She looked to the baron. "Your chauffeur, we have forgotten about him. He returned to Paris and then flew to New York, but he would have left before early evening."
"On your return to the hotel did you see a tall man, about six feet, wearing a dark raincoat, and a shiny, perhaps leather, trilby hat?"
Helen shook her head. Torsen looked up from his notes. "Did you see anyone fitting that description at or near the hotel entrance on the night in question?"
"No, I did not."
"Did you see anyone fitting that description in the lobby of the hotel?"
Helen gave Louis a hooded smile. "No, I am sorry. Is this man suspected of the murder?"
Torsen continued writing. "I wish to talk to this man about a possible connection to the murder."
Helen asked: "Do you have any clues to his identity?"
Torsen closed his notebook. "No, we do not. I think that is all I need to ask."
"What was the time of the murder?" Helen inquired.
"Close to eleven or eleven-thirty. We know he was carrying a large bag and that his clothes would have been heavily bloodstained."
Helen asked how the victim was killed, listening intently as Torsen described the severity of the beating.
Helen wanted to know if the victim was with the circus. Torsen gave a small tight smile, wondering why she was so interested, but at the same time answering that the victim was not, as far as he had been able to ascertain, an employee of any circus.
The bedroom doors opened, and Torsen rose to his feet as the baroness, assisted by Hilda, walked into the room. The baron sprang to his feet, crossing to his wife, arms outstretched. "Sit down, come and sit down, the car is ordered."
Vebekka wore a pale fawn cashmere shawl fringed with sable, a fawn wool skirt, a heavy cream silk blouse, and a large brooch at her neck entwined with gold and diamonds. She also had on her large dark glasses. Her face was beautifully made up, her lips touched with pale gloss. She held her hand out to Torsen.
"I am sorry to inconvenience you, Baroness. I am Detective Chief Inspector Torsen Heinz, and this is Sergeant Rieckert."
The baroness's hand felt so frail, he did no more than touch her fingers. She smiled to Rieckert. Hilda helped her to sit, and brought her a glass of water. Torsen noticed how thin the baroness was, how her body trembled, her hands shaking visibly as she sipped the water. He found it disturbing not to be able to see her eyes.
"I need simply to verify your husband's account of the day you arrived in Berlin."
She sipped, paused, sipped again and Hilda took the glass.
"What day?"
The baron coughed. "The day we arrived from Paris, darling."
She nodded, and then looked to Torsen. "What did you ask me?"
"If you could just tell me what you did, during the afternoon, and evening."
She was hardly audible, speaking in a monotone, as she recalled arriving, having lunch, and then going to see the doctor. She reached for the glass again, and this time Hilda held it as she sipped.
"We dined in the suite, I was very tired after the journey."
Torsen placed his notebook in his pocket, gave a small nod to Rieckert as an indication they were leaving.
"Why are you here? Has something happened? Is something wrong?"
She half rose, looking to the baron. "Is it Sasha?"
The baron hurried to her side. "No, no, nothing wrong; something happened close to the hotel the night we arrived, and the Polizei have to question everyone who booked into the hotel from Paris."
Torsen noticed he spoke to her as if she were a child, leaning over toward her, touching her shoulder as if shielding her from harm: "There was a murder, everyone in the hotel is being questioned."
"Is this true?" the baroness asked, and looked concerned to her husband. "But why? Why have we to be questioned? I don't understand, did I do something wrong?"
The baron patted his wife's hand, gently telling her they were asking all the guests in the hotel the same questions.
"You didn't happen to see anyone — perhaps while you were looking out of the window down to the street — at about eleven o'clock, a tall man wearing a shiny hat, carrying a suitcase?"
The baroness seemed unable to understand what he was talking about. She stared at her husband. "I didn't do anything did I? I was in the suite, I never left the suite."
Torsen shook Helen's hand and thanked her. He gave a small bow to the baron. His sergeant was already holding open the door. As they waited for the elevator, Rieckert whispered to Torsen, "She's a sicko. That doctor, Albert Franks, he's a famous shrink! Deals with crazies, hypnotizes them. That's what they must be here for. She's a sicko."
As Rieckert went to collect their patrol car, Torsen waited on the whitewashed steps. He saw the line of taxis waiting for hire, and recognized the driver from the previous night. He crossed over to his Mercedes.
The driver jumped out, started to open the rear door.
"No, no, I just wanted to ask you to spread the word around for me, ask if anyone saw a tall man, wearing a shiny trilby hat, dark raincoat, boots, carrying a bag, on the night the dwarf was murdered."
The driver stopped him with an outstretched hand. "I know the night, we've all been talking about it. But I never saw anyone fitting that description, sir!"
Torsen persisted. "You ever pick up Ruda Kellerman? The lion tamer? Her husband is Luis Grimaldi?"
The driver nodded his head vigorously. "Yeah, picked her up from this hotel, yesterday, took her back to the West, to the circus."
Rieckert drew up in the patrol car, giving an unnecessary blast of the horn. Torsen and Rieckert drove off as the driver went from cab to cab asking if any of them had seen or given a ride to a tall man in a big trilby, with high boots — the killer! As he went from driver to driver his description became more melodramatic... scarred face, huge hands covered in blood. One cab driver did recall driving Ruda Kellerman from the hotel, but then remembered it was after the murder, so he didn't mention it, nor the fact that he had seen her standing on the opposite side of the road, looking up at the hotel windows. He didn't think it was important.
Ruda was feeling a lot happier, the act had run smoothly, the animals seemed to be getting used to the new plinths. She saw to the feeds, checked that the cages were clean and the straw changed, and then, still in her working clothes, went to Tina's trailer. She rapped on the door and waited.
A big blonde with a gap between her front teeth inched open the trailer door.
"Is Tina in?"
"She doesn't want to see anyone, she's been very sick!"
Ruda stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Tell her it's me, will you?"
After a moment the girl returned, said Tina's room was at the end of the trailer. The girl went out as Ruda went inside.
The trailer was small and cramped. Girls' costumes and underwear littered the small dining area. Ruda stepped over the discarded clothes and pushed open the small bedroom door. Tina was huddled in a bunk bed, her face puffy from crying. She wore a flowered cotton nightdress.
Ruda hitched up her pants. "You seen him?"
"No... I can't face him. What did he say?"
Ruda shrugged. "Nothing much. Actually, he sort of suggested I come by, check on you. If you want, I can fix you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry, Oh God!" She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. "It was disgusting, I mean, I dunno why I let you."
Ruda began to tap her boot. "Look, I didn't come here to talk about last night. I just want to tell you something. He will never leave me, Tina, and I will never divorce him. He's old, sweetheart, he's an old man, he's washed up, and without me he's fucked."
Tina stood up, her hands clenched at her sides. "I don't want to hear any more — just get out, leave me alone."