Torsen's head was spinning thinking of all the coincidences as he made his way back to the station. He was sure he had enough evidence to interrupt his director's holiday and ask for permission to arrange a warrant for the arrest of Ruda Kellerman.
As usual, the station was virtually empty, most of the officers having taken off for lunch. He had to wait five minutes before they opened the yard gates to let him drive in. Once in his office he began to lay out all the evidence he had accumulated to date. He had to make sure he didn't commit any errors. Ruda Kellerman was now an American citizen — and a famous performer. This would be his first arrest for murder, he could not afford to make a mistake. He ran his fingers through his hair, flicked through his streams of notes, and then tapped with his pencil. He should have commandeered the boots. He still didn't know if they were Grimaldi's or Ruda's, or if they were in this together. He swore, checked his watch; it was almost one o'clock. He needed to get a search warrant.
His phone rang, he snatched it up. It was the manager from the Grand Hotel, who wanted to discuss the nightly invasion of prostitutes outside the hotel entrance; they even walked into the foyer of the hotel! Torsen said he would send someone over straightaway. He was then caught up in endless phone calls: There were more burglaries from tourists' cars than they could deal with, but the backlog of work would, Heinz knew, eventually be finished. The rabbi called, asking when he would be paid for Kellerman's funeral. Torsen diverted the calls to the operator, and then told her that he had to go to the circus.
"Yes, I heard you and Rieckert have free tickets!"
"I'm going on business, I'll be using the patrol car, contact me directly if need be. Have you got someone to take over from you?"
"We've got three candidates, but this is a very old board, you have to have experience..."
"I want someone on that switchboard day and night, is that understood?"
The receiver was slammed down and Torsen stared at his phone; he hadn't had any lunch and it was already two o'clock. He picked up the rabbi's bill; he would use it as an excuse to talk to Ruda Kellerman, and then ask if he could take the boots. If he waited around for a search warrant, it could take hours.
Grimaldi was looking for Ruda, he'd not seen her since breakfast. She was late for feeding time; since she always fed the cats herself, he was worried that something had happened to her. When he saw the inspector making his way around the puddles, he hurried toward him. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no, I was just coming to see you, or your wife. I have the bill for Kellerman's funeral costs; you recall she said she would pay it."
Grimaldi shrugged. "I don't know where she is, but come on inside."
Torsen stepped into the trailer, wiping his feet on the grid, noticing the boots weren't there. He sat on the bench turning his cap around and around, as Grimaldi opened the rabbi's envelope. He examined the bill briefly, and delved into his pockets. "I'll pay you — cash all right?"
The inspector nodded. Grimaldi counted the notes, folded them, and handed them over. "Not much for a life, huh?"
Torsen opened his top pocket, asked if Grimaldi required a receipt. He shook his head, and then crossed to the window, lifting up the blind. "This isn't like her, she's never late for feeding, I wonder where the hell she has gone."
Torsen tried to sound nonchalant, but he flushed. "Perhaps she went to Mama Magda's funeral."
Grimaldi stared. "Who the hell is she?"
Torsen explained, embarrassed at his attempt to be a sly investigator. "She was a famous West Berlin madam; she died last night at her club, Mama's... I believe your wife was there."
"What are you talking about?"
"She was at Mama Magda's — I was told about nine, nine-thirty."
"Bullshit! She was in the ring, we had a dress rehearsal. You got the wrong girl!"
Torsen pointed to the newspaper on the table. "It was in the papers this morning, Mama Magda... photograph."
Grimaldi snatched the paper and opened it. "I've never heard of her, and why do you think Ruda was there?"
Grimaldi looked at the paper, but the article had been cut out. He said nothing, tossed the paper back onto the table.
Torsen was extremely nervous, the big man scared the life out of him. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I'm sorry to inconvenience you."
Grimaldi sniffed, and rubbed his nose. "She's never late!"
"Do you have a leather trilby, or a similar hat — a shiny black hat?"
Grimaldi turned. "Do I have a what?"
Torsen stuttered slightly as he repeated his question. Grimaldi shook his head. "No, I never wear a hat."
"Does your wife?"
"What? Wear a hat? No, no."
Torsen explained why he had asked, that the suspect in the Kellerman murder wore a shiny black hat. Possibly it was Keller-man's own hat, worn as a disguise.
Grimaldi sat on the opposite bunk, his legs so long they almost touched Torsen's feet. "So you think I had something to do with Kellerman's death? Is that why you're here?"
Torsen swallowed, wished he'd brought someone with him. "I am just following a line of inquiry... an unidentified man was seen leaving Kellerman's hotel."
Grimaldi nodded, his dark eyes boring into Torsen. "So why do you want to know if Ruda's got a trilby?"
Torsen tugged at his tie. "Our witness could be mistaken. Perhaps the person leaving, er, the man with the hat, was in fact a woman."
Grimaldi leaned forward and reached out to hold Torsen's knee, His huge hand covered the entire knee, and he gripped tightly.
"You suspect Ruda? I told you, she was here with me all night, I told you that, and I don't like these insinuations."
Torsen waited until Grimaldi released his kneecap.
"We also have a good impression of a boot, or the heel of a boot. Would it be possible for me to... to check the... if I could look at your boots, and your wife's boots?"
Grimaldi stood up, towering above Torsen. "The only boot you will see is mine — as it kicks your ass out of my trailer, understand? Get out! Out! Fuck off out of here!"
Torsen stood up, closed his notebook and stuffed it into his pocket. "I just need to check your boots for elimination purposes. If I am required to return with a warrant, then I shall do so."
Grimaldi loomed closer, his voice quiet. "Get out... come back with your warrant and you'll fucking eat it — get out."
Torsen slipped down the steps as the door slammed shut so fast behind him it pushed him forward. He returned to his patrol car, his legs like jelly. Next time he would get a warrant, but he'd send Rieckert in for the boots.
Grimaldi went over to the meat trailer. All the trays were ready, Mike and the other young hands were finishing the preparation of the meat. Grimaldi leaned against the chopping board. "She still not shown up?"
Mike said nobody had seen her, but the cats were getting hungry. Grimaldi glanced at his watch, said to leave it another half hour. Then he looked at Mike.
"Eh, where did you say you put my hat?"
Mike chopped away, not looking up. "Mrs. Grimaldi took it from me, I dunno know where it is."
Grimaldi stood at the open door, cracked his knuckles. "You ever meet that little dwarf, the one that got murdered?"