Free Carnival by J. Robert Janes Page A

in better light than Rudel. About thirty or thirty-five years of age. A blonde with rapidly misting grey-blue eyes, the hair of shoulder length and not worn in the crisscrossing diadem of the secretarial pool but as an outdoors woman would, if somewhat loose and hastily tied.
    The lips were perfectly matched, no lipstick though, but when together as now, under scrutiny, they twisted down a little to the right, subconsciously emphasizing a hesitant uncertainty that, like the grief and dislike of visiting detectives, couldn’t quite be hidden.
    â€˜The Fräulein Schrijen is the owner’s daughter, Kohler.’
    â€˜Granddaughter of its founder,’ she said sharply.
    A skier too, thought Kohler. The creases under the eyes were from the winter’s glare, the cheeks and chin burnished by the wind.
    â€˜Sophie has a hand in running the Works, Kohler,’ said Rudel, who hadn’t taken his gaze from this detective for a second.
    â€˜In my brother’s absence, I’m assistant general manager,’ she said, still having not moved from the windows. The shirt-blouse was white but unbuttoned enough to reveal a fine gold chain and cross that was definitely not a Nazi symbol. The powder-blue jacket and matching skirt were Swiss. She would have had to travel there on business, would have had access to all the necessary permits, but exactly what was the relationship between these two who seemed barely to tolerate each other, and why had she no liking for visiting detectives, especially if upset by these ‘suicides’?
    â€˜Two deaths in less than a week, Fräulein?’ he asked.
    â€˜Renée Ekkehard was a member of my Winterhilfswerk Committee.’
    â€˜Sophie, you weren’t responsible.’
    Turning quickly away to avoid looking at either of them, she said, ‘I was , Karl! It was me who asked her if she could check on things at the Karneval . Me , Karl. I … I was too busy and couldn’t leave. I couldn’t!’
    She was now all but in tears and could well have been hanged herself had she gone out there—was that it, eh? wondered Kohler. Quite obviously Rudel knew that was what she was thinking, but one had best ask, ‘This Karneval , Fräulein?’
    â€˜This other suicide, damn you. Ach , why don’t you call it that, since everyone else is but me? A girl of twenty-eight who had all of her life before her hangs herself for no apparent reason, nor gives any indication of being depressed or suicidal? She plans to go skiing at Natzweiler-Struthof, has been invited to another party there with friends from Strassburg?’
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜This coming weekend. I … I don’t know all of the details. How could I? Only that everyone needs a bit of fun these days. Now if you will excuse me, Karl. I have work to do.’
    â€˜She’s not happy, is she?’ said Kohler when she had left, not closing the door but giving views of a secretarial pool and its Postzensuren who had obviously listened in.
    â€˜Don’t be tiresome, Kohler. Both were suicides. The colonel’s secretary had seen things at Natzweiler-Struthof she couldn’t stomach; the other one—our chemist who ran the lab—had just discovered that his wife had been repeatedly breaking her marriage vows. Here … Here, you can take the letter we received from Berlin. Don’t lose it. Now get out. Do whatever it is Colonel Rasche expects, but don’t bother me again. I, too, have work.’
    Hermann still hadn’t found his way to the laboratory where three large rooms were separated by glass partitions above the workbenches. Two technicians in white lab coats were busy in the adjacent room. One was repeatedly ironing a swatch similar to the sample of fabric the colonel had left on his desk at the Polizeikommandantur , the other conducting a water-repellency test. Now a fine mist for a half-minute, now a close examination of the result—the