‘When can we interrogate the suspect?’
Dr Martin Roth, on his way to the intensive care unit of the Park Clinic, turned to the homicide detective who’d actually had the gall to ask him such a ridiculous question.
‘Interrogate?’
‘Yes. When’s he going to wake up?’ The squat policeman downed the last drop of coffee he’d got from the machine, suppressed a burp and jutted out his chin defiantly. ‘We’ve got two corpses and one severely injured man whose eyes will be bleeding for the rest of his life. That scumbag needs a good talking to.’
‘Talking to… hmm.’
The head physician, his face smooth and far too youthful-looking for his age, scratched at his balding hairline that was receding more by the year. He didn’t know what was worse: the policeman’s cheap Bruce Willis imitation or his flagrant stupidity.
‘You were there when they brought the man in, right?’
‘Of course I was.’
‘Didn’t anything occur to you?’
‘He’s half dead, I know, I know.’ The detective pointed to the frosted-glass door behind Roth, which separated the hospital corridor from the intensive care wing. ‘But I’m sure your medicine men in there can patch the bastard up using their bag of tricks. And the moment he wakes up, I’d like a few answers.’
Roth took a deep breath, counted silently down from three and, when he’d reached zero, said, ‘All right, I’ll give you a few answers, Detective…?’
‘Hirsch. Chief Detective Hirsch.’
‘It’s still far too early for a reliable diagnosis, but we strongly suspect that the patient is suffering from locked-in syndrome. In layman’s terms this means that his brain is no longer in contact with the rest of his body. He’s locked inside himself. He can’t talk, can’t see anything and can’t communicate with us.’
‘How long’s he going to be like this?’
‘Thirty-six hours at most, I’d say.’
The policeman rolled his eyes. ‘So I won’t be able to interrogate him till then?’
‘Then,’ Roth said, ‘he’ll be dead.’
A click sounded behind the doctor and the automatic double doors with frosted panes swung open.
‘Herr Dr Roth, come quickly… The patient…’
Roth turned to his assistant doctor, who’d come rushing from intensive care, her face bright red.
‘What about him?’
‘He’s blinking!’
Thank God!
‘He is? That’s fantastic,’ he said in delight, nodding goodbye to the detective.
‘He’s blinking?’ Hirsch stared at the head physician as if Roth was the sort of man pleased to find chewing gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. ‘You call that good news?’
‘The best we can expect,’ Roth replied, then added as he set off to see the dying man, ‘and maybe the only chance we have of finding those missing people.’
Even though he harboured little hope in this regard.