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celebrated father’s sake that you’re sitting here being so damned polite to me. If it weren’t for that you’d treat him like any other yob you care to name. And you’d treat me like a drugged-up whore.’
    ‘Steady on . . .’ said Moreno.
    ‘You don’t need to put on a show,’ said Frey. ‘I know the score. Erich had a lot on his conscience, but he’s packed all that in during the last few years. Neither of us shoot up nowadays, and we’re no less law-abiding than anybody else. But I suppose it’s a waste of time trying to make the fuzz believe that?’
    Neither Moreno nor Reinhart responded. Marlene Frey’s outburst remained hanging for a while in the warm silence over the calor gas stove. But this was shattered when a tram clattered past in the street outside.
    ‘Okay,’ said Reinhart. ‘I understand what you’re saying and you may be right. But now we’re where we are, and it’s a bit bloody annoying if we get told off for treating people decently for once . . . I think we know where we stand now, without going on and on about it. Shall we continue?’
    Marlene Frey hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
    ‘Dikken,’ said Reinhart. ‘Why did he have to go there? You must have some idea, surely?’
    ‘It could’ve been anything at all,’ said Frey. ‘I suppose you’re fishing for something to do with drugs, but I can swear that it had nothing to do with that. Erich gave all that stuff up even before we started living together.’
    Reinhart gave her a long, hard look.
    ‘All right, we’ll accept that,’ he said. ‘Was he going to get something out of it? Money, I mean . . . Or was he just going to meet a friend out there, for instance? Or do somebody a favour?’
    Frey thought for a while.
    ‘I think it was a job,’ she said. ‘Some sort of job.’
    ‘Did he say he was going out to Dikken?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Nor what it was about?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Not even a hint?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And you didn’t ask?’
    Frey shook her head and sighed.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Erich and I could have seven or eight different jobs in any given week – we hardly ever talked about it.’
    ‘Did he say when he’d be back?’ asked Moreno.
    Frey thought that over again.
    ‘I’ve been thinking about that, but I’m not sure. I had the impression he’d be back home at around eight or nine in any case, but it’s not definite that he actually said that. Who bloody cares anyway?’
    She bit her lip, and Moreno saw that her eyes had filled with tears.
    ‘Cry,’ she said. ‘It’s possible to cry and talk at the same time, you know.’
    Frey immediately heeded this advice. Moreno leaned forward and stroked her arm somewhat awkwardly, while Reinhart squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. Fumbled with his pipe and managed to light it.
    ‘Names?’ said Moreno when the sobbing became less violent. ‘Did he name any names in connection with what he was going to do last Tuesday evening?’
    Frey shook her head.
    ‘Do you know if he’d been there before? If he went there regularly?’
    ‘To Dikken?’ She couldn’t help laughing. ‘No, it’s not exactly our kind of place out there, wouldn’t you say?’
    Moreno smiled.
    ‘Had he been worried about anything recently? Had anything special happened that you could possibly link with the accident?’
    Frey wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper and thought again.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Nothing I can think of.’
    ‘Had he met any new acquaintances lately?’
    ‘No. Erich knew an awful lot of people . . . Of all kinds, you might say.’
    ‘I understand,’ said Reinhart. ‘This Elmer Kodowsky, for instance, whose car he borrowed?’
    ‘For instance, yes,’ said Frey.
    ‘Have either of you had any contact with him lately?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘He’s inside. I don’t know where. He was an old friend of Erich’s, I’ve never met him. I’ve only seen him once or twice.’
    ‘And you yourself haven’t felt threatened in any way?’ Moreno