Schnurpfeil loses patience immediately. He has always found it difficult to take people with Austrian accents seriously. With an imperious movement he waves the fat boy away from the chair behind the computer, sits down, and grabs at a tattered ledger that is lying open on top of a pile of magazines. The book contains charts full of information: arrivals, departures, details of age, gender, illness, dietary requirements, details of deposits. All the entries are in different inks and different handwriting. Leafing through the pages, the senior policeman finds Liam’s name under number 27. There is his date of arrival, but no other comments. As he is about to put back the book, a piece of yellow paper falls out from between the pages.
In round handwriting: Stefan, no. 27, not coming because of flu. The father rang. F.
Schnurpfeil asks the girl if she wrote this.
She shakes her head vigorously. F is another person. And the note was wrong. The poor boy was there. Just left early. Why does the officer look at her so strangely?
Schnurpfeil sinks back into the chair as the group leaders discuss the situation. He clenches and unclenches his fists, observing the play of muscles in his forearms. He thinks about the moment when he will report back to the detective. Perhaps he will claim that the forgotten note was lying hidden in the pile of magazines. Rita Skura will look up at him and push the hair away from her forehead, showing him her armpits. Thank you, Schnurpfeil, well done.
The silence in the room brings him out of his reverie. The fat boy is staring at him and the girl has disappeared to fetch reinforcements. A few minutes later, Schnurpfeil is surrounded by children who all look like Liam, whose photo he has seen in the file. High voices screech and sticky fingers reach out for the leather holster containing his weapon. Schnurpfeil does not like children, other than the ones he will bear with Rita Skura.
He jumps up and makes his way to a man towering over the throng. That’s Stefan, the boss, the fat boy says. With his untidy beard, Stefan looks like an eternal conscientious objector. He speaks in a nasal tone that infuriates Schnurpfeil.
He couldn’t leave the scouts alone in the field, so he brought them in. He knows nothing about a phone call or flu. There’s a lot going on, he doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head. And he doesn’t understand what’s so important about this now.
Schnurpfeil grabs Stefan by the arm and presses hard.
Yes, of course he remembers. A tall man brought the sleeping Liam to Gwiggen and carried him into the house in his arms.
The senior policeman strengthens his grip, whereupon Stefan remembers that the man had dark hair. And when the senior policeman adds the pressure of his other hand, he also remembers that the stranger had really piercing black eyes and a really arrogant face. He is really sure that this was not the same man who took Liam away a few days later.
Schnurpfeil puts away the yellow note, takes down F’s full name, and wishes everyone good day in his purest German before he blazes his way through the babbling hordes of children and leaves the room.
The Austrian officer has fallen asleep in the car and wakes with a start when Schnurpfeil shakes him by the shoulder and asks him for the car phone. Of course it would be more pleasant to deliver the news in person. But Rita Skura does not joke about such matters. Complete. Thorough. Swift. Satisfaction guaranteed.
The senior policeman picks up the receiver and moves it as far from the car as the cable will allow.
“Mission accomplished, boss!”
“Enough of that Starship Enterprise crap,” Rita says. “Spit it out.”
It is precisely these retorts that Schnurpfeil most loves about Rita Skura.
[3]
“JULIA? IS THAT YOU?”
“Far from it, Schilf. Why do you always answer the phone with a question?”
This has never occurred to the detective before. It is probably just the way he is.
“And who is Julia?”
“My girlfriend. I told you about her, in a moment of weakness.”
“Whatever you say!” Rita is in a good mood. “I probably didn’t believe it.”
“Same here.”
“Very funny. I’m calling to lecture you.”
“All right,” Schilf says morosely. “It’s an upside-down world.”
Rita has not phoned at a good time. The round foyer has the acoustics of a cathedral. Schilf tucks himself between two pillars beneath a cupola painted with the constellations of a winter sky. Downstairs, people are milling about as they wait for the program to start. They peer into display cases set in the walls or stand in small groups chatting. The floor shakes when a train passes behind the building.
“The theme of today’s lecture is: ‘What it feels like to have a case snatched away from under your nose.’”