‘Singing?’ said Reinhardt.
‘Yes, singing! The most appalling songs. The kind that one imagines the commonest sort of labourer might sing.’
‘Or soldiers?’ said Reinhardt, quietly.
‘Exactly!’ said Frau Hofler. ‘Like the sort a common soldier would sing.’
‘Did you ever see her in anyone’s company? With a man? Perhaps a soldier?’
Hofler frowned, lips pursing as she leaned back, eyes flickering between them. ‘Well,’ she sighed. ‘There were often men at her house, yes.’
‘Do you recall any in particular?’
‘No, I’m sorry. I do not.’
‘How about if we were to show you a photograph?’
‘Yes,’ the old lady said. ‘Yes, that might help.’
Reinhardt glanced at Padelin. ‘Someone will show you some pictures, of men you might have seen her with. You will maybe recognise one of them,’ said the detective, a peculiar emphasis on his words.
Reinhardt placed his cup and saucer on the table, exchanging a glance with Padelin. ‘Well, Frau Hofler, you have been most helpful. If you think of anything, be sure to let us know.’
‘Yes, most helpful,’ said Padelin, placing a calling card on the table. ‘You can contact me at that number.’
‘Oh, I will, officers,’ smiled Frau Hofler, looking somewhat relieved. ‘Gordana! Gordanaaaa!’ The little dog jumped and barked. ‘Ah, there you are, child, don’t make me call for so long. Show the shy;officers out.’
Making their bows, they followed the maid to the front door. As she opened it, Padelin put a hand out to stop her. Reinhardt kept walking and paused on the step. ‘Koliko dugo ste radili ovdje?’ Padelin asked in a low voice. When the questions were simple, Reinhardt could follow the language.
She kept her eyes down, but that was normal. ‘I’ve been here four years with Frau Hofler.’
‘What can you tell me about Miss Vukic?’
‘Nothing, sir. I never talked to her.’ Padelin said nothing, only kept his eyes on her. After a moment, the maid glanced up, then down and away. ‘Honestly, sir,’ she whispered.
‘Dobro,’ said Padelin. ‘That’s it for the car,’ he said to Reinhardt, switching back to his German. ‘Not much.’
Reinhardt nodded his head in agreement. ‘This place. Ilidza. Who lived here before? Serbs? Croats?’
Padelin looked at him, his eyes flat and heavy. ‘Serbs. Mostly.’
‘Now?’
‘Croats. Some Muslims.’
‘Is there a Catholic church here?’
‘No,’ frowned Padelin. ‘Time now to get back to town, I think. I have to inform the mother.’
‘Mind if I join you?’ Reinhardt did not wait for an answer but walked on back down the path. After a moment, he felt Padelin’s heavy tread following. He held the gate open for him, noting the flush at the back of his neck as he passed. ‘Would you like to sit with us on the way back? Give us a chance to talk, share notes?’ Padelin thought a moment, then nodded.
‘Let me give instructions to my men.’ He walked faster, turning back down towards Vukic’s house. As he passed the ambulance, Reinhardt saw Begovic sitting on a rock with his coat off, face raised to the sun and with his eyes screwed tightly shut.
‘You’re still here, then?’
Begovic fumbled his glasses back on. ‘Until the pathologist and forensics boys arrive, yes,’ he said with a straight face.
Reinhardt could not help smiling back. He liked this little man, with his ironic sense of humour and apparent disregard for authority. ‘Thank you, Doctor, for your help.’
‘My pleasure. And I’m actually just waiting for my driver.’
‘These might make the wait a bit more bearable.’ He took out his cigarettes, shook a couple out for himself, and offered the rest to Begovic. The doctor’s eyes lit up as he climbed to his feet.
‘Well, thanks very much indeed.’ He leaned his head forward as Reinhardt offered a match. He lit the cigarette and watched Begovic draw deeply.
Reinhardt put his head to the bright wash of the sky, then looked up and down the long, tree-lined alley. ‘They tell me there used to be horses and carriages here. That you could take a ride up to the park.’
‘Up to Vrelo Bosne. That’s right,’ said Begovic, as he exhaled a long stream of smoke. ‘In the old days. The good old days, one might even say.’ He watched Reinhardt as he said it, his expression bland and his eyes blank. It was not as if those few words were incendiary in and of themselves, but you never could tell these days what was meant by what, or who was listening.
Reinhardt looked back at him, his expression and eyes equally devoid of any feeling. ‘I went there, once. When I first came here. Very pretty.’
Begovic’s eyes narrowed, and he gestured at Reinhardt with his cigarette. ‘You know, I’ve seen you before.’ Reinhardt raised his eyebrows. ‘At the prison. I’m there, sometimes. On call.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t recall seeing you.’
‘Word gets around. You used to be a policeman?’
‘I’m an officer in the Abwehr, now, Doctor. That’s all that counts.’
‘If you say so,’ shrugged Begovic, agreeably.
He did say so, although there were times the past would not leave him be. Long before the prisoners of this war were paraded before him, it had been the murderers and gangsters of Berlin’s streets and back alleys, back before things spiralled out of control. But that was another life, and one he thought of seldom, even if it still left him a small corner of himself to hang on to.
‘Captain,’ said Begovic, looking intently at him, his eyes suddenly focused, all trace of levity gone from his voice. ‘Be careful with them, with Padelin and his like. Don’t forget that first and foremost they are Ustase.’
Reinhardt glanced sideways at the doctor. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning they’re interested in three things. Being Croat. Being Catholic. And being unpleasant to anyone who isn’t one of the first two.’
‘Risky words, Doctor,’ said Reinhardt.
‘But true,’ said Begovic, quietly.
‘But true,’ said Reinhardt, after a moment. He blinked away a flash of memory, of a Serb village the Ustase had destroyed. Black-faced corpses hanging from the bowed arcs of branches, the bodies swirling slowly to a rhythm the living could not know. He frowned, feeling guilty all of a sudden.
Begovic blew smoke at the sky. ‘I’d give you good odds that before the end of the day, they’ll be trying to pin this on Senka, or whichever Partisan is flavour of the month.’
‘Senka? “The Shadow”? This is a bit beneath him, isn’t it?’
‘Is it? The elusive Shadow,’ mused Begovic, ‘coming and going as he pleases, tying the Gestapo in knots, leaving the Ustase looking like fools.’
‘Well,’ said Reinhardt, ‘I wouldn’t overestimate Senka’s importance.’ He said it straight, but it felt like a bluff, and a weak one. As a military intelligence officer he knew better.
‘Ahh, Captain,’ replied Begovic, his eyes closed to the sky and a little singsong cadence in his voice. ‘Every secret stolen, every train delayed, every patrol ambushed… They say it lights a fire in the people’s hearts. Who wouldn’t open their doors to him? Lift a hand to help him? Or walk up into the hills in search of the Partisans. And you wouldn’t overestimate his importance… ?’ He turned his face down and around, his eyes blinking away the light. ‘Anyway, he isn’t supposed to exist. Is she?’ Begovic said, with a grin that slid shy;naturally into a smile as he threaded his heavy glasses back on. A car pulled up next to the police cordon and tooted its horn. ‘Ah, there’s Goran,’ said Begovic, as the driver got out and waved. The doctor threw his jacket over his shoulder. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Captain Reinhardt.’