condition.”
They left the apartment and returned the key to the neighbor.
“Could you drop me at Christoph’s before you go to the hospital?” Pia asked as they took the elevator down. “It’s on the way.”
“Oh, right, the party.”
“How do you know about that?” She shoved open the glass door so vigorously that she almost struck a man in the back as he bent over to study the name labels.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”
Pia caught a fleeting glimpse of his face as she smiled her apology.
“No harm done,” said the man, and they went on.
Bodenstein turned up the collar of his coat. “I like to be well informed about my colleagues. But you know that.”
Pia remembered her conversation with Kathrin Fachinger that morning. This seemed the ideal opportunity.
“Well, then you also must know that our colleague Behnke is doing some moonlighting that would definitely not meet with official approval.”
Oliver frowned and gave her a quick look.
“No, until this morning I wasn’t aware of that,” he admitted. “Were you?”
“I’m probably the last person Behnke would confide in,” Pia replied with a snort of contempt. “He always makes such a secret of his private life, as if he were still in the Special Assignment Unit.”
Oliver studied Pia in the pallid glow of the streetlight.
“He has some fairly major problems,” he said. “His wife left him a year ago. He couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments and ended up losing the house.”
Pia stopped and stared at him speechless for a moment. So that was the reason for Behnke’s behavior, for his constant irritability, his foul moods, his aggressiveness. And yet she felt no sympathy for him, only annoyance.
“You’re going to take his side again, aren’t you? What is it between you two? Why do you always make allowances for him?”
“I’m not making allowances for him,” Oliver countered.
“And how come he gets to keep making mistakes and neglect his job without suffering any consequences?”
“I suppose I hoped he’d manage to straighten out his life somehow if I didn’t pressure him too much.” Bodenstein shrugged. “But if he really is moonlighting in an unauthorized job, then I can’t do anything more for him.”
“So you’re going to report it to Dr. Engel?”
“I’m afraid I have to.” He sighed and started walking again. “But I’ll have a talk with Frank first.”
Saturday, November 8, 2008
“Oh my God.” Dr. Daniela Lauterbach reacted with genuine horror when Bodenstein told her how he happened to get her telephone number. She turned pale beneath her suntan. “Rita is a good friend of mine. We were neighbors until she got divorced last year.”
“A witness said he saw someone push Mrs. Cramer over the railing of the pedestrian bridge,” said Bodenstein. “That’s why we’re investigating the case as a possible attempted murder.”
“That’s appalling! Poor Rita! How is she doing?”
“Not well. She’s in critical condition.”
Dr. Lauterbach clasped her hands as if in prayer and shook her head in dismay. Bodenstein estimated that she was about his age, late forties or early fifties. She had a very feminine figure and her shiny dark hair was pulled back in a simple bun. With her warm brown eyes that were surrounded by laugh lines she radiated good humor and a motherly concern. She was obviously a doctor who took enough time for her patients and their troubles. Her extensive practice was located on the pedestrian street in Königstein above a jewelry store: big bright rooms with high ceilings and parquet floors.
“Let’s step into my office,” the doctor suggested. Bodenstein followed her into a very large room dominated by a massive, old-fashioned desk. On the walls were large expressionist paintings in somber colors that presented an unusual but intriguing contrast to the otherwise pleasant decor.
“May I offer you some coffee?”
“Oh yes,
They left the apartment and returned the key to the neighbor.
“Could you drop me at Christoph’s before you go to the hospital?” Pia asked as they took the elevator down. “It’s on the way.”
“Oh, right, the party.”
“How do you know about that?” She shoved open the glass door so vigorously that she almost struck a man in the back as he bent over to study the name labels.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I didn’t see you.”
Pia caught a fleeting glimpse of his face as she smiled her apology.
“No harm done,” said the man, and they went on.
Bodenstein turned up the collar of his coat. “I like to be well informed about my colleagues. But you know that.”
Pia remembered her conversation with Kathrin Fachinger that morning. This seemed the ideal opportunity.
“Well, then you also must know that our colleague Behnke is doing some moonlighting that would definitely not meet with official approval.”
Oliver frowned and gave her a quick look.
“No, until this morning I wasn’t aware of that,” he admitted. “Were you?”
“I’m probably the last person Behnke would confide in,” Pia replied with a snort of contempt. “He always makes such a secret of his private life, as if he were still in the Special Assignment Unit.”
Oliver studied Pia in the pallid glow of the streetlight.
“He has some fairly major problems,” he said. “His wife left him a year ago. He couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments and ended up losing the house.”
Pia stopped and stared at him speechless for a moment. So that was the reason for Behnke’s behavior, for his constant irritability, his foul moods, his aggressiveness. And yet she felt no sympathy for him, only annoyance.
“You’re going to take his side again, aren’t you? What is it between you two? Why do you always make allowances for him?”
“I’m not making allowances for him,” Oliver countered.
“And how come he gets to keep making mistakes and neglect his job without suffering any consequences?”
“I suppose I hoped he’d manage to straighten out his life somehow if I didn’t pressure him too much.” Bodenstein shrugged. “But if he really is moonlighting in an unauthorized job, then I can’t do anything more for him.”
“So you’re going to report it to Dr. Engel?”
“I’m afraid I have to.” He sighed and started walking again. “But I’ll have a talk with Frank first.”
Saturday, November 8, 2008
“Oh my God.” Dr. Daniela Lauterbach reacted with genuine horror when Bodenstein told her how he happened to get her telephone number. She turned pale beneath her suntan. “Rita is a good friend of mine. We were neighbors until she got divorced last year.”
“A witness said he saw someone push Mrs. Cramer over the railing of the pedestrian bridge,” said Bodenstein. “That’s why we’re investigating the case as a possible attempted murder.”
“That’s appalling! Poor Rita! How is she doing?”
“Not well. She’s in critical condition.”
Dr. Lauterbach clasped her hands as if in prayer and shook her head in dismay. Bodenstein estimated that she was about his age, late forties or early fifties. She had a very feminine figure and her shiny dark hair was pulled back in a simple bun. With her warm brown eyes that were surrounded by laugh lines she radiated good humor and a motherly concern. She was obviously a doctor who took enough time for her patients and their troubles. Her extensive practice was located on the pedestrian street in Königstein above a jewelry store: big bright rooms with high ceilings and parquet floors.
“Let’s step into my office,” the doctor suggested. Bodenstein followed her into a very large room dominated by a massive, old-fashioned desk. On the walls were large expressionist paintings in somber colors that presented an unusual but intriguing contrast to the otherwise pleasant decor.
“May I offer you some coffee?”
“Oh yes,
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