As was his morning habit, inspector Gunter Raubtier sat in his office, slumped melancholically in an oversized leather armchair. He had brought the monstrosity of a chair to replace the “meagre, unimposing”, office chair that was and still is the standard. On that particularly grim, late autumn morning, a term with no actual meaning in the bizarre cycle of New Berlin, his usual melancholy gave way to an uncharacteristically devoted reading. That did not escape me.
“Isn’t it unusual for an RFP-officer, such as yourself, to be actually doing something on such a morning?” said I.
“Now then, how unusual it would be for you to say something of reason, while you’re tucked away behind that door, eh, Scherzer?”
“I wouldn’t be sitting in such an undignifying position, if you ever cleaned this, this warehouse of an office!”
My remark must have had some merit, for Raubtier fell silent, before he finally broke his eye-contact with the thickly printed paper and began sifting zealously through the many documents splayed without the slightest hint of order on his desk.
“Why don’t you take a look at this…wait a moment, it has to be somewhere around here…” he said while delving in an especially dishevelled stack.
Much to my amusement this laborious errand took him long enough for me to finish drinking a generously sized cup of coffee; or more precisely one minute and three seconds. It does not cease to amaze me how the human mind remembers data when it is of use against the ego of another person. Anyhow, the ultimate goal of his actions was, as it turned out, a short report. Despite its concise appearance the cheap printer paper played a deft host to the most harrowing of news. Not as harrowing as a forecasted visit from a particularly hairsplitting internal affairs inspector, but still. Skipping the usual bureaucratic ornaments I quickly developed nostalgia for the previous week.
“Interesting, isn’t it? Read it aloud! And skip the useless parts!”
And so I did. “At 7.12 a body was found in the old storage district number 134, possibly unnatural cause of death,” it said and continued, “a single blunt trauma on the neck, most probably caused by a roof tile.” My colleague grinned, took his badge and hurriedly left the office without saying a word.
“So much of a quiet week,” was all I could mutter before having to stride off after him or be left behind.
Some twenty minutes later we arrived at the scene where only hours before a possibly mischievous had taken place. The year-long night was only a day away and the lengthening shadows crept on the ground, caused by the setting sun. No true denizen of New Berlin will admit it, but the looming winter induces a sort of unease if not even unrest in one’s heart. Over the years I had developed a callous shell, but still the sight of ice encrusted buildings awoke in me a desire for warmer places.
Raubtier didn’t seem to have noticed the nature’s play. His narrow face could be hailed the true archetype of astute concentration as he looked around, his grey eyes peering in every direction. The small band of forensics was just finishing their fiddly tasks and the lurid scene was free for us to examine. The alley was indeed an abandoned mess of dilapidated buildings; an old subway station of which all the windows were covered with planks, opposed by an empty warehouse-like marvel of architecture. Not surprisingly, the warehouse was nothing exceptional and neither was the station. Both edifices were flanked with piles of snow as tall as a man - the work of a most relentless wind that had, in fact, only shown its full might the day before.
Roughly two steps from the elevated ledge that was once the station’s entry laid a frozen corpse, covered with ice crystals. It was evidently of a young woman. The fair hair was dishevelled and smudged with blood, more so at the base of her skull. From the looks of it her clothing was of good quality and yet not too ostensibly expensive. A long black coat, jeans, a pair of unusually robust boots. Nothing unusual. To me it all indicated a swift and unexpected death. A blood splattered roof tile could be seen nearby.
“Well, what do you make of this?” I asked, rising from the corpse.
“A good deal, a good deal,” said Raubtier, “but not too much, no. Now if you would excuse me for a moment.”
I watched him disappear behind a pile of snow a hundred meters or so away. All I could tell, his bladder got the better of him. So I stood there, freezing, observing the deceased.
I must have unconsciously murmured a statement of bewilderment for Raubtier said; “Indeed. You are right. To suffer a misfortune so extreme as this – it’s beyond belief. Look at her right shoe. It’s untied.”
“She must have been bending down to tie it when the tile broke off,” said I.
“I don’t know, it may be quite so. Or may not. The shoe laces…the tile is on the left side of the body… In either case, come with me, if you will.”
Behind the very same pile of snow, behind which Raubtier had disappeared moments before, an interesting and rather peculiar thing came to sight. We could observe a total of 5 matches, some burnt to the half, and some barely ignited.
“Can you see over the snow and ice – my parents apparently didn’t feed me well enough.”
You could tell that his childhood was just as synth-paste abundant as any. He measured a few centimetres more than 180, but the obstacle was a tiny bit higher.
“As a matter of fact I can see across it, but just barely. Do you think that this might be related? Someone looking for the unfortunate victim?”
“I don’t know.” My colleague and friend appeared to be somewhat in the gloom. There was one thing for us to check.
“What else? Let’s go and check the station’s attic. “
The station’s planked main entrance showed no signs of recent activity except for the hole made by the police. We made our way up a winding staircase, all the way to the attic where a single shaft of light protruded from the outside. That was where the fatal tile’s flight began. Nothing unusual could be observed. Disheartened we continued to explore the building, but from small cluttered rooms to the main hall there was nothing worth mentioning. Both ends of the tunnel ended with a brick wall. No one could get in or out.
“There’s nothing here. Let’s go Gunter, it’s all for nothing. You can’t accuse Miss Fortune of a murder.”
“Indee…while hello Fortune! Look here Scherzer, look here and praise Miss Fortune. For she is on our side today!” he said while pointing at a particular plank blocking one of the windows. “What do you see?”
“An old and rotten plank, it’s just like every other plank we’ve seen so far.” I didn’t see the reason behind his excitement, but years of experience taught me not to doubt in him. Even worse – it taught me how inadequately intelligent one can feel.
“Look at the detail, that’s where the truth is hidden. The tips of nails are not rusty, are they?”
An hour later the smell of machine-cooked coffee was overwhelming my olfactory. It is as much the quintessence of any law-enforcement den, as is the smell of cheap street food for every criminal hole. It was not to last, though, for I had an errand. To locate the victim’s partner with whom she had come to a disagreement quite recently and determine whether he was right- or left-handed. In the meantime Raubtier was to do his sleuthing at the New Berlin Museum – Johanna Blocher’s workplace.
I found the suspect – a fellow named Wilfried-Kaspar-Something – in a bar. He smelled like a brewery or perhaps even worse. I didn’t get much out of him except that he held his bottle of beer with the right hand. He wasn’t fond of police, I give you that.
Raubtier and I met at the Museum at four o’clock. He had found out that Johanna had done restorative work on some alien artefacts, that she was a keen worker, gifted with considerable talent. She had been working late in the figurative night every day. Now we were to meet the Museum’s director. A man of some renown – Gottfried Bauer. We found him lighting his tobacco pipe in his ebulliently decorated, ostentatiously over-expensive study.
“Inspector Scherzer, inspector Raubtier,” I said and shook hands. Raubtier did the same.
“I understand that you have some questions regarding the death of one of our employees,” he squinted at a document on his desk, “Blocher, Johanna. A most unfortunate end, or so I’ve heard.”
“Yes. A tile struck her dead. Unfortunate. Look, this is merely a formality, but I have to ask you about any information you might deem to be of use for us,” said Raubtier, gazing past the director
“What can I say? Against all my wishes I can’t think of anything that might help you gentlemen but will gladly answer anythi-”
“Is that an old Daumann projectile pistol?”
“Yes, Herr Raubtier, it’s a part of my collection – my favourite, heh. I’ll take it out of the display case.”
The pistol was quite heavy, even for such an old design. Raubtier took quite some time examining it in great detail.
“A beautiful example of Rheinland’s engineering you have here,” and we will not bother you any more he said, rising, “you were of great help. More so than you can imagine.”
As a non-smoker I was glad to have escaped the arid and toxic atmosphere in the study -something produced by the strong tobacco Bauer used to smoke. Fresh air has always been my friend. But I couldn’t help myself but to think about the case that was at hand.
“I feel that we’re indeed chasing Miss Fortune, Raubtier, or are perhaps ensnared in a most cunning of ploys. What is your opinion about all this mess?”
He seemed utterly calm, though. As if we had not seen a dead woman on a Monday morning.
“There is no darkness and no mystery left. I know what had happened and who did it.”
“You do? By chancellor, if there is anything for reason to build upon, tell me, for I see no murder, yet alone murderers here!”
“The director did it.”
“And why?”
“That I do not know, but based on facts I can bet my armchair he did it.”
“How exactly? I saw no evidence whatsoever!”
“You saw evidence, but didn’t notice it. That is a common mistake – something my mind doesn’t do.” His tone changed to a haughtier one. “The body was found not far from the ledge with its shoe untied. Based on the wound you assumed that she was trying to tie it when the tile struck. A mistake, I dare say! Show me a person that ties their shoe by not utilising a suitable ledge on which to rest their foot on? Further on the way the shoe was untied indicates an intention behind it. As you’ve seen she wore heavy shoes, the type designed for hiking. They shoe laces run through a number of rings. In this case the lace slid out of the last ring. That does not happen. And furthermore, the tile was found on the left side of the body, closer to the building. That alone is suspicious. The tile had its horizontal velocity when it slid out of its place and should land further from the body. Not in our case. The matches. Cigarette smokers don’t use them. They are used to light pipes. Bauer is taller than you are. He could see past the pile of snow. Did you see his face?”
“I did, but there was nothing remarkable about it.”
“Ha, you’re blind. His skin was reddish and peeling at places. Yesterday a strong wind was blowing and the temperatures were well below zero. You do know what happens when you leave your face unprotected in such conditions, don’t you? The wind also explains the number of matches. Now tell me about the significance of the tile’s position relative to the body.”
“You said, moments before, that it should be further away. I can remember things for a bit longer than you think.”
“I don’t doubt in your memory. But Bauer is left handed – you saw him reach for the pistol. He dropped the tile on the left side of the body, because he is left handed. I know this doesn’t prove anything, hence the official report says it was an accident. But I left a message for our farmer. This should make him come out of his hole. Oh, there he comes.”
A voice floated to us. “So, you know, detectives.” It was clear that it took him great self-control to steady his voice.
We both looked at our shadows stretching in the now crimson tinted world. Bauer’s face glowed in the sharp light, glowed as some ancient fiendish demon’s head. Suddenly it turned human again – he was close. And yet I could not see anything but a monster. Silence. Not a single ship passed overhead. Slowly looming gloom became apparent with every passing moment. We stood there in silence. Then, in a low, murmur like voice, he said: “Do not blame yourselves, detectives.” Hi now stared through me. “We all are just the tiniest of wheels in this mechanism we call the universe.” Almost involuntarily I turned to look at the far away speck of red on the horizon. The skies shimmered in all shades of fire. And from the clouds descended a sprinkle of scintillating crystals. “No more halcyon days,” he said murkily, turned on his heels and plodded away.
“No more,” said I. “No more.”
And the sun disappeared. Only the clouds above, the eternal clouds kept racing across the firmament. Racing freely as they always will.