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chest. He had thought that speaking of this would be easy, like singing during an all-night drinking session. He did not expect this protectiveness, this odd, almost unclean feeling as he reveals his secrets. He cannot breach the past all at once. He must let it unfold, as much for himself as for her.
    ‘There is more,’ he says.
    She waits. He stares at her. She has small lines around her eyes, a bit of facial hair beneath her chin. Finally she glances down at the box, and then at him.
    ‘You do not have your recorder on,’ he says.
    She flushes and presses the play button. He grips the arms of his chair as he sinks back into his memories.

SEVEN
    F or a moment, Fritz hesitated outside the Chief Inspector’s office. The Chief Inspector wanted him to go immediately to Austria, but that presented Fritz with a dilemma. If the Kripo did not conduct an official investigation, then no one would interview the witnesses. By the time Fritz returned from Austria, the witnesses would have time to change their stories, to disappear, or to refuse him.
    He had to speak to them now. They had already spoken to each other, he was already sure of that, but he wanted one quick impression, some idea of what he was really up against, before he followed a corpse to Vienna.
    The witnesses were waiting at separate desks, far enough apart that they could not speak to each other, but they could still see each other. The older woman’s face was lined with tears. The matron sat ramrod straight in her chair, watching each movement in the precinct. And there was much to watch. Detectives flowed from desk to desk, carrying papers, discussing cases. The room was large and draughty. Fritz hated working here, often taking folders to a nearby café to study. As many as twenty detectives couldbe working in the room at the same time. The conversations alone were deafening.
    Henrich was seated behind one of the metal desks, studying an empty folder. He stood at attention when Fritz entered the room, a secret joke between them which dated back to the previous case. Fritz hated to be an authority, hated any signs of authority, so Henrich chose each moment he could to play on that hatred.
    Fritz signalled Henrich to come closer, and backed into the hallway for some privacy. ‘It is a suicide,’ Fritz said. ‘The case is closed.’
    ‘But we haven’t even seen the body yet,’ Henrich said. ‘How can there be no investigation?’
    ‘I didn’t say that,’ Fritz said. ‘Occasionally, I will need your help. Off-duty. And no one else’s.’
    Then he paused and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. What he was going to ask next was not proper, but Henrich’s answer would be critical to the case.
    ‘Forgive me,’ Fritz said, ‘but if you belong to NSDAP, I need to know now.’
    Henrich blinked as if the question shocked him. ‘I have no party affiliations,’ he said. ‘You know that. We’ve discussed –’
    ‘I know nothing. And someone leaves the NSDAP propaganda in this office, just like someone else leaves the Communist literature. I am merely making certain that it is not you. It matters only in that if you do have any affiliations at all, you will not need to spend your spare time with me.’
    ‘And miss the warmth of your friendship?’ Henrich smiled. ‘I have no party cards. You may check my wallet, myapartment, or my leisure activities. You will find that I live in beer halls only because I cannot cook.’
    Fritz nodded, more relieved than he cared to mention. Even so, he would have another detective double-check Henrich’s statements. The secretive nature of this case had already infected Fritz’s blood.
    ‘I need to speak with the witnesses,’ Fritz said. ‘Alone. Bring me the older woman first, and then the housekeeper. I will be rather quick, as I have other business this afternoon. So watch. When I signal for the next, be ready. And, when they leave, do let them know that I will be needing to speak to them again.’
    He