He poured two whiskeys. 'How was your journey?'
'Endless. The bus to Chicago, then the "Century" to New York. Six hours' flight from New York to Newfoundland. Refuelling in Gander. They have to be full up to reach Shannon in Ireland. That's the shortest way to Europe, the stewardess told us. Ten hours over the Atlantic, just imagine. Not to mention four hours going on to Frankfurt and almost two hours to Berlin.'
'You must be exhausted.'
'I never felt more awake, and I'm ravenously hungry. I'll just shower, and then let's go and have dinner in your Harnack House, OK, Johnny?' That was what she'd called him in the first years of their marriage.
'OK.' He admired her energy.
She was fresh and slightly pink from the shower, which suited her, like the way she'd pinned up her damp, shining brown hair. She wore high heels and a full-skirted summer dress, blue with white spots and a blue bolero. He hadn't seen her look so chic in a long time. She pulled the dress up to her thighs to adjust her suspenders.
Limousines and army vehicles were parked outside the Harnack House. A band was playing inside. 'Capt. & Mrs Ashburner', he wrote in the visitors' book. That was the rule, like showing his ID card. Germans could come in only accompanied by Allies.
Harold Tucker and his wife crossed their path. Myra Tucker was obviously tipsy. All go smoothly at Tempelhof, John?' asked Tucker.
'Yes, sir. This is my wife Ethel. Colonel and Mrs Tucker.'
'Hi, Ethel. Just call me Myra,' babbled Mrs Tucker, seeking support on her shoulder.
'Delighted to meet you, Mrs Ashburner. You and John must visit with us sometime soon,' said the colonel, trying to gloss over the difficult situation. 'Come along, Myra.' He led his swaying spouse away.
'Seems to have a problem, poor woman,' said Ethel dryly.
Ashburner pulled her chair out for her. The waiter brought the menu. They chose veal goulash with rice, and a Rhine wine to drink, with apple tart and vanilla ice to follow. Ethel talked vivaciously about trivialities. When they reached coffee, he couldn't contain himself any longer. 'You did get my letter?'
'Swing, that's great!' she cried, clapping. 'Come on, Johnny!' She led him away from the table to the nearby nightclub. Engineers had converted the horseshoe-shaped auditorium of the Harnack House, turning the rising tiers of seats into terraces with little tables. The bar was at the top. Down below, where Max Planck had once delivered his lectures, they were dancing to swing.
There was a table free by the dance floor. 'Champagne,' she demanded. That was something new, too.
He played along; he had to keep her in a good mood. 'Cheers,' he said, raising his glass to her.
'Cheers, Johnny.' She emptied her own. 'Let's dance again.' He had no choice. Luckily the slow foxtrot kept her high spirits within bounds. But she pressed so close to him that at every step her knee came between his thighs.
'Hey, you're not drinking,' she cried when they were back in their seats. He emptied his glass in a single gulp. Another followed when they returned from the dance floor for the third time, feeling heated, and then another too. On the way home he realized that he had drunk a little too much.
'How about talking now?' he asked in the bedroom.
'Tomorrow, Johnny.' She let her dress slip to the floor beside the bed. She looked very sexy in her suspender belt and panties.
'OK, tomorrow, then.' He took a blanket from the cupboard and went to settle down with it next door.
'Will you help me off with this?' He waited for her to turn round so that he could undo her bra. It fastens in front.' He groped clumsily between her breasts until they leaped out at him. Suddenly it dawned on him that she had planned this all along. Now they were closely intertwined, just as they had been on those hot Sundays at the beginning of their marriage, when they couldn't get enough of each other.
'So what's your new girl like?' she asked later, in the dark. 'I've heard these German girls are good in bed. Congratulations.' She laughed softly. 'Our goodbye fuck, Johnny. I hope it was fun for you. I'm going to Chicago with Jesse Rollins. We want to get married. I came to sort out all that divorce stuff with you.'
'You devil!' He turned her over and took her wildly.
Inge Dietrich wrapped up two sandwiches for her husband. He put them in the briefcase that he strapped to the carrier behind his bike. 'Coming home the same time as usual?'
'I don't know. Don't wait up for me.' He kissed her: his thoughts somewhere else entirely. That indefinable feeling wouldn't let go. A feeling that he'd missed something important. He'd run right into it and never noticed. He had lain awake half the night, searching for something he couldn't grasp. Towards morning the answer had seemed close enough for him to reach out for it, before it ran through his fingers again.
Inge was worried. She knew that the murders of those women pursued him into his dreams. He had taken up the gauntlet thrown down by the sinister killer. To him, it was a man to man fight that he had to win.
She cut bread for the others. It was grey and sticky; the baker had stretched the dough with minced potato peelings. Yesterday she had been to Frau Kalkfurth's for a special ration of syrup made from the waste left after processing sugar beet. Her father trickled the thick, dark brown goo on a slice of bread. 'I'm worried about your husband. He's been asking when the security services firm will be starting up again.'
'He wants to go back to his old job once these dreadful crimes have been solved.'
'I wouldn't if I were him,' the district councillor said. 'If he stays with the CID they'll take him on in the police force officially, and that'll give him pension rights. You have to think of the future.' Hellbich helped himself to another spoonful of syrup.
Ben bit into his second slice of bread and inspected the semi-circle stamped in it by his teeth. There was no more, but that couldn't dampen his high spirits. The suit was waiting for him. In half an hour's time he could take that tailor-made dream home.
His mother appeared in headscarf and jacket. 'The pharmacist has peppermint tea off the ration. It'll make a change from the chestnut coffee, and it's good for the bronchial tubes.' In fact no one in the house had bronchial problems except for her father, who was plagued by a permanent smoker's cough, but she liked to look on the bright side of everything. It was her way of countering the bleak misery of everyday post-war life.
The district councillor reached for his hat. Ralf put his school bag under his arm. 'Coming, Ben?'
'You go ahead,' called his brother from upstairs. From out the window, he saw his grandfather, Ralf and his mother leave the house. He took the suede shoes out of their hiding place. His socks had holes in their left toes, but the shoes hid them. The collar of the shirt he'd worn for his confirmation was two sizes too small and wouldn't do up, but the striped tie from Father's wardrobe held it together at the neck. He tucked the shirt into his trousers and put his sweater over it. He deposited his school bag in the garden shed.
He entered the veranda workshop on Ithweg, filled with anticipation. 'Just a moment, please, Herr Dietrich.' Rodel was busy brushing a heavy ulster. I forgot about it all these years, it was hanging in mothballs at the back of the storeroom. Professor Simon, the distinguished surgeon brought it in to be pressed in '38. They took him and his family away next day.' Ben was hardly listening. His eyes were searching the workshop. 'I'll mothproof the coat again afterwards, just in case Herr Simon has survived. A few have come back from the camps. Little Rademann from Schmidt's drug store, for instance. He doesn't talk about it, but it must have been terrible. Now they're trying to turn it against him, but he was only the commandant's orderly. Heidi — Heidi! Bring Herr Dietrich's suit.'