Free A Quiet Flame by Philip Kerr Page B

once during the course of my lachrymose time with her. “Are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake? Couldn’t it be someone else?”
    Herr and Frau Schwarz seemed to be taking it on the chin, however.
    I glanced around the apartment again. There was a little embroidery sampler in a frame above the door. It read WILLINGNESS FOR SELF-SACRIFICE and was stitched in red, with an exclamation point. I’d seen one before, and I knew the quotation was from Mein Kampf. I wasn’t surprised to see it, of course. But I was surprised that I could see no photographs of their daughter, Anita. Most people who are parents have one or two of their children around the place.
    “We have the photograph you gave us, on file,” I said. “So we’re quite sure it’s her, I’m afraid. But it would save time if you could spare us some others.”
    “Save time?” Otto Schwarz frowned. “I don’t understand. She’s dead, isn’t she?”
    “Save time trying to catch her murderer,” I said coldly. “Someone may have seen her with him.”
    “I’ll see what I can find,” Frau Schwarz said, and left the room, quite composed and less upset than if I’d told her that Hitler wouldn’t be coming to tea.
    “Your wife seems to be taking it very well,” I said.
    “My wife is a nurse at the Charité,” he said. “I suppose she’s used to dealing with bad news. Besides. We were sort of expecting the worst.”
    “Really, sir?” I glanced at Grund, who stared balefully at me and then looked away.
    “We’re very sorry for your loss, sir,” he told Schwarz. “Very sorry, indeed. Incidentally, there’s no need for both of you to come to the Praesidium tomorrow. And if tomorrow’s not convenient, we can always do it another time.”
    “Thank you, Sergeant. But tomorrow will be fine.”
    Grund nodded. “Best to get it over with, sir,” he said, nodding. “You’re probably right. And then you can get on with your grieving.”
    “Yes. Thank you, Sergeant.”
    “What was the nature of your daughter’s disability?” I asked.
    “She was a spastic. It affected only the left side of her body. She had trouble walking, of course. There were also occasional seizures, spasms, and other involuntary movements. She couldn’t hear very well, either.”
    Schwarz went over to the sideboard and, ignoring the Bible, laid his hand fondly on the open copy of Hitler’s book, as if his Führer’s warm words about the National Socialist movement might afford him some spiritual and philosophical solace.
    “What about her capacity for understanding?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “There was nothing wrong with her mind, if that’s what you mean?”
    “It was.” I paused. “And I just wondered if you might be able to explain how she came to have five hundred marks on her.”
    “Five hundred marks?”
    “In her coat pocket.”
    He shook his head. “There must be some mistake.”
    “No, sir, there’s no mistake.”
    “Where would Anita get five hundred marks? Someone must have put it there.”
    I nodded. “I suppose that’s possible, sir.”
    “No, really.”
    “Do you have any other children, Herr Schwarz?”
    He looked astonished even to be asked such a thing. “Good God, no. Do you think we would have risked having another child like Anita?” He sighed loudly, and suddenly there was a strong smell of something foul in the air. “No, we had quite enough to do just looking after her. It wasn’t easy, I can tell you. It wasn’t easy at all.”
    Finally, Frau Schwarz returned with several photographs. They were old and rather faded. One was folded down at the edge, as if someone had handled it carelessly. “These are all that I could find,” she announced, still quite dry-eyed.
    “All of them, did you say?”
    “Yes. That’s all of them.”
    “Thank you, Frau Schwarz. Thank you very much.” I nodded curtly. “Well, then. We had better be getting back to the station. Until tomorrow.”
    Schwarz started to move toward the