Hoffner gave Pabst no chance to answer. “A third prisoner?” said Hoffner.
This time, Pabst cut in quickly. “The Herr Leutnant is confusing the informant with a third prisoner. The man was brought in at the same time as Liebknecht and Luxemburg. There was no third prisoner.”
Hoffner watched the young lieutenant’s eyes. The boy had made a mistake, and he knew it. “I see,” said Hoffner. “And what was the delay?”
“What usually happens at those moments,” Pabst said coolly. “The informant was demanding more money. Herr Leutnant Vogel was resolving the situation.” Without looking up, Pabst said, “That will be all, Herr Leutnant.” Much relieved, Pflugk-Hartung clicked his heels and headed for the door. Pabst waited until he and Hoffner were alone before saying, “It was one more night in the revolution, Herr Oberkommissar.” The affable Pabst had returned. “Guns and mobs. What else do you expect with a Jew radical on the loose? I was lucky not to lose a man. Of course, I take full responsibility for any of the mishaps-the separation of the prisoners, the breakdown in discipline with the informant-but, as you said, that would be for a military tribunal to decide.”
Hoffner saw where this was going; there was no reason to press things further. “Of course,” he said.
Pabst stood. “Unfortunately, I have given you as much time as I can this afternoon. You’ll forgive me, Herr Oberkommissar.”
Hoffner stood. “You’ve been most kind, Herr Kapitn.”
Three minutes later, Hoffner was across from the Gardens and stepping up onto a tram. Jogiches had known about the separation of Liebknecht and Luxemburg; he had known about the third prisoner: Hoffner was certain of that. The question was, what was Jogiches protecting?
“What exactly were you doing at the Hotel Eden, interrogating a Captain Pabst?”
Kriminaldirektor Prager was standing by his window, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve just had a very nice telephone call from the Office of the General Staff, reminding me that Kripo jurisdiction doesn’t extend that far.” He stared across at Hoffner. “What are you doing, Nikolai?”
It was the most animated Hoffner had seen Prager in months. “Closing out a case, Herr Kriminaldirektor.”
Prager nodded skeptically. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what this is.” He moved back to his desk. “I don’t think you realize how tenuous things are right now. You might not care, but no one knows if this government is going to take, so while they’re deciding, the GS is being rather stingy with its allegiances. You don’t want to get on the wrong end of that, Nikolai.”
“You mean I don’t want this department to get on the wrong end of that.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.” Prager was making this very plain. “Whether you want to accept it or not, you’re a man with a very high profile at the moment. What you do reflects on all of us. So, next time, think about that before you go poking your nose around where it doesn’t belong.”
“And if it does belong?” Hoffner said it just so as to see a little gnawing on the inside of the cheek.
“Look, Nikolai”-Prager’s tone now far more conciliatory-“I’ve never told you how to run an investigation. I’m not going to start now. Just be aware of these things. There’s more at stake now.”
Hoffner wondered if the KD had been talking with Jogiches. He said nothing.
“By the way,” Prager added, “there’s talk that your young Fichte has been spending his time up on the fourth floor. Anything I should know?”
“I’ll keep an eye on it.”
It was all Prager wanted to hear. He found a few sheets on his desk and got back to work. Hoffner was left to show himself out.
FIVE
The sun off the glass walls was almost blinding at this time of morning. Hoffner pulled down the brim of his hat, but the snow was like a double reflector: the glare had him either way. Like a great hunched bear clad in steel armor, the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof perched wide on the edge of the river and peered out over the surrounding buildings, all of which seemed to be cowering in its presence. Hoffner showed a bit more grit as he pressed his way through the main doors and over to the platforms.
The station was one of the great wonders of Berlin. Its grand hall rose to an indeterminate height as the haze and smoke from the bellowing locomotive engines lifted into clouds of gray and white and left the roof-skin in virtual darkness. Here and there, odd pockets of sunlight sliced through the glass, only to catch a cloud and infuse it with wild streaks of prismed hues, each droplet bringing wanted color to the drab millings-about underneath. A violet-red rested momentarily on Hoffner’s watch face and then was gone. Eight-forty. He had given himself half an hour to see if his note had turned the trick.
At just after nine, she appeared. Hoffner tossed what was left of a roll into a trash bin and headed over. Amid the parade of impatient mothers and men of purpose, Lina seemed to wander in a kind of half-tempo, her small brown case held to one side, her tan coat painfully inadequate for the season. She had spent a few marks on a blue hat that seemed to bob above the sea of endless gray. She caught sight of Hoffner and slowed still further as he drew up to her. An amplified voice barked out a series of platform numbers and departure times; Hoffner and Lina stared at each other as they waited for the tinned echo to fade.
“Shall we get something for the trip?” he said when he could be heard. “Sandwiches, some beer?” He noticed the welt under her eye had all but disappeared.
“That would be nice,” she said. They walked toward a small grocer’s cart. “Did you think I would come?”
Hoffner took her case. “There was always a hope,” he said lightly. “The hat was the great surprise.” They reached the cart and he set the bags down. The movement caused a momentary wince.
Lina noticed it at once. “Is that from Hans?” she said.
Hoffner pretended not to have heard, and pointed to two sandwiches. “And two bottles of beer,” he said to the man as he pulled a few coins from his pocket.
Lina let it pass. “It was a nice note,” she said.
Hoffner pocketed the change. “Just nice enough, I imagine.”
It was her first smile.
They found their seats in the second-class compartment, and Hoffner did what he could getting the luggage up onto the rack. Lina offered to keep hers by her feet to save him any further anguish.
They sat side by side, he by the window, she with her head on his shoulder. He had paid extra for the seats. It had been the right gesture. Hoffner could tell she was appreciating it.
A good-looking young man stepped into the compartment and, checking his ticket, picked out the seat across from Hoffner. The man settled his bags and then looked over at his cabin mates. “Would the Frulein like her luggage up?” he said with an innocuous smile.
Lina hesitated to answer, but Hoffner quickly stepped in. “Most kind of you,” he said.
The man tossed it up and sat. He then pulled out a magazine, but chose not to read. He was looking to see if there was any conversation to be had. “Family outing?” he said.
Hoffner gazed across kindly. “My daughter is a deaf mute, mein Herr,” he said. “We prefer to travel in silence.”
The look on the man’s face was priceless. Hoffner felt the deep pressure on his leg from Lina’s hidden thumb. He was trusting her not to laugh.
“Oh,” said the man, trying to recover. “Of course, mein Herr.” Just then the train began to move. The man smiled awkwardly and opened his magazine. Hoffner took Lina’s hand and gazed out as Berlin slipped by in an ever-narrowing blur.