Papendell, right?' Du Pont said.
I paused with my arms full of clothes.
'What did you say?'
Du Pont grinned. 'You heard me.'
'How did you know about that?'
'Let me buy you a beer and I'll tell you.'
8
The bar was dark and warm, a welcome relief from the cool breeze sweeping the streets. Hints of cooking fat and stale beer permeated my swollen sinuses. We found a table in a corner away from the draught at the door. Someone came to take our order and Du Pont asked for a couple of pilsners.
We made small talk until the beer arrived. That is, Du Pont made small talk. My mind kept wandering until I was seeing torn panties and blood-caked little faces everywhere. And Ritter, leaning back in the interview room needling me over withholding evidence when all he'd had to do was let me at Kürten from the start and then at least we could have found the girl earlier. At least that.
Du Pont grabbed my right arm. I glared at him but he was looking at me with concern. Damn guts playing up again; must've shown on my face.
'So come on Tom,' he said, 'what did happen to your ugly mug? Is it anything to do with this St Rochus church arrest yesterday?'
'Christ, Du Pont, is there anything you don't know?' I frowned and shrugged him off. No way was he getting anything out of me today, not after what had happened.
'You know, I often ask myself the same question. Great reporter as I am, I feel kinda sad for everyone else that I'm so far ahead of the game.'
I snorted. He was doing a good job of being the right guy to take my anger out on.
'Not forgetting, of course, that without you I probably wouldn't even be around any more,' he said.
The beers arrived and Du Pont drank half of his down. I couldn't face mine. I felt sick, had done ever since Vogel had driven me back to Mühlenstrasse from the Papendell meadows.
'How did you know I was in Papendell?' I said.
Du Pont put down his glass and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
'Elementary, my dear Watson. First, the mud on your shoes is characteristic of the light loamy earth we get up there in the meadows this time of year.'
He paused to take another drink. I waited. He took longer over his drink than was strictly necessary and after a few seconds it occurred to me he was waiting for me to respond. I sipped my beer instead. He wanted something, so let him work for it.
'There's also this,' Du Pont said. He reached into an inside pocket of his coat – which he was still wearing despite the heat, though he'd unbuttoned it at least – and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to me.
The envelope was addressed to the editor at the Volksstimme and postmarked Düsseldorf , 24.5.30 . Inside was a folded piece of thick, waxed paper. I pulled out the paper and smoothed it flat. It was covered in scribbles and sketches.
I turned it around and looked at it from several angles before I worked out it wasn't sketches so much as a single sketch, a map. At the top was a wavy line drawn in pencil. Above the line the word woods appeared six times. Below the line was the word field scribbled twice. Between the second field and the wavy line above it was an x . Below that the word meadow was written three times above a thin double-line which seemed to represent the Papendell road and bisected the map from bottom left to top right. At the bottom left end of the pencil road were the words Murder at Papendell . Bottom right of the paper was another squiggly line surrounded with more cramped writing. I had to tip the paper to catch more lamp light so I could make out what was written there. The first part said, In the place marked with a cross a corpse lies buried . Under the squiggle it read, The body of the missing Gertrude Albermann lies beside the wall of Haniel and Lueg .
Du Pont was grinning, the idiot.
'You realise you've just got me to smear my prints all over this evidence?' I said.
He waved away my protest. 'You know how many people have handled that at the office?' He squinted at
I paused with my arms full of clothes.
'What did you say?'
Du Pont grinned. 'You heard me.'
'How did you know about that?'
'Let me buy you a beer and I'll tell you.'
8
The bar was dark and warm, a welcome relief from the cool breeze sweeping the streets. Hints of cooking fat and stale beer permeated my swollen sinuses. We found a table in a corner away from the draught at the door. Someone came to take our order and Du Pont asked for a couple of pilsners.
We made small talk until the beer arrived. That is, Du Pont made small talk. My mind kept wandering until I was seeing torn panties and blood-caked little faces everywhere. And Ritter, leaning back in the interview room needling me over withholding evidence when all he'd had to do was let me at Kürten from the start and then at least we could have found the girl earlier. At least that.
Du Pont grabbed my right arm. I glared at him but he was looking at me with concern. Damn guts playing up again; must've shown on my face.
'So come on Tom,' he said, 'what did happen to your ugly mug? Is it anything to do with this St Rochus church arrest yesterday?'
'Christ, Du Pont, is there anything you don't know?' I frowned and shrugged him off. No way was he getting anything out of me today, not after what had happened.
'You know, I often ask myself the same question. Great reporter as I am, I feel kinda sad for everyone else that I'm so far ahead of the game.'
I snorted. He was doing a good job of being the right guy to take my anger out on.
'Not forgetting, of course, that without you I probably wouldn't even be around any more,' he said.
The beers arrived and Du Pont drank half of his down. I couldn't face mine. I felt sick, had done ever since Vogel had driven me back to Mühlenstrasse from the Papendell meadows.
'How did you know I was in Papendell?' I said.
Du Pont put down his glass and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
'Elementary, my dear Watson. First, the mud on your shoes is characteristic of the light loamy earth we get up there in the meadows this time of year.'
He paused to take another drink. I waited. He took longer over his drink than was strictly necessary and after a few seconds it occurred to me he was waiting for me to respond. I sipped my beer instead. He wanted something, so let him work for it.
'There's also this,' Du Pont said. He reached into an inside pocket of his coat – which he was still wearing despite the heat, though he'd unbuttoned it at least – and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to me.
The envelope was addressed to the editor at the Volksstimme and postmarked Düsseldorf , 24.5.30 . Inside was a folded piece of thick, waxed paper. I pulled out the paper and smoothed it flat. It was covered in scribbles and sketches.
I turned it around and looked at it from several angles before I worked out it wasn't sketches so much as a single sketch, a map. At the top was a wavy line drawn in pencil. Above the line the word woods appeared six times. Below the line was the word field scribbled twice. Between the second field and the wavy line above it was an x . Below that the word meadow was written three times above a thin double-line which seemed to represent the Papendell road and bisected the map from bottom left to top right. At the bottom left end of the pencil road were the words Murder at Papendell . Bottom right of the paper was another squiggly line surrounded with more cramped writing. I had to tip the paper to catch more lamp light so I could make out what was written there. The first part said, In the place marked with a cross a corpse lies buried . Under the squiggle it read, The body of the missing Gertrude Albermann lies beside the wall of Haniel and Lueg .
Du Pont was grinning, the idiot.
'You realise you've just got me to smear my prints all over this evidence?' I said.
He waved away my protest. 'You know how many people have handled that at the office?' He squinted at
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