I turned and marched back down the hall, willing myself not to glance at the photograph. If I did not look, perhaps it would not be true.
“Fraulein Vogel,” called Kommissar Lang. I heard him sprinting after me.
Something was amiss. Would he demand to see my papers again, papers I still did not have? I envisioned myself bolting through the front door of the police station, but instead I turned to him, ready to concoct a story of lost papers.
“You forgot my autograph,” he panted.
“I do apologize.” Relief flooded over me. “It slipped my mind. I am so late for the Becker trial.”
Kommissar Lang nodded. “The rapist who targeted schoolgirls in the park?”
“That one.” Any other day I would have asked him about his involvement in the case, but today I needed to get away before I broke down.
He thrust the paper at me.
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