Read Online Black Ice by Hans Werner Kettenbach - Free Book Online Page A

arranged the other two letters on top of it again. He went into the filing room, very nearly forgetting to switch the coffee machine on.
    The cigar had grown cold. He lit it again, puffed at it, triumphantly watched the blue clouds rise. Rosa fanned the smoke away with her hand.
    He’d known it. The bloody bastard!
    Even if he’d only just reached the yachting basin when he called at three, he could have set off again half an hour later. They’d simply taken out the tackle and put a new one in. And the hypocritical bastard acted as if he didn’t know how long he’d have to hang around or when he could be back at the house.
    It was perfectly clear. Erika was supposed to think he was having difficulty in getting his bit of fluff away in time. And that was exactly what she did think.
    Inge Faust was standing in the doorway, cup in hand. “You must make me a coffee more often, Herr Scholten. This is really good!”
    When she had gone again Rosa said: “Well, fancy that. You never think of making coffee for me.”
    â€œRosie, your own coffee is unbeatable. She doesn’t know how to make a good coffee, does she?”
    â€œShe may know how to do other things.”
    â€œSo do you. Or even if you don’t, I can teach you. You only have to say the word.”
    â€œOh, do give over.”
    Wallmann arrived at eight. He went into the project managers’ office, looked in on Büttgenbach in his
little room then disappeared into his own office. He passed the filing room without going in.
    A little later Inge Faust appeared, saying: “Herr Scholten, would you please come into Herr Wallmann’s office for a moment?”

8
    Only as he entered Wallmann’s office did Scholten realize that he still had the stub of the cigar in his mouth. He reached for it as if lost in thought and let his hand drop to his side, turning it in to hide the cigar stub. Wallmann, gulping coffee, followed the progress of the stub with his eyes. Inge Faust stood bending over the side table, sorting papers.
    â€œYes, Herr Wallmann?” said Scholten. Wallmann slowly emptied his cup. He looked at Scholten over it. His eyes were still red-rimmed. He put the cup down. “Scholten, were you at the Jagdweg building site on Thursday?”
    â€œThursday?” Scholten felt hot under the collar. “Yes, I was.”
    â€œWhat were you doing there?”
    â€œI was asked to take Hülsenbusch that note from Herr Kurowski. Saying there was something wrong with the drawing.”
    â€œYes, you were asked to. But you didn’t.”
    Scholten swallowed and then said: “What makes you think that?”
    â€œDon’t answer back.” Wallmann leaned both forearms on the desk. His head was slightly lowered, and his red-rimmed eyes looked up at Scholten from beneath his brows.
    He looked quite threatening. “You went from here to the Cooperative House-building Association excavations and collected the stuff for Rothgerber. Then
you met Wielpütz and simply gave him the note for the Jagdweg site. And Wielpütz, the lazy bastard, forgot about the note and left it in his vehicle.”
    Scholten wondered frantically what he could say.
    â€œYou know what we’ll have to do now, Herr Scholten? We’re going to have to take out the Jagdweg pavement and put it back again properly. I’ve just been to the site, looking at the mess they made of it.”
    Scholten shook his head, expelled air through his lips. “Can I help it if Wielpütz forgot the note?”
    â€œI don’t think you understand me. This is not about Wielpütz, I’ll be talking to him too. This is about you. If you’re told to drive to the Jagdweg then you drive to the Jagdweg, by the quickest route there is. You can’t be so stupid that you didn’t know it mattered. You probably went into a bar for a quick drink. When were you back here?”
    â€œI can’t remember now.