The police began taking statements from witnesses, and I stole out of the courtyard. I would rather have headed over to the Kleiner Rosengarten or home than to Brigitte's. But I couldn't just leave her waiting. I gave her a sanitized version of my encounter with Peschkalek. She didn't probe further, just as I didn't probe into why she and Peschkalek had been sitting cheek to cheek. Later that night we called the hospital, where he was recovering from a concussion. He had also broken an arm and a leg, but had no other injuries.
Then I lay in bed mulling over the ruins of my case. I thought of the death of Rolf Wendt, who could have lived in a stylish apartment and had his own hospital; of Ingo Peschkalek, the miserable murderer; and of Leo's life on the edge, between flight and prison. I was worried that I wouldn't sleep a wink, but I ended up sleeping the sleep of the righteous. I dreamed I was running down some stairs and along corridors, pursued by flames. The running soon turned into floating and gliding, and I flitted cross-legged, with billowing nightshirt, over stairs and through more corridors, until I finally left the flames far behind me, braked, and landed on a green meadow among bright flowers.
The shortest way from Brigitte's place to mine is over the footbridge that crosses the Neckar to the Collini Center and then past the National Theater and across Werderplatz Square. At six in the morning the streets are empty, and only on the Goethestrasse or the Augusta-Anlage will you find some light traffic. It had not cooled off in the night, and the warm morning augured a hot day. A black cat crossed my path on the Rathenaustrasse. I could use some good luck.
I wrote my report for old Herr Wendt to the extent that I could. Then I faced the last chapter.
I put a call through to the Ministry of Defense and was passed from one department to another until I finally got hold of the official in charge of overseeing the poison-gas depots of the two world wars. He didn't want to say anything and couldn't say anything, but his department, naturally, was interested in anything that would help avert any potential danger and damage. Viernheim? A map from the archives of the Wehrmacht and later the Ministry of Defense? A reward for handing over the map? He would be glad to look into the matter. I wouldn't give him my number, but he gave me his-his private line, his departmental number, and his number at home.
Nägelsbach, too, didn't want to say anything, or couldn't say anything. “You'd like to know how Frau Salger is doing? The preliminary proceedings are under way, and we have been issued strict instructions not to pass on any information to third parties. My inclination to make an exception in your case is minimal, to say the least.” His tone was as sharp as his words. But Nägelsbach was prepared to arrange a meeting with Dr. Franz from the Federal High Court.
So I sat facing them once again in the Heidelberg District Attorney's Office: elegant Dr. Franz, the unavoidable Rawitz, and Bleckmeier with his gloomy glumness-so to speak. Nägelsbach had joined us but did not pull his chair up to the table, as if he were planning a quick getaway, or planning to stop one of us from doing so.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Dr. Franz asked.
“I have a few facts to put on the table, and an offer to make.”
“Oh God!” Rawitz snapped. “Now he wants us to strike a deal with him!”
“I'll begin with the facts, if you don't mind.”
Franz nodded, and I told them of Lemke's postmodern terrorism, of Wendt's and Peschkalek's first meeting years ago, and of their final meeting beneath the autobahn bridge near Wieblingen. I told them of my visit to Peschkalek's place, of Peschkalek's material, and about the map. All in all, I stuck to the truth. Except that I gave them to understand that I had saved the binder and the cassette from the flames.
“Are you saying that Wendt's murderer is lying in the hospital, waiting, so to speak, to be arrested?”
“So to speak. But I didn't say that he murdered Wendt. I find his version of the story entirely credible.”
“Ha!” Rawitz barked.
“And what is the offer that you mentioned?” Franz asked. He was sporting his affable smile again.
I smiled back, letting the tension mount as I let them stew a little. “I shall hold on to Peschkalek's material. I'll keep it under lock and key and will guarantee that it will reach neither the media nor the defense lawyers. You can tell Pesch-kalek and Lemke that it was lost in the fire.”
“I wonder what Dr. Self might want in return,” Rawitz said with a smirk.
“There's something else. I'm prepared to give you the map.”
“Like we're interested in geography!” Rawitz scoffed.
“Not so fast, Herr Rawitz. If it's worth something, it's worth something,” Franz said.
I gave Franz the phone numbers of my contact at the Ministry of Defense, and he sent Bleckmeier to make the calls.
“And what would you like in return?”
“I would like you to release Leonore Salger and drop all charges against her.”
“There we go!” Rawitz said, laughing.
“So that's what you want,” Franz said, nodding. “And what does your client say to this?”
“One of the last things that Herr Wendt's son did was to take care of Leonore Salger. He hid her in the State Psychiatric Hospital and then found her a position in Amorbach. My client feels deeply for what his son was, and for what his son did.”
Rawitz had started laughing again. Franz looked at him, irritated. “Will you furnish us with copies of Peschkalek's material?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don't want you to familiarize yourself with the material and orchestrate something that will defuse it.”
“But surely we can at least take a look at it.”
“That would entail the same risk.”
“Are you expecting us to buy a pig in a poke?”
“You can get access to the material that Peschkalek sent out to the media. It's out there for the asking. And I did bring a few samples.” I laid on the table the copies of the photographs I had pocketed during my first visit to Peschkalek's place.
“Can we trust him?” Franz asked, turning to Nägelsbach. “Can we be certain that he will hold on to this material, come what may?”
“That he'll hold on to it?” Rawitz mumbled, but he gurgled as if he were suppressing a chuckle. “Who can even guarantee that he has the stuff? For all we know, it went up in flames and he's only bluffing. Peschkalek and Lemke might even have other copies.”
Nägelsbach looked at me, and then at Franz. “I would trust him. As for there being other copies, we'll see whether that's the case from Peschkalek's and Lemke's reactions when they're told about the fire.”
Franz sent Nägelsbach off to arrange for Peschkalek's arrest. Bleckmeier returned, and Franz asked me to wait outside. When Nägelsbach came back, he and I stood awkwardly facing each other in the corridor.
“Thank you,” I said.
“There's no need to thank me.” He went back into the office.
I could hear them talking. Rawitz laughed from time to time. After about twenty minutes, Franz came out of the room. “We'll be in touch. And thank you for your cooperation.” He dismissed me with a handshake.
I drove over to my office, finished my report, and wrote out an invoice. I leaned Leo's picture against the stone lion, sat, gazed, and smoked. At home I found Turbo sulking. I sat down on the balcony in the heat and he came over, turned away from me, and groomed himself.
Shortly before eight, the phone rang. Nägelsbach informed me that I could pick Leo up from the Fauler Pelz prison the following morning and told me to bring the map. He spoke in an official tone, and I imagined he would say good-bye right away and hang up. But he hesitated, I waited, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. He cleared his throat. “Expect difficulties with Frau Salger-I just wanted to let you know. Good-bye.”