Nurse Freda, a pleasant dark-haired girl in her late twenties, was waiting for Torsen at the main reception. "He seemed very eager to speak to you."
"I appreciate your call, but I cannot stay long. I am involved in a very difficult case!"
He followed her plump rear end along a corridor, and into his father's ward. Nurse Freda turned, smiling. "He's been put by the windows today; it's more private, you can draw the curtain if you wish."
The old man looked very sprightly, with his hair slicked back; he had on a checkered dressing gown, and clean pajamas. A warm rug covered his frail knees, and his jaw looked less sunken: He was wearing his dentures.
"Took your time, took your time, Torsen. I don't know, only son and you never come to see your poor old father."
Torsen pulled the curtain, drew up a chair to sit next to him.
The old man crooked his finger for Torsen to come closer. "This is important, I woke up thinking about it and I've been worried stiff. Can't sleep for worrying. Then I had a word with Freda, and it clicked, just clicked."
"What did, Father?"
"You need a wife, you've got to settle down and have a couple of kids, you've got a good job, good pay, and a nice apartment — now Freda, she's not married, she's clever, she'll make you a good wife. She's got good, child-bearing hips."
Torsen flushed, afraid they would be overheard. "Father, right now I don't have a telephone."
"Why haven't you got a telephone? Did they take it out?"
Torsen sighed, they had had this conversation before. "No, remember when you moved in here, I was given a smaller apartment. The telephone has remained in the old apartment, I was not allowed to take it with me."
"How can you work without a telephone?"
"With great difficulty. I have requested one months ago, and today I left a memo in the director's office. Today, in fact, I have instigated many changes, some I am quite proud of."
The old man stared from the window, plucked at his rug a moment, then turned, frowning. "No telephone?"
Torsen checked his watch, then touched his father's hand. "I am in the middle of an investigation, I have to leave."
The old man sucked in his breath and turned around, leaning forward to see the row of beds. Then he sat back. "Dying is a long time in coming, eh?... There are many here, waiting and afraid."
Torsen held the frail hand. "Don't talk this way, I don't want to go away worrying about you."
"Oh, I'm not afraid, there are no ghosts to haunt me, but the dying here is hard for some. They have secrets, the past is their present, and they remember. You understand what I am saying? When you pass by their beds, look at their faces, you'll see. You can hide memories surrounded by the living, but not in here. Still, soon they will be all gone and then Germany can be free."
Torsen wondered what his father would think if he saw the packs of skinheads with their Nazi slogans. "I hope you are right."
The old man withdrew his hand sharply. "Of course I am. We have been culturally and politically emasculated by Hitler, devastated by the Allies, and isolated by the Soviets for more than half a century. Now it is our second chance. The city will be restored as the capital of reunified Germany. We are perfectly placed, Torsen, to become the West's link to the developing economies of the democratic East. You must marry, produce children, be prepared for the future."
The old man's face glowed.
"Father, I have to leave. I will come by this evening."
"What are you working on?"
Torsen told him about the murder of Kellerman, and the old man listened intently, nodding his head, muttering: "Interesting, yes, yes."
Torsen leaned close. "In fact, I was going to ask you something. Remember the way we used to discuss unsolved crimes?"
The old man nodded, rubbing his gums as if his teeth hurt.
"There was an old case, way back, maybe early sixties, late fifties, we nicknamed it the Wizard case... do you remember? The body was found midway in your jurisdiction and I think Dieter's — there may be no connection, it was..."
"How is Dieter?"
"He died, Father, ten years ago."
The old man frowned. Dieter was his brother-in-law, and for a moment he was confused; was his wife dead too?
"Father, can you remember the name of the victim in the Wizard case?"
"Dieter is dead? Are you sure?"
Torsen looked into the perplexed face, and gently patted his hand. "I'll come and see you later."
Torsen drew the curtain back, waved to Nurse Freda to indicate he was leaving. His father began singing softly to himself.
Torsen proceeded to walk down the aisle between the beds. He paused, watching Freda finish tending a patient, then he waited until she joined him.
"I wondered if perhaps, one evening we... if you are not on duty, and would like to join me, for a movie..."
Freda smiled. "Your father has been playing Cupid?"
While Torsen flushed, and fiddled with his tie, she laughed a delightful warm giggle and then asked him to wait one moment. She disappeared behind a screen with a bedpan.
Torsen stared at a skeleton-thin patient, plucking frantically at his blanket, his toothless jaw twitching uncontrollably, his eyes wide and staring as if at some unseen horror.
Torsen turned and hurried out, unable to look, too agitated to wait and arrange a date with Freda.
Rieckert was waiting in the hotel lobby. Torsen hurried to his side, apologized for his lateness, and then crossed to the reception desk to ask if they could go to the baron's suite.
The baron opened the doors himself, and pointedly looked at his wristwatch. Torsen apologized profusely as they entered the large drawing room. Rieckert gaped, staring at the chandelier, the marble fireplace — the room was larger than his entire apartment.
The baron had laid out his wife's and his own passports and visas on the central table; he then introduced them to Helen Masters, who proffered her own documents. Torsen leafed through each one, and then asked if they were enjoying their stay. The baron murmured that he was, and sat watching Torsen from a deep wing armchair.
Torsen noted that their papers were in order; then, standing, he opened his own notebook. "Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
The baron shrugged, but looked at the clock on the mantel. Helen Masters interrupted to say they were late for an appointment. Torsen smiled, said it would take only a few moments. He looked to the baron, and asked whether the baroness was feeling better.
"She is, will you need to speak with her?"
Torsen coughed, feeling very uneasy, and he drew up a chair to the central table. "If it is not too much trouble. But if it is not convenient for her I can return at a later date!"
The baron strode toward the bedroom, he knocked and waited. Hilda came to the door. "Is the baroness dressed?"
Hilda murmured she would only be one moment, and the door was closed.
Torsen directed his first question to Helen Masters.
"You arrived by car on the evening in question, that is correct?"
"No, I think we came just before lunch."
The baron sighed. "We lunched in the hotel restaurant, then returned to the suite. Then we left at about three o'clock for Dr. Albert Franks's clinic. We visited with Dr. Franks, and then returned back here. We dined in the suite, and remained in the hotel all evening."
Helen nodded her head, as if to confirm part of the baron's statement. Torsen looked to her, and she hesitated a moment before saying, "I had dinner with Dr. Franks, but I returned here about ten-thirty, maybe a little later."
Torsen asked if on the way back she saw anyone in the street.
Helen laughed softly. "Well, yes, of course, I saw a number of people, the doorman, the taxi drivers, and..."