Read Eye Collector, The for Free Online

Zorbach had sneaked into the garden from the Grunewald and was now standing beside the fence with a man who was a head shorter and much
younger.
    Fritz, Frank or Franz. Stoya vaguely remembered being introduced to Zorbach’s sidekick at a press conference.
    ‘Piss off,’ Scholle bellowed, reaching for his mobile, but Stoya laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.
    ‘Stay here. I’ll handle this.’

77
    Stoya pulled the hood of his anorak over his head and stepped out into the pouring rain. Despite his mounting annoyance, he was glad of this brief opportunity to leave behind
the pitiful sight in the tent.
    ‘What do you want?’ he demanded when he was facing Zorbach over the garden fence. The crime reporter’s young sidekick remained hovering in the background. ‘What the hell
are you doing here?’
    He didn’t shake hands, nor did he go through the garden gate or seek shelter beneath a tree.
    ‘Am I the first?’ Zorbach asked. At least he sounded more surprised than triumphant. As long as Stoya had known him, Zorbach had never been interested in hogging the limelight. Facts
were his sole concern. Unlike many of his fellow newshounds he never signed his well-researched stories with his full name, just two anonymous initials. This was irrelevant by now, however, as
everyone knew who was hiding behind the letters ‘A. Z.’.
    Stoya thrust his wet hands into his trouser pockets.
    ‘Yes, you’re the first, and I’m wondering how you managed it.’
    Zorbach gave a wry laugh. His hair was soaking and his hands were red with the cold, but it didn’t seem to bother him.
    ‘Oh, come on now, Philipp. How long have we known each other? I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to tell you I dropped in by chance.’
    ‘In forensics overshoes and a coverall? Like hell!’
    Stoya wagged his head. ‘By chance’ was the crime reporter’s traditional excuse, because it was an offence to eavesdrop on police radio traffic.
    ‘No, Alex, I won’t let it pass this time. I want the truth, and don’t give me any crap about your powers of intuition.’
    Zorbach was a phenomenon. Even in the days when he and Stoya were working together, the sensitivity of his ‘nose’ had sometimes seemed uncanny. Although he had never completed his
university degree in psychology, he had been one of the best negotiators in the police force. His powers of perception and his talent for detecting the tiniest nuances in the emotional behaviour of
others were legendary. A shame they had eventually proved his undoing on the bridge.
    ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ said Zorbach, wiping the moisture off his eyebrows. ‘You know I’ve been working on this case from the outset. Nothing I write is
detrimental to you. On the contrary, I do my best to be helpful. I thought we had an understanding.’
    Stoya nodded. The faux-fur trim on his hood shed some fat raindrops. Although Zorbach had officially left the police force, a very productive symbiosis still existed between them. They held
get-togethers at irregular intervals even now, seven years after the incident – unofficial conferences at which Zorbach often raised the all-important point that helped to further
Stoya’s investigations. In return, and for old time’s sake, he received preferential treatment and was entrusted with vital information somewhat earlier than his competitors.
    Today, however, Stoya’s former colleague had overstepped the mark.
    ‘Stop playing games and tell me the truth, Alex. How do you come to be here?’
    ‘You know that perfectly well.’
    ‘Tell me.’
    Zorbach sighed. ‘I was listening to your radio traffic, damn it.’
    ‘Don’t piss me about.’
    ‘What’s wrong with you?’
    Stoya gripped his arm. ‘That’s what I’m asking you !’
    Zorbach turned pale. The corner of his mouth twitched and he made a half-hearted attempt to free himself. ‘Don’t talk crap, man. You reported a 107.’
    Stoya vehemently shook his head. ‘For one thing, we