disapprovingly on the cigarette in my hand.
âYou shouldnât be smoking, you know.â
âI donât know if Kindermann is involved or not,â I said. âThatâs what I was hoping to find out when I came here.â
âWell, you donât have to worry about me,â she said fiercely. âI couldnât care what happens to him.â She stood up with her arms folded, her mouth assuming a harder expression. âThe man is a bastard. You know, just a few weeks ago I worked a whole weekend because nobody else was available. He said heâd pay me double-time in cash. But he still hasnât given me my money. Thatâs the kind of pig he is. I bought a dress. It was stupid of me, I should have waited. Well, now Iâm behind with the rent.â
I was debating with myself whether or not she was trying to sell me a story when I saw the tears in her eyes. If it was an act it was a damn good one. Either way it deserved some kind of recognition.
She blew her nose, and said: âWould you give me a cigarette, please?â
âSure.â I handed her the pack and then thumbed a match.
âYou know, Kindermann knew Freud,â she said, coughing a little with her first smoke. âAt the Vienna Medical School, when he was a student. After graduating he worked for a while at the Salzburg Mental Asylum. Heâs from Salzburg originally. When his uncle died in 1930, he left him this house, and he decided to turn it into a clinic.â
âIt sounds like you know him quite well.â
âLast summer his secretary was sick for a couple of weeks. Kindermann knew I had some secretarial experience and asked me to fill in a while while Tarja was away. I got to know him reasonably well. Well enough to dislike him. Iâm not going to stay here much longer. Iâve had enough, I think. Believe me, there are plenty of others here who feel much the same way.â
âOh? Think anyone would want to get back at him? Anyone who might have a grudge against him?â
âYouâre talking about a serious grudge, arenât you? Not just a bit of unpaid overtime.â
âI suppose so,â I said, and flicked my cigarette out of the open window.
Marianne shook her head. âNo, wait,â she said. âThere was someone. About three months ago Kindermann dismissed one of the male nurses for being drunk. He was a nasty piece of work, and I donât think anyone was sad to see him go. I wasnât there myself, but I heard that he used some quite strong language to Kindermann when he left.â
âWhat was his name, this male nurse?â
âHering, Klaus Hering I think.â She looked at her watch. âHey, Iâve got to be getting on with my work. I canât stay talking to you all morning.â
âOne more thing,â I said. âI need to take a look around Kindermannâs office. Can you help?â She started to shake her head. âI canât do it without you, Marianne. Tonight?â
âI donât know. What if we get caught?â
âThe âweâ part doesnât come into it. You keep a look-out, and if someone finds you, you say that you heard a noise, and that you were investigating. Iâll have to take my chances. Maybe Iâll say I was sleepwalking.â
âOh, thatâs a good one.â
âCome on, Marianne, what do you say?â
âAll right, Iâll do it. But leave it until after midnight, thatâs when we lock up. Iâll meet you in the solarium at around 12.30.â
Her expression changed as she saw me slide a fifty from my wallet. I crushed it into the breast pocket of her crisp white uniform. She took it out again.
âI canât take this,â she said. âYou shouldnât.â I held her fist shut to stop her returning the note.
âLook, itâs just something to help tide you over, at least until you get paid for your