up this snail's pace.
Her insolence evoked no reaction. The younger constable gave a
momentary frown, but that was all. Berrenrath brought her purse
over to the desk, and the man in the sports coat took it from him.
She became aware that she'd failed to register both his name and
the chief's. She strove to remember them, but her every thought
became entangled with the dead man's face. She couldn't say:
"Sorry, I wasn't on the ball just now, I've forgotten your names."
They would jump to the conclusion that she was deranged.
The two uniformed policemen left the room. She would have
preferred Berrenrath to stay, he was such a sympathetic fellow, but
she couldn't ask. It mustn't look as if she needed moral support.
The man in the sports coat opened her purse, removed her ID and
handed it to his boss. Then lie examined her driving licence and
glanced up quickly.
It was the face that had fazed him, she felt sure. The sick, grey
face on her licence, which looked as if it belonged to an old
woman. For a moment she was afraid he
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