His train reached Breslau just before three, saving him the choice between interviewing Torsten and catching the same service that Miriam had caught. The next Berlin train was not until nearly six, which gave him plenty of time to find the department store where the boy worked and collect his suitcase from the hotel.
He tried to telephone Effi from the Monopol but there was no answer. The receptionist took one long look at his battered cheek but said nothing. She told him the only modern-looking store in Breslau was the Petersdorff, and agreed to keep his suitcase behind her desk while he visited it. Following her directions, Russell walked up Schweidnitzer Strasse and turned right opposite the Rathaus. The Petersdorff store was on a corner one block down, a futuristic oasis in a sea of German tradition. The windows of the main frontage stretched the length of the building, and were rolled around in a semi-circle at one corner, like a six storey-lighthouse. The overall impression was of six trams piled on top of each other, speeding into the future. It looked like it had been left behind by aliens.
In a way it had. It reminded Russell of the Universum, and he was not surprised to find that Erich Mendelssohn had designed it. He was, however, surprised to find that fact still acknowledged on a plaque by the main entrance - Mendelssohn's name had long since disappeared from the Universum.
Inside he asked for the manager's office, and was directed to a suite of rooms on the second floor. The manager was a youngish man with a Pomeranian accent and an obvious desire to please. He confirmed that Torsten Resch worked there, and obligingly agreed to Russell's request for a short private chat without asking for details of the 'family matter' in question. Torsten arrived a few minutes later, a gangly youth with a shock of fair hair. He looked suitably bewildered.
The manager left them to it.
'What is this about?' the boy asked. 'Has something happened at home?'
'Nothing. I'm here about Miriam Rosenfeld.'
The boy's features seemed to soften. 'You have a message for me?'
'She has disappeared,' Russell said bluntly.
'What?'
'She travelled to Berlin, but no one has seen her since she arrived.'
'But that was weeks ago. And her uncle was supposed to meet her.'
'He was beaten up on his way to the station. He died a few days later. You saw her onto the train, right?'
'Yes, we had lunch together. She said I could write to her, but she hasn't sent me her address...'
'She didn't say anything about what she intended to do in Berlin?'
'I told you. She was going to meet her uncle. He had arranged a job for her.'
'She didn't know anyone else there?'
'No, I'm sure she didn't. How could she?'
He seemed genuinely distressed. 'All right,' Russell said. 'Thank you for talking to me.'
Torsten got up slowly. 'If you...' he began. 'If you find out what has happened, will you let me know? I like Miriam,' he said simply. 'I know she's Jewish, but...' He shrugged away his inability to change that fact. 'I've always liked her,' he added, as if it was a shameful secret he had to share.
'I'll let you know,' Russell promised.
The Berlin train left on time, and much to Russell's relief suffered only a few minor delays. It pulled into Silesian Station a few minutes short of midnight, and he stopped at the first public telephone to call Effi . She answered immediately, sounding excited. 'What's happened?' he asked.
'I'll tell you when you get here.'
A Stadtbahn train arrived within minutes. It was full of citizens ignoring the government's ongoing anti-alcohol campaign, one of whom held the train up for five minutes at Friedrichstrasse by jumping in and out of the door like a demented rabbit. The train eventually reached Zoo Station, where an even rowdier Friday night crowd was waiting to get on. Russell alighted with some relief, and walked down the steps to street level. In the space in front of the station, two uniformed cops were asking a boy of about four where his mother was. He looked around as if searching for her, then screamed a simple 'I don't know!' at his questioners.
Russell walked under the Hardenberg Strasse bridge and crossed the road. Three minutes later he was approaching the flat. There were no suspiciously loitering cars, no leather coats clogging up the entrance.
Effi was in her dressing-gown. Her excitement turned to horror when she saw his face.
'It's much worse than it looks,' he said.
'But how....'
'One of the local lads in Wartha didn't like my attitude. Don't worry about it.'
They hugged and kissed until Russell reached for the cord.
'No, no, no,' she said. 'First we must talk.'
He grinned. 'Okay. How did your meeting go?'
'Oh that.' She dismissed it with a wave of a hand. 'I went to the station to meet you,' she said. 'I thought you'd be on Miriam's train, and....'
'I missed it.'
'I know. But I saw him. The man with the dark eyebrows. And he tried to pick up a young girl.'
The Wave of the Past
'Tell me,' Russell said, somewhat unnecessarily.
'He was just the way your detective described him. A dark blue uniform with a peaked cap, and when he took it off I saw his grey hair. And the eyebrows, much darker, black I think. A slight beer belly, but not really overweight. He just stood there watching the bottom of the staircase. You know the smoker's kiosk? He was standing right next to it.'
She paced to and fro. 'I watched him, but not all the time. You know they say that people have a sixth sense that they're being watched, and I didn't want him to notice me. And of course I was also watching for you, so I had to take my eyes off him every now and then. Anyway the train arrived and the people started coming down the steps - quite a few of them, but not really a crowd - you could see each person. And he was looking at this one girl. She looked about twenty, and she was quite smartly dressed. Dark hair and one of those little felt hats that were fashionable about three years ago. She put her suitcase down and she was digging around in her bag for something. A little book - an address book perhaps. And he walked towards her, a big smile on his face. He said something to her, and she looked relieved. He went to pick up her suitcase, but at that moment she caught sight of someone she knew over his shoulder - a young man in a Wehrmacht uniform. She said something to Eyebrows and he smiled back at her, but the moment her back was turned his face seemed to curdle. He was really angry. He walked back to his place by the kiosk and watched the last few people come down the stairs, but he didn't approach anyone else. There were other single women, but they all looked like they knew where they were going.'
She paused for breath. 'When everyone had come through he lit a cigarette and walked out through the main entrance. I followed him - don't worry, I kept a good distance and there were lots of people around and he never looked back. His car was parked at the end of the cab rank, and there were cops around - you'd have thought they'd have had a word with him...'
'It says something that he still has use of a car,' Russell added.
'I suppose it does. It was a Mercedes Cabriolet, by the way - my father used to have one.'
'Did you get the number?'
'I memorized it as I walked past,' she said. 'I ran for the cab at the head of the line, almost knocking over a pair of old ladies in the process, and jumped in the back. I asked the driver for a pencil, but he didn't have one, and then I realized I'd forgotten the number. I looked round just as he drove past us and what do you think I said?'
'Follow that cab?'
'More or less.'
'The cabbie was a Bavarian, so I had to say it twice, but we caught him up at the Michael Kirche-Strasse lights.' Effi lifted the hem of her dressing-gown halfway up her right thigh to reveal a red scrawl. 'I wrote the number down with my lipstick.'