Playing The Game

         
                   
          Playing The Game












          R.C. McClure
         One
I flung my leather briefcase on the passenger seat, dug around for the keys, and finding them in my pocket turned the engine over. I was running late and my boss was not going to appreciate that fact. Backing out of the cobblestone driveway quicker than I should have, I touched the accelerator enthusiastically with my foot and flew down the road making a sharp left turn. I had only been in the employment of Erich Reimann for eighteen months, and I certainly wasn't keen to start looking for a new job.

On arriving at 24 Salier Street I halted in my tracks. The scene that met my eyes was one of complete chaos. I'm not sure there was a single person there who really knew what they were doing. My impulse was to get back in the car and drive away, leaving the scene of confusion behind me. On second thought, to leave would only rankle my boss further, and considering the fact that he was presumably rather busy at the moment, I was sure to be let off a lot lighter than otherwise. Reluctantly I dove into the throng of people in search of him.
          I spotted him a distance from his office talking to the chief Landeskriminalamt. "She had been here but six months," he was saying.
"Und in that time there was nothing that made you doubt what her personlich daten und kurzprofile said?"enquired the LKA.
"Nein, never. She was quite honest und reliable."
"Very good. Where will I be able to find you when we need you again?" asked the LKA.
"Either here or at my home," replied Erich.
"Und where might that be?"
"5 Glucksburger Street, district 4."
          The inspector made a note of it. "Well danke for your time. Hopefully we will be able to sort this business out in a short matter of time," he said and turned away. Catching sight of me for the first time, Erich sighed and said, "I suppose you've heard what happened?"
"Nein, I'm in the dark. Und," I added rather sheepishly, "I only just got here."
          "I thought as much. What use is a journalist who is late?" he spat at me.
          "None, I suppose."
          "That's right! Und are you aware that I could rather easily find someone to replace you?"
"Ja, I'm aware."
"Und it doesn't bother you?"
"Nein, not very much. Perhaps it should?"
          He gave a grunt and turned away. As I headed towards my car to get my bag, I reflected on the recent conversation with my boss. He had taken my unpunctuality a lot better than I had thought he would. In fact, he had seemed to shrug it off as the least of his worries. Arriving at my car I retrieved the briefcase, locked the doors -which I had imprudently left unlocked due to my acute surprise at the scene in front of the newsagency- and walked back into the building. There was really nothing to do except to get on with the day. I tried to settle down to work, but realised I was too distracted by what the term 'this business' could possibly mean, and what all the fuss outside had been about. At that moment Klaus Neumann, a newly made friend and work mate, came up to my desk.
"Have you heard what has happened?" he asked in a low voice.
"Nein, though whatever it is, it's generated quite a commotion."
"Yvonne Bessner has been found dead in her office."
          I fell back in my chair, speechless. Is there ever anything worth saying that comes to mind when one is told of a death?
          "A shock to everyone I think," said Klaus. It was a statement, not a question.
          "Ja. As soon as I arrived I knew something substantial must have happened considering the fact that the LKA were here, but I didn't suspect anything of this kind."
          Klaus nodded and said, "It's sad, she arrived here this morning ignorant of the fact she was living the last few hours of her life."
         I began to say something, then thought better of it, and instead asked, "Do they know how she died?"
"Nein, not yet. An autopsy will apparently be performed."
"I see."
          There was a moment's silence.
          "When was the body discovered?" I asked abruptly.
"I'm not sure. It is a little confusing. Nor do I know who first found the body."
"Probably Erich. He normally arrives before anyone else," I replied.
"Maybe, but to me, he does not look like a man who has just discovered a corpse"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Do you not think it would affect his behaviour a little more if he had? He doesn't look particularly disturbed." explained Klaus.
"Ah, I understand your train of thought now. Perhaps he has exceptional control over himself in situations others would find stressful."
"Perhaps, but Erich has never seemed that kind of person to me."
"Ja, I must agree with you there. He has never seemed of a strong character to me either."
Klaus sighed and said, "I suppose I might as well go home. I think we will not be wanted here at the office today."
"Probably not," I agreed. Then a sudden thought hit me, and I asked, "Have they removed the body yet?"
          "Nein, they haven't," replied Klaus. He looked at me strangely, then turned and walked away, leaving me in a state of agitation.
          I sat cerebrating over the recent news. Then instantaneously a thought came to mind. "Why not ask to view the body and see if there is anything suggestive of the cause of death?" With that in mind, I sprung from my chair and strode out the door of the office to find the chief LKA. After some minutes of searching for him in the expanse of the two story building, I found him giving orders to one of his men.
"Guten tag, may I ask you a question?" I politely asked.
"Ja, but be brief," he replied in a preoccupied voice.
"I am sorry to bother you, but I need your permission to view the corpse."
"View the corpse? Und why might you, young man, be wanting to view a corpse?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.
"The deceased is - was a colleague of mine, und I am intrigued by her sudden death."
"Intrigued 'ey, well that's no reason to intrude,"
          I paused, gathering my thoughts before responding, "Perhaps not, and I do understand it is not common practice to give the mere public access to the scene of a tragedy or crime. But do please consider my request, I am exceedingly interested in -"
          He appeared rather sick of me and interrupted, saying, "As are many others, but I'm not letting them traipse in to view the corpse." I decided to play the age-old card of sympathy, and quickly arranged my features into an expression of disappointment and sorrow.
          "Were you a close friend to the deceased?" he asked, a new tone in his voice. A tone of consideration.
          A number of quick thoughts flew through my head when I heard his question. If I said nien, he would see no reason in giving me permission where he has refused others. If I said ja, that wouldn't be true. I had been acquainted with Yvonne, but had never been on a personal level with her.
"Nein, not exactly," I replied.
"Ach, nee!" he exclaimed with much disgust, his impatience evidently having returned. "Do you not know if you were friends?"
"I was just a colleague."
"Finally, we get somewhere!"
"But a close colleague." I smirked, as his face reddened with frustration.
"Alright! Alright! You may see the body, and the room in which it lies, but only for ten minutes, und under the supervision of one of my offiziers."
"Danke, that will be fine."
          "That will be fine? You have no other options!" he stormed at me.
Suddenly, and slightly surprisingly I might add, his outburst stopped and he signalled one of his men to come. When the offizier arrived his chief said to him, "Take this man to the corpse. Give him ten minutes und stay with him the entire time."
          I noted with some amusement that he put a lot of emphasis on the words 'stay with him.' The man responded with a brief, "Ja, herr kommandant," and with a puzzled glance in my direction, turned and said, "Follow me."
          We walked briskly across the room and down the small hallway to where the offices are located. Rays of early afternoon sunlight pouring in from the windows overlooking the street made the room feel warm and close. The polizist hesitated, his hand on the door knob.
"You have seen the dead before, ja?" he asked me.
"Nein, this is my first I'm afraid," I replied. Save many years ago when I'd attended the funeral of a distant relative of mine, I had not been in contact with death. And on that occasion the body had been concealed most appropriately in a coffin. So, I really have not seen the dead before, I thought to myself.
          He nodded and with a last questioning look in my direction turned the handle. As the polished wooden door opened silently on its hinges, the light caught the brass name plate screwed on the middle of it. Yvonne Bessner.
          We stole into the dark room, neither of us speaking a word. In the dim light I made out a black pile on the floor. It was not until the polizist switched on the light that I identified the pile as a body. Her body.
          "Has the room been photographed yet?" I asked.
"Ja, but you nonetheless do not have permission to touch the corpse."
"Ah, gut."
          He smiled grimly at me and took up a position near the door. With some consternation I approached the body sprawled on the fine grey carpet. She was situated at an angle in front of the desk. Her thick, dark hair falling over her shoulder to the floor. One of the first things I noticed was the fact that in my conversation with Klaus he had mentioned that 'It was sad, she arrived here this morning ignorant of the fact that she was living the last few hours of her life,' what Klaus hadn't done, was ask to see the body. If he had done so, he would have observed that she was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. As far back as I could remember, Yvonne had never worn the same outfit two days in a row. So it was odd that she had suddenly changed her habits. Unless...there was another possible answer to the peculiarity, but I decided not to dwell on it at present. Disturbingly I noted some faint bruising on her neck and throat. The room had been dark when we first walked in due to the fact that the blind was closed and the light had been off.
          "When the body was first discovered, was the blind drawn?" I asked.
          "Nien, herr kommandant shut it almost immediately. He did not want people in the building behind to see the body."
          I thanked him, and turned back to the room. Everything appeared to be in its place, although I couldn't be certain as I wasn't extremely familiar with Yvonne's office. I moved over to the desk and upon seeing her computer, wished fervently that I was able to crack the password and have a look around, as there would undoubtedly be some helpful information. But that, I presumed, would be a job for the LKA, and not something they'd be willing to share with me. Turning instead to the drawers, I one by one, searched their contents. They were mostly full of clippings from old newspapers and magazines. I supposed they were from her previous job, and tossed them aside without further ado. She had a marvellous assortment of pens, including Otto Hut, Waldman, Rohrer & Klinger and many other expensive brands. Picking up a rose gold Lamy fountain pen, I dipped it in the inkpot, grabbed a piece of paper and wrote in a firm hand the word death. I stared at my penmanship, wondering why I had written that of all things. Returning the pen to its home, I shoved the little draw back in, pocketed the scrap of paper and got up from the chair I had been sitting in. A large pinewood bookshelf stood against the wall opposite me, full of books both new and old. I went over to it and studied its contents. There was a vast expanse of topics, ranging from politics to botany. My eyes skimmed over the shelves, picking out titles of books I had read before and I found surprisingly that most of them were familiar to me. There was, however, no clue to what had happened on or around this bookshelf. The next thing to examine was the filing cabinet. I went over and with more force than was needed reefed open the top draw. Sifting slowly through the vast quantity of papers and articles I began to lose all foolish hopes of finding anything suggestive. There were only two and a half minutes left of my allotted time when I reached the last draw. On opening it I quickly began to look through the contents. Stuffed in the midst of the many business like papers was a small piece of pink floral note paper. On it were written the words, "Sie wissen dass ich es wissen." That was all. No further explanation, no embellishments, nothing. Reluctantly I placed it back in amongst the other material and shut the heavy metal draw with a soft clang.
"I'm done looking around," I said to the polizist.
"Very good."
          The man waited till I had fully exited the room before turning off the light and closing the door.
"Did you...see what you wanted to? He asked me.
"Ja," I replied, my thoughts elsewhere.
          "Well I'll be leaving you then," he said, and walked briskly down the hall.
          I stood, staring at the door, the entrance, to where the body lay. Yvonne Bessner. Dead.

























































Chapter One - 2,369



          Two
As the glass doors swung open, I was met immediately with the familiar sound of weighty bowling balls striking pins consisting of a combination of plastic and wood.
          "Johann! Come over here," yelled my Italian friend Lorenz.
          A man in his early forties, he had quit his job as an architect four years ago, for no apparent reason, and had applied for a job here at the COSMO sports centre. They had employed him in the ten pin bowling alley, and he had been here since.
          Looking in the direction from whence his voice had come, I spotted him sitting at a table with an attractive girl and a dark haired man, neither of whom looked familiar to me. I sauntered over to them and took a chair beside the dark haired man.
          "Johann, you haven't met my friends before. This is Jurgen," he said as he gestured towards the dark man. "Und this is Ilse." She glanced at me and gave a small wave, Lorenz gave her what I considered a sappy look and then turned to me. "Why are you here anyway Johann? You're not working anymore?"
"I am not working today," I replied.
"Oh? Do you care to tell us why?" he asked.
"Nein, I don't care to tell you why," I replied shortly.
He shrugged and continued, "I guess you came here to spend the rest of your afternoon at the bowling alley, right?"
          "I suppose so. I don't have anything planned."
          "Well, seeing as I have to go back to the front desk just about now, you can entertain Ilse for the afternoon."
          And with that he practically skipped off, leaving the three of us looking after him with amused expressions on our faces. I noted the fact that Ilse was a little more enrapt with me than with the retreating back of Lorenz. She darted curious glances in my direction and scooted her chair closer, inch by inch to mine. I sighed. Why did Lorenz have to dump me with her? He knew I hated having to entertain girls and it was obvious that this one was no different to the ones he had matched me with in the past. I had come here because I'd felt the longing to play ten pin bowling. Even more accurately, I didn't want to have to talk to people, and spending the afternoon with this girl, Ilse, would mean I'd certainly have to talk.
          "Do you come to the bowling club often?" I asked Jurgen.
          "Ja, I come almost everyday after work."
          "Und what about you?" I asked the blonde girl, who had by now succeeded in moving her chair so close to mine that I couldn't have gotten out on that side if I'd wanted to.
          "Oh, I come here quite often too," she responded vaguely.
The conversation died as abruptly as it had begun and I turned aside to have a look at my surroundings. The place wasn't at its busiest, but there were still many people around. I watched with much amusement, the people who either were learning or were simply hopeless at bowling. There was a particular woman dressed in white and green striped linen pants paired with a purple and white striped top, who seemed incapable of sending the ball anywhere but down the gutters on either side of her lane. Not once in the time I was watching her, did any of the balls she threw hit a single pin. With some effort, I drew my attention back to my table companions.
"If you two want to, we could start a game?" Suggested Jurgen.
"Ja, sure," said Ilse.
I nodded in agreement and we all rose to find and select the bowling balls of our choice. I went briefly to the desk to fetch myself a pair of sneakers first. When I returned Ilse was seated waiting for us at one of the many lanes. I observed that she had chosen two pearly pink that looked bigger than a slender girl like her could handle. "But, perhaps she's stronger than she looks, I told myself.
I walked over to the multiple shelves full of colourful balls. After choosing a pair of deep blue that weighed several kg, I walked back over to the leather benches surrounding the ball rack. Jurgen too, had selected his and was making his way towards us. I placed the two balls on the ball rack and sat down on one of the benches.
We all gazed at the screen above our heads, waiting to see the order in which our names would come up.
          "It looks like ladies first," I said, when the names appeared.
          "Just because a female is a woman it doesn't necessarily mean she's a lady," said Jurgen with a wicked little smile playing about his lips. It seemed his comment was aimed at me, because he was watching quite closely to see my reaction. "But do please feel free to go ahead Ilse," he added.
I met his gaze, and we both stared at each other. Then suddenly, a wicked little smile crept too, onto my face, and I said, "What, exactly, defines a lady?"
Nothing much changed in Jurgen's expression, only his eyes hardened a little and his smile became a trifle set. I could see him making, testing, and rejecting comeback after comeback in the depths of his brain. None, it seemed, trumped the comment I had made. Or not enough to satisfy him, at any rate.
          At that moment I glanced at Ilse and what I saw astonished me. One eyebrow was most attractively raised, her lips were parted slightly and combined with her vibrant blue eyes and soft blonde hair, she was, in that particular moment, quite lovely. But it was nothing other than those vibrant blue eyes that astonished me. They held an inexplicably dangerous look inside of them. Her gaze was level, intense and threatening. Stillmore though, was the fact that she was looking straight at Jurgen. Gingerly she stood up and reached into the ball rack for one of the pink spheres she had selected. I watched her as she walked out onto the polished surface of the lane and positioned herself. It was clear that she knew what she was doing, and that she did it often. Following the controlled action of her right arm, the ball rolled like an outsize pink pearl and hit precisely seven of the nine pins. She turned around and walked back towards us, a look of reasonable satisfaction on her face. I got up from my comfortable seat and grabbed one of the balls I had chosen. In due time I cast it in what seemed to me the middle of the lane. Much to my vexation, it veered to the right at the last moment resulting in a poor four pins being taken out. I shook my head, exasperated, and stepped back to let Jurgen go. He strode forward and in a one fluid motion sent the heavy ball rolling down the smooth, polished surface of the lane. What he had said about coming here almost every day after work seemed evident in the fact that scored a strike on his first attempt.
          We played for a while more, and then I asked if anyone would like a drink. Both Jurgen and Ilse told me what they'd have and I went in search of Lorenz. It didn't take long to find him, as he was conveniently at the food counter. I told him what we wanted and settled down on one of the bar stools to further question him about his two friends I had spent the previous twenty minutes bowling with.
          "Lorenz, who is that girl Ilse?"
          "What do you mean who is she? She's one of my friends."
          "I would say I've met almost all your friends who bowl, but she's never been one of them. What about Jurgen? I've never met him either."
          "Well that's no fault of mine! You simply haven't been here when he has been, I guess."
          "Jurgen said that he comes to the bowling alley almost everyday," I said quietly.
I was suspicious. Lorenz found much pleasure in introducing me to his friends and particularly those who shared the passion of bowling. It was very much unlike him to purposely keep me from meeting someone. And there was nothing in particular that stood out about these two, nothing, at any rate that would drive him to make sure I never met them. Unless perhaps he had something to hide that they were involved with.
I stared at him, knowing very well that the look on my face conveyed incredulity and disappointment at his lying with me. I knew he was lying. Maybe not about Ilse, but certainly about Jurgen. I would have and should have met the man before now. The only solution was that Lorenz had purposely been keeping him and me from meeting. But what had been the sudden change? When I walked in the door today, my sociable friend had been enthusiastic, almost eager to introduce me to Jurgen and Ilse. It lacks logic, I thought grimly. Anything lacking logic wasn't a favourite of mine.
I sighed, shrugged my shoulders and grasping the glasses in both hands, set off at a rapid pace to where my newly made acquaintances were waiting, not only for their beverages but to recommence the game.
          "Danke schon. Did Lorenz say he wanted to join our game?" Ilse asked me as I handed her drink to her.
          "Nein, he made no such comment."
          "Oh? That's quite unlike Lorenz. He always wants to be in on a game of bowling. He always wants to be in on any game," she added with a knowing smile.
I smiled politely back and took a sip of my vodka and elderflower. I must admit I was a little puzzled. Perhaps it was simply me being suspicious and sceptical, but Ilse's words came across as slightly cryptic. We resumed our game, rotating between bowling, drinking and chatting. As time ticked by, I noticed Lorenz glancing continuously in our direction with an anxious expression on his face. It was clear he was becoming more and more agitated by the minute. Finally, he waved his hand, gesturing in a timorous manner for me to come. I excused myself from my companions and headed over to the table in a corner where Lorenz had sat down. Pulling out a seat opposite him, I made myself comfortable and gave him a questioning look.
          "Johann, don't...please don't talk to them about this!" He said to me in a pleading voice.
          "Talk to them about what?" I asked, somewhat taken aback.
          "About me not having introduced you to them sooner."
          "Why? Because they'll say something they shouldn't?" I asked him in probably a more accusing voice than was necessary.
He shifted uncomfortably on his seat.
          "Look Lorenz, if you aren't going to tell me what it's all about, there's really no reason for us to be having this conversation," I said in a firm voice, although inside I was feeling sorry for him.
          "I cannot Johann, I unquestionably cannot," he said in a strong and decisive tone.
It seemed he had found his ground again and was not going to shift in his commitments. I shook my head and rose to leave.
          "You won't will you?" asked Lorenz, his controlled demeanour again crumbling.
          "Nein, I won't," I said after some consideration. "Not today at any rate."
He stood up and slammed his fist down on the table. Then with a dark look in my direction, turned and strode away.
I had never seen Lorenz act like this before. It amazed and disturbed me.
The afternoon wore on as we completed frame after frame. If any of us enjoyed bowling less than we do, we would have left long ago, I thought to myself as I looked at my watch. I must have commented to the other two that it was now 8:00, because Jurgen exclaimed, "I have to leave! I have an appointment at 8:30 that I must attend. It's been constructive meeting you Johann, perhaps we will bump into each other some other time here at the alley."
          "Perhaps we will. You said you come at 6:00 every afternoon, didn't you?"
          "Nein, I said I come every day after work," he replied in a suddenly guarded voice.
          "Ah, ja. Sorry, I must have misheard you earlier."
A peculiar look came into his eyes. "Ja, you must have. I failed to mention when I come to the bowling alley."
With no apparent effort, I thought, he's managed to avoid both traps I've set for him.
          "Well, I'd best be going. Auf wiedersehen Ilse, I'm sure I will see you in the near future."
          "Wiedersehen. Ja, see you tonight."
I smirked as Jurgen shot her an exasperated look and strode towards the exit doors. She didn't realise it, but she had said something she wasn't supposed to.
As I drove home that evening my mind flew to the recent tragedy.
It hadn't actually registered in me yet that my colleague Yvonne was dead. That was probably partly because I didn't want it to register, but mostly I think, because of the sheer unexpectedness. My curiosity had been considerably aroused as to how she'd died. It would be exceedingly interesting to hear what results the post mortem would bring. She had been young, healthy and had seemed overall pretty happy with where she was at in life. There was only one thing I remembered that made me question if she was struggling with depression. Many times in the past month, she had come to work in a bad state, both physically and mentally. Everyone goes through hard times in life, that's a fact, but there had been multiple times where she had appeared to be considerably anxious and disturbed by something, I had actually been worried about her. Perhaps it had been an exaggeration on my behalf over what had maybe been but a trivial matter. Considering the circumstances, it appeared I would never have the opportunity to find out.
Und then there's this trouble with Lorenz, I sighed.
It would be wise if he told someone about what he was caught up in. I knew Lorenz, a sensitive sort, couldn't carry his burden around with him forever. What puzzled me though, was how Jurgen and Ilse were connected with his plight. Either way, it's getting to Lorenz's conscience, I mused. Und he won't be able to go on like this for much longer.
Pulling into the driveway of 11 Gelleper Street, I parked my car and got out. I shared the town house with three other young men, Stefan, Heinrich and Horst. All in our early twenties and with successful careers ahead of us, the arrangement was both practical and in some ways pleasurable, as we were able to share each other's company.
As I opened the door to the house, my labrador Adelbert bounded excitedly down the hall towards me. "Was ist los, Adelbert?" I smiled as he skidded to a stop at my feet, and fondled his silky black ears. My parents had given both my brother Bastian and me identical labrador pups for Christmas four years ago.
Wagging his tail, he licked my hand and leaned into me, against my leg. I gave him another rub and pushed past him into the minuscule lounge room. Heinrich was seated on the couch, his laptop open in front of him on the coffee table.
          "Hallo! This is rather early for you to be home," he smirked at me.
I was known to spend long hours at the office, but that was not only natural for a journalist but certainly for me who enjoyed my work and had plenty of it.
I smiled and said, "It is rather. You'll be interested to hear - I spent my afternoon at the bowling alley."
          "The bowling alley, you don't say, perhaps you're about to tell me next that you've given up journalism," he said in a sarcastic voice.
          "Nein, not of my own accord anyway," I laughed.
          "Enlighten me then, why did you spend your afternoon at the bowling alley when you should've been at work?" asked Heinrich.
I stared at the wall, feeling hesitant to speak.
          "My colleague Yvonne Bessner was found dead in her office this morning. An autopsy will be performed, but at present the cause of death is unknown. The polizist were there this morning, und Erich sent us all home."
Heinrich shook his head. "That is staggering. It's horrible watching a jockey or horse have an accident und die in front of your eyes or else hear that they're permanently disabled, meaning their careers are over, but to find a dead body und there's no obvious explanation...that's somewhat disturbing."
          "Ja."
We sat in silence, each of us busy with our own thoughts. Then, with a grim look, he slammed the lid down on his laptop and got up from the couch.
          "I'd best be going to bed. I've got to be at the track by 3:30 tomorrow morning."
I sighed and said, "I'm not sure what Erich's wanting me to do tomorrow."
          "That, I presume, will depend on the results of the post mortem," said Heinrich in an insinuating voice.
I knew what he meant. He hadn't said it, but I knew.







































Chapter Two - 2,935


          Three
The penetrating sound of my phone ringing broke the silence in the almost empty house. I picked it up and stared at the screen.
"Not now, I don't want to talk to him now," I groaned wearily. With a flick of my wrist I set the device back down on the kitchen bench, intending to let it ring out. and ran my fingers through my dishevelled blonde hair. I hadn't slept well the previous night. Actually, the problem was that I had barely slept at all the previous night. My mind was full of countless things, and aggravatingly I was powerless as to sorting them out. The combination added up to an extraordinarily deviant mood, which my friends found rather trying but which I found singularly satisfying.
As the phone continued to ring, I glanced at it and with a heavy sigh picked it up again. In doing so, I observed that the time was 8:30. Hesitatingly, accepted the call.
          "Hallo Klaus, was wollt ihr?"
          "Johann, she was murdered." He stopped short, almost as if he had run out of breath.
A moment of shocked silence fell on us.
          "How?" I eventually asked.
          "She... she was strangled." He said it haltingly and in a strained voice.
          My grip tightened on the phone and I involuntarily clenched my jaw. It seemed odd somehow, that the death of a workmate had gotten through to Klaus in such a way as to reduce him to mere shards of his previously confidant self. Yesterday at the office when I had talked with him, he had seemed sorry and perhaps a little upset, but nothing like this.
          "How did you find this out?" I asked him, genuinely puzzled.
          "I have ways, friends," he paused, and then continued in a soft, odd tone, "und I wanted to know."
          "Und you're not about to tell me exactly what you wanted to know, are you." I thought dryly, sensing that it hadn't just been the cause of death he'd wanted to know about. Instead of voicing this assumption, I said, "Does Erich want us at work today?"
          "Nein, in fact, he doesn't want us to come for at least the next week."
          "The next week hey," I murmured. "I presume we will be working from home then?"
          "Ja, apparently."
          We both lapsed into silence, mulling over the recent turn of events. I could feel the tension as the seconds ticked by. Finally, I broke the disagreeable quiet.
          " I suppose I'll stop by the office this afternoon to collect all that I'll need for the upcoming week."
          "Ja, I suppose I'll do the same. Perhaps I will see you?"
          "Perhaps."
          There was another moment of uncomfortably strained hush.
          "Well, I'm going to go, Klaus. I appreciate your calling, to inform me of the results," I said in a decided effort to end the conversation.
          "Ja, that's all good." He hesitated, as if he was going to say more, then seeming to decide against it, finished with, "Tschuss, I will see you sometime in the near future, I'm sure." He hung up and I layed down my phone with a misplaced sigh of relief. Then an indescribable wave of emotion swept over me, choking off all invaluable logic and reasoning. She had been murdered. Instantaneously my mind began to view Yvonne's death as a very grave matter. Before it had been but a tragedy, mourn for the departed and do your best to move on with life, but this wasn't simply death, this was one person taking the life of another. Someone, someone has to find that execrable person, I thought with a feeling of minacious passion. These particular thoughts were interrupted when another came suddenly to mind. The note I'd found in the filing cabinet while examining the office yesterday, what did it mean? Was it of any importance? Certainly, it was of a conspicuous variety, but that didn't necessarily qualify it to be a clue to murder. It could have been an old - nein, it couldn't have been, I broke off. It was simply too incongruous to be just any note, but even if it did have something to do with her death, it didn't give much to go off. From memory, it wasn't particularly illuminating, I thought dryly. Somehow, I need to secure that piece of paper, und compare it with Yvonne's handwriting. Then at any rate I would know if it was she who wrote it.
The trouble now was how would I go about getting the note. I wouldn't be allowed into the office of the deceased a second time, I was sure of that. The obvious way seemed to be to contact the polizist and enquire as to whether they had come across a particular piece of innocent pink paper.



It was some days later that I received a call from the LKA informing me that

Chapter Three - 787