“You are confusing Dr. Self by asking him all those questions at once,” Rawitz said to Bleckmeier in a mildly admonishing tone. I didn't know if this was their own version of the good-cop-bad-cop act, or whether Rawitz was the one with the higher rank and say. Bleckmeier was clearly the older of the two, but in the world of government bureaucracies, politics sends the strangest characters floating to the top. “If you ask a question and then immediately go on to the next question without insisting on an answer to the first question,” Rawitz said to Bleckmeier, “then the person you are questioning gets the impression that you're not serious about the question you asked. Not serious, so to speak, as you yourself would put it. And yet we are quite serious about finding Frau Salger.” Bleckmeier, his face bright red, nodded quickly. Then both men looked at me expectantly.
I shook my head. “First I want to know what this is all about.”
“Dr. Self,” Rawitz said, enunciating my name with painstaking clarity, “whether we're dealing with narcotics, counterfeit money, terrorism, or an attempt on the life of the German president, you have no right to hamper our inquiries. You have no right, neither as a private investigator nor as a former public prosecutor, and if you, of all people, a former Nazi, are intent on supporting the work of terrorists, then you can hardly expect much sympathy from us.”
“I don't think your sympathy is particularly important to me. If we're talking terrorism, then why not go ahead and name names?”
“He doesn't think our sympathy is particularly important to him,” Rawitz said scornfully, and slapped his startled colleague on the thigh. “I've already told you more than I have to, Dr. Self. But if you don't want to listen”-he peered at me over the tip of his index finger-”you'll have to bear the consequences. You have no choice but to give us a statement.”
“You know as well as I do that I don't have to give you a statement.”
“I'll have you dragged before the public prosecutor. Then you'll have to talk.”
“But only if he tells me what it is he is investigating.”
“What?”
“If I do not know who or what he is investigating and the reason for this investigation, I cannot assess if I am incriminating myself through my statement.”
Rawitz turned to Bleckmeier. “Did you hear that? He doesn't want to incriminate himself. There are incriminating circumstances, but he doesn't want to incriminate himself. Is anything he's saying of interest to us? No. Incriminating things do not interest us in the least, do they? There's only one thing we want to know, and that is the current address of Frau Leonore Salger, which is exactly what the public prosecutor will tell you, too, Dr. Self. All I want to know, the public prosecutor will say, is the current address of Frau Salger. There can be no question of incrimination. 'Spit it out!' is what the public prosecutor will say.” Rawitz looked me in the eye and raised his voice. “Spit it out! Or are you in any way involved with Frau Salger? Is she your fiancée? Your cousin twice removed? Your mother-in-law's niece? What game are you playing here?”
I took a deep breath. “I'm not playing any game. You are right, my case did put me on the trail of Frau Salger. But you're going to have to leave to me what I feel I can disclose concerning an ongoing case of mine.”
“You're talking like you're her pastor or her doctor-or her lawyer. All you are is a nasty little private snoop with a shady scar on his face. Where'd you get that?”
I wanted to ask him where he had picked up his ridiculous interrogation techniques. The police academy? But Bleck-meier jumped in before I could open my mouth.
“All we have to do is snap our fingers, Dr. Self, and you'll be before the public prosecutor, even the judge. Your cards aren't all that good.”
But the way I saw it, my cards weren't all that bad either. Perhaps my claim that I had to know what they were investigating in order not to incriminate myself had hit the mark with them. If not, they could slap me with a fine or arrest me for contempt, but even if they wanted to, they couldn't be that fast on the trigger. I also got the impression that the Criminal Investigation Agency and the chief federal prosecutor were not that eager to create a ruckus, and where a trigger is pulled there's noise.
“We'll be seeing you again.” Rawitz stood up and Bleck-meier followed suit. I showed them out and wished them a nice day. So to speak.
28 A trick that psychotherapists use
I put in a call to the psychiatric hospital. I couldn't get Wendt on the phone, but I did find out that he was on duty. So I headed over. The April wind chased gray clouds across the blue sky. From time to time some gathered into sudden downpours. Then the wet asphalt shone in the sun again.
Wendt was in a hurry. “Oh, you again? I've got to go over to the other unit.”
“Have they been here?”
“Who?” He found my presence irritating, but at the same time he was curious. He stood strangely twisted, his legs ready to walk away, his head turned toward me, his hand on the doorknob.
“The men from the Federal Criminal Investigation Agency and Leo's big brother.”
“Leo's father, Leo's big brother? What other relatives are you going to pull out of the hat?” His tone was superior, but did not sound convincing.
“He isn't Leo's big brother. He just feels he is. He's looking for her.”
He opened the door. “I really have to head over to the other unit.”
“The guys from the Agency have bad manners. But Leo's brotherly friend has a gun with a silencer. And a strong fist. If he'd had more time with me, he would perhaps have beaten Leo's whereabouts out of me.”
Wendt let go of the doorknob and turned to me. His eyes studied my face, as if they could read what he wanted to know from my forehead, nose, or chin. He seemed at a loss. “Have you…Do you know…”
“No, I didn't tell him Leo's whereabouts. And I didn't tell the guys from the Agency either. But you and I have to talk. What has Leo done? Why are they looking for her?”
He cleared his throat a few times, opening his mouth then closing it again. Then he got a grip on himself. “I'm on duty till noon. Let's meet at one o'clock at the restaurant on the main street.” He walked off down the corridor with quick steps.
Shortly before one I was sitting at a table with an oilcloth cover in the restaurant garden. I kept my eye on the door that led into the restaurant and the door that led out into the street, but the waiter didn't come out of the former door, nor Wendt out of the latter. I was the only customer. I studied the oilcloth, counting the squares and watching the drops from the last downpour drying.
At one thirty a dozen or so young women appeared. They parked their bicycles, sat down at the long table next to mine, and boisterously placed their order with the shuffling waiter, who also sullenly took my order. They grew even more lively once their beers and sodas arrived. “Are we going bowling today?” “Sure, but without the guys.” Of course they all were different, but they all looked the same. A little fashionable, a little athletic, a little professional, a little bit of hausfrau, a little bit of mother. I imagined them in their marriages. They stay faithful to their husbands the way one stays faithful to one's car. They're resourceful and cheerful with their children. Occasionally there's a touch of alarm in their shrill laughter. The way we Germans conduct our marriages, it's no wonder we've never had a revolution.
By two I had finished the cold cuts and drunk my apple spritzer. There was no sign of Wendt. I drove back to the hospital and was told he had left around one. I knocked on Eber-lein's door.
“Come in!” He was standing by the window in his white gown. He had been looking out into the park and turned to me.
“First your patients disappear, then your doctors,” I said, and told him about the appointment Wendt had missed. “Did two men from the Federal Criminal Investigation Agency visit you recently? And did someone else come, too: Tall, broad, midforties, could be anything from a banker to a pastor, perhaps wearing mirrored sunglasses? Asking about your former patient Leonore Salger, about Dr. Wendt, or about both?”