“You have such insight into the male mind,” Kommissar Lang said. “You and your husband must be very close.”
“She’s never been married,” Fritz said. The corners of his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile.
“Might you autograph an article for me?” Kommissar Lang clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward. “Do you have an article in today’s paper?”
I had not yet read today’s paper. “I am not certain.”
“Yesterday’s,” Fritz said. “Front page.”
“I will procure a copy.” Kommissar Lang hastened out of the room. Fritz returned to his desk without saying a word. His shoulders twitched with laughter, but he kept a serious face. It cost me, but I gave him the expected warning smile.
When I glanced down at the reports, I saw gibberish. Lines of black type ran along the paper, but my mind could not turn them into words. My hand shook as I pretended to take notes, but I hoped Fritz could not see that from his desk. I willed myself to think of nothing but numbers and stared at the second hand of my watch, silently counting each tick. When three minutes elapsed, I put the unread reports down on the counter. “You are correct, Fritz,” I said. “Not much there.”
I would find no report of a sensational murder or string of robberies for Peter Weill’s byline today. And the murder I most wanted to research I could not ask a single question about. No attention dared fall on Ernst or me. If Sarah and her son were still underway, they might be arrested. Because of her political activism, she had been denied emigration to the United States three times. But it was becoming harder for even apolitical Jews to leave Germany. If the National Socialists, the Nazis, were to gain the majority in the Reichstag, I shuddered to think what would happen. Anti-Semitic scapegoating ran deep everywhere in Europe. As disgusting as I found it, I had to admit that Hitler was far too clever at using it for his political ends. Things would get worse before they got better.
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