“I am a crime reporter,” I answered, looking up. “Under the name of Peter Weill.”
“The Peter Weill?” His tone shifted. He was a fan.
“For the past several years,” I said. “I have worked closely with the police all that time.”
I pulled my press pass out of my satchel and handed it to him, then flipped open my sketchbook to a courtroom sketch published in the paper a week ago.
His face creased in a smile. “I remember that picture. Your line work is quite accomplished.” He returned my press pass, and I tucked it into my satchel.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s so rare that anyone notices. You have a discerning eye.”
Fritz suppressed a smile when the man stood up even straighter and held out his hand.
“Kommissar Lang.”
I wiped my palm on my skirt before shaking his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Kommissar Lang rocked back on the heels of his highly polished shoes. “Your articles have astute insight into the criminal mind. And the measures we must take in order to protect good German people from the wrong elements.”
“I try to do a good, fair job by getting my information from the source.” I glanced at the reports in his hand.
He bowed and handed them to me. “So many reporters these days speak only to victims. Or criminals.”
“They are important sources as well.” I took the reports with a hand that trembled only slightly. “One must be thorough.”
Follow
Leave a Reply