Charly ignored him. ‘The very least we need is your name,’ she repeated. ‘And where you live.’
Silence.
‘Should I be taking this down?’ the stenographer asked.
Charly shook her head.
‘If you want my opinion,’ the cop said, ‘she’s one of those brats who hangs around the old axle factory, over by the slaughterhouse. I don’t have to question her to know that.’
‘You’re well informed, Officer.’
‘I know my patch, and I recognise a runaway when I see one.’
‘But you can’t give me a name either.’
‘Scum like that, who cares about her name?’
The woman from Welfare gave a start, but said nothing. Still unsure whether she should be writing anything down, the stenographer looked indecisively from one person to the next.
‘With that sort of attitude it doesn’t surprise me that you were unable to supply the accused’s personal particulars. As an officer of the Prussian Police, you should display greater objectivity.’
‘I’d like to see how objective you are, when you’re trying to question a brat like that.’
‘Perhaps you didn’t go gently enough. The way you’re acting now…’
‘The way I’m acting now? Who is it who has to put up with these antisocial brats abusing him day in day out? Who is it they might gang up on and beat to a pulp? Who is it who’s putting his life on the line every day, you or me?’
Charly’s tone became sharper. ‘Remove her handcuffs, Officer.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘You are to remove the girl’s handcuffs before I begin the interrogation. We’re not dealing with a hardened criminal here.’
The officer shrugged and rummaged around for the key. ‘You’re the boss.’
It didn’t sound much like he meant it, but he unfastened the handcuffs without complaint. Nothing happened.
‘You see,’ Charly said.
‘You weren’t there this afternoon.’
The officer clipped the handcuffs back onto his belt.
‘I’d like to question the girl in your absence,’ Charly said.
‘Pardon me?’
‘I think she’s afraid of you. You, or your uniform. If you would be so kind…’
The officer shrugged again and stood up. ‘If you think so. You’re the boss.’
Charly looked at the stenographer, who had made no move to get up. ‘I think it’s better if this stays off the record for now,’ she said.
The woman from Welfare also stood up and moved towards the door. ‘You’re right. She doesn’t trust any of us. She probably thinks I want to stick her in a home. Why not try your luck alone?’
‘But you need at least one witness,’ the cop said.
‘This isn’t to conduct an official interview. It’s about regaining trust, so that an interview is possible. I’ll call you back in when we’re ready.’
Charly waited a moment for the door to close.
‘Now, take a seat,’ she said, ‘or do you really want to stand the whole time?’ The girl hesitated but sat in the chair. Charly pushed a carton of Juno across the table. ‘Do you smoke?’ she asked. Another hesitation, but she took a cigarette.
‘Don’t like talking much, do you?’ Charly said, after she had given her a light. ‘Afraid of saying the wrong thing…’ Charly lit a Juno for herself too. ‘You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. You can just nod or shake your head. No one’s writing down anything you say, anyway. It’s between us.’
The girl drew greedily on the cigarette, avoiding Charly’s gaze.
‘Does it hurt?’ Charly gestured towards the fresh bandage. According to the statement, several officers had to hold the girl still to inspect and re-bandage the wound. The panic in those eyes! No wonder. ‘How did it happen?’
The girl tensed on her chair, and Charly realised she had asked the wrong question.
‘There’s no need to be scared. No one’s going to be angry with you for defending yourself. We want to help you.’
The girl looked out of the window in silence.
‘You didn’t have money for a ticket, is that it?’
Silence.
‘You know, I got caught by a conductor once too. I must have been about the same age as you. My parents weren’t too pleased, but it wasn’t the end of the world.’
The girl remained silent, and it didn’t look as if that were about to change. Charly could imagine a simple cop losing his patience when confronted with this sort of obstinate behaviour.
‘We can’t help you if you don’t help us,’ she said. ‘If you tell us your name and where you live we can send you home. Otherwise we’ll have to keep you locked up until we find out.’
This was the first time she had issued a threat, but it had just as little effect as everything else. ‘I don’t want to lock you up, and I’m sure you don’t want that either. But you have to give us something.’
The girl seemed to be thinking. That was progress at least. Just when Charly hoped she might say something, there was a commotion in the corridor outside. A babble of voices, a loud cry, worse than a band of hooligans being brought before the magistrate. She tried to ignore the din, but it wouldn’t let up.
Finally she placed the Juno in the ashtray and stood up. ‘Just a moment,’ she said, opening the door to the corridor and total chaos. Most of the offices stood wide open, and everyone had gathered in little groups in the corridor. Handcuffed figures were being led in by uniformed officers. Their clothes were ragged and most of them had scratches to their faces or arms. One held a gauze bandage to a gash on his forehead. Everyone was talking and shouting. The boorish sergeant from the 81st precinct whom Charly had just scolded sat hunched on a wooden bench normally reserved for felons, face buried in his hands, with the woman from Welfare trying in vain to comfort him.
‘What’s going on?’ Charly asked.
The woman shrugged. ‘A group of unemployed who banded together on Frankfurter Allee. They shot a police officer, someone just said.’ She looked towards the distraught officer. ‘I didn’t catch his name, but he seems to have been a friend of the sergeant here.’
‘They killed Emil, the bastards!’ The cop screamed, his face a deep shade of red. ‘They should kill ’em all, Communist swine!’
He sprang to his feet and tried to collar a gaunt-looking man who was being led through in handcuffs. Two colleagues had to wrestle him to the floor.
What in God’s name is happening here today, Charly thought.
Whether or not the sergeant was fit for duty was something she could decide upon later. First, she had to take care of the runaway, but when she returned to the room she found the chair the girl had been sitting on empty; two cigarettes burned in the ashtray, and the window to Magdalenenstrasse stood open. She rushed to the windowsill and looked onto the street, feeling her knees give way. The girl had disappeared.
23
Alex gripped her ankle. Only now did she feel the throbbing pain.
When the woman from the court or whatever she was, had stood up and gone to the door, she had sniffed her chance. With all the noise outside, no one heard her climb onto the windowsill and lower herself onto the wide ledge above the ground floor window. It was still a good two metres down to the pavement, but she had to move quickly before they noticed she was missing.
The drop was too great, but what choice had there been? She had dangled from the ledge, legs frozen for a moment in mid-air, before letting go. An intense pain shot through her left leg upon impact, but she got straight back to her feet and limped behind a car parked a few metres away. A little boy on a scooter gazed curiously at her. She put a finger to her lips, and the little boy nodded.