The Devil's Opera(74)

“I’m Atwood Cochran, and good night.”

Magdeburg

Gotthilf threw a hand up in front of Byron’s chest and brought his partner to a halt.

“What’s up?” Byron asked, looking around.

“Sssh,” Gotthilf whispered. “That’s Fraulein Metzger up ahead.”

Byron caught sight of the woman limping along the street, leaning heavily on a cane. “So it is. Want to go talk to her?”

“Actually, I do,” Gotthilf admitted. “But by myself, I think.” Byron looked at him with raised eyebrows. “I might get more out of her that way.”

His partner shrugged. “Whatever. I’m good with that. I’ll head back to the station. I’ve got more reports to read anyway.”

They parted company, and Gotthilf trailed along behind the woman for about half a block, then he eased up beside her.

“Fraulein Metzger?” He gave a partial bow, touching the brim of his hat with two fingers.

“Oh!”

The young woman lurched in surprise, and Gotthilf hastily reached a hand out to grab her elbow and help her keep her footing. As soon as he could see she was stable, he released her and stepped back to give her room.

“Oh,” Fraulein Metzger repeated in a more normal tone of voice. “Sergeant Hoch, is it not?”

“Yes, Fraulein. I saw you in the street alone, and wondered if something was wrong.”

“No,” she replied. “I looked out a little while ago, and the sun was shining, and since it was, I decided to walk down to Frau Diermissen to get some purple thread.”

“Purple thread?” Gotthilf asked as he kept pace with her slow steps.

“Mm-hmm.” Fraulein Metzger didn’t say anything for a moment as she negotiated a tricky patch of the street where a puddle had formed across part of what would have been her best path. Gotthilf stood ready to help her, but she placed her cane carefully, and stepped with care across the slick gravel, arriving at the other side without mishap.

Once there, she resumed her conversation. “I do embroidery, you see, for Frau Schneider and other seamstresses.”

“Frau Schneider, you say?” Gotthilf tucked that connection away in his mind. You never knew when little bits of information like that could prove to be useful. “My mother speaks very highly of her.”

“And she should,” Fraulein Metzger said with a smile. “I think she is the best of them. Certainly she is the best I have worked with.”

“So, you needed some purple thread for work you are doing for the good Frau Schneider,” Gotthilf continued. “But could you not have sent your young friend Simon Bayer for it and saved yourself the steps?”

Fraulein Metzger stopped, and looked at Gotthilf. He noticed with part of his mind that her eyes were level with his, and they were not at this moment friendly. In fact, they seemed rather cold.

“Sergeant Hoch, I am a cripple. That does not mean I am stupid. You dance attendance on me for a reason, and it is not because of my fair face or form.” Gotthilf thought he detected a trace of bitterness; but only a trace. “If you have something to ask me, ask it.”

Gotthilf tilted his head and observed her for a moment, then nodded. “As you say. Yes, we…”

“The Polizei,” she interrupted.

Gotthilf nodded again. “The Polizei have been looking at your brother. Not that we suspect him of a crime,” he hastened to add as her eyes widened. “But he has been known to associate with men that we are interested in.”

“So why have you not asked your questions of him?” Fraulein Metzger asked, her voice oozing tartness.

Gotthilf shrugged. “Because the time is not right. We do not know enough to know what questions to ask.”

Fraulein Metzger stared at him with hard eyes for several moments, then faced forward again. “Men!” she muttered as she started down the road again.

Gotthilf continued to keep pace with her. They walked in silence for some time, until he said, “We have met before, you know.”

“Yes, at the tavern several days ago.” Her tone now bordered on acerbic. It was obvious that she was no longer enjoying their conversation.

“No, actually it was back before the sack. And perhaps I misspoke a bit; we did not actually meet, but we did see each other.”

Ursula stopped again, and the expression she turned on him was dark enough to be called thunderous.

“Do not attempt to delude me, Sergeant!”

He held his hands up in a peace gesture. “On my honor, our paths have indeed crossed on occasion when I accompanied my sister to her catechism classes.”

“Your…sister.”

“Margarethe Hoch. She is somewhat younger than you, I believe, but I do recall seeing you at least twice.” As he said that, the image of a younger Ursula Metzgerinin crossed his mind. “It was before the sack of the city, of course.”