The Murderer in Ruins Read Online Free Page B

as little as possible.’
    Stave described the victim as well as he could. ‘Do you recognise her?’
    Thuman gave a dirty laugh. ‘I know lots of naked young women. Some cost more than others. Could be any one of them, from the way you describe her.’
    The chief inspector took a deep breath, despite the foul air. ‘Is there any young lady who’s been living here who might meet thatdescription? Mid-blond, medium-length hair, blue eyes, about 20 years old?’
    He laughed, then shook his head. ‘How would I know? I’m happy enough to have nothing to do with anybody else. Two doors along there’s that young drunk, out of his head day and night. Next door there was somebody with tuberculosis coughing all the time. Then after him some family turned up, none of whom spoke German; French probably, maybe DPs from some camp or other. Never exchanged a word with them though I heard them whispering to one another from time to time. The walls are thin. Then one of your colleagues came along and took them away. Now it’s vacant again, but sooner or later somebody will crawl their way into it. I couldn’t care less. Every night some woman screams as if somebody’s hacking her hand off. It’s dreadful. But if you think I might know who is wandering around in here? No idea. And I’ve only been to any of the other floors the one time. What’s the point? I don’t know anybody here and don’t go sniffing around anybody else, not even some young blond cutie. I just want a bit of peace. And that’s hard enough to find.’
    ‘Thank you for your help,’ Stave said, and left without saying goodbye.
     
    A n hour later he met up with Officer Ruge at the entrance to the bunker. Stave took a breath of fresh air.
    ‘Never thought I’d be glad of this goddamn Siberian storm,’ he said, shaking his coat, as if he felt the stench of hopelessness would stick to his clothing.
    Even Ruge looked pale, tired and sweaty. ‘Bunker people!’ he wheezed as if that explained everything.
    The chief inspector nodded. The concrete caves were the last resort of outcasts, those who’d given up all hope, those who had nobody. Anyone who had a modicum of strength left escaped from them, built themselves a hut out of rubble and cardboard somewhere out in the ruins, rather than stay buried alive under six metres of reinforced concrete.
    ‘I came across one old boy,’ Stave said, ‘who went into his sleeping neighbour’s cubicle and tore down two pieces of paper from the wall: kids’ drawings. When I asked him why he did it, he just said he hated everything that made the bunker nicer. Mad.’
    ‘Nobody admits to having seen anything in the ruins opposite,’ Ruge said. ‘Nobody even admits being over there recently. Nobody noticed anything suspicious. Nobody knows any young woman. I’d have arrested the lot of them.’
    ‘Why? They’re already in a prison,’ Stave said wearily, bashing one hand on the concrete wall. ‘Nobody said anything sensible to me at all. I believe them. I think few of them ever go out.’
    ‘It looks like we have no witnesses, Chief Inspector.’
     
    B y now it was nearly midday. Stave was hungry and tired. At least it’s good I don’t have to talk, he thought.
    Ruge drove the Mercedes past more piles of rubble, the heavy vehicle bumping in and out of potholes. Stave had to hold on tight, so as not to be thrown out of his seat.
    ‘Sorry,’ the young policeman said, his brow creased in concentration. ‘It’ll get better in a bit.’
    And indeed in the Old Town and New Town districts large areas of the main streets had been cleared. Stave leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes until they reached police headquarters.
    The tall building on Karl-Muck-Platz was an 11-storey sandstone colossus built back in the 1920s: reddish-brown stone with white windows, modern, no chimneys. It used to be the seat of an insurance company until the police crime squad moved in after the war. Most of the officers didn’t care