Henk Hermann had eagerly accepted Anna’s invitation to go out for a drink after work, but there had been an element of suspicion in his eyes.
‘Don’t worry,’ Anna had said. ‘I won’t rape you. But leave your car at the Präsidium.’
Henk Hermann had looked even more uneasy when Anna had arranged for a taxi to take them into the Kiez, dropping them at the Weisse Maus pub. It was usually thronging with customers, but at this time on a mid-week evening they had no trouble finding a table. Anna ordered a rye-and-dry and looked across at Henk.
‘Beer?’
Henk held up his hands. ‘I better stick with –’
‘A rye-and-dry and a beer, then,’ she said to the waiter.
Hermann laughed. He looked at the petite, pretty girl across the table from him: she could have been almost anything other than a policewoman. She had large dark eyes that were accented by the slightly overdone eyeshadow. Her full, heart-shaped lips were lipsticked fire-truck red. Her black hair was short and gelled almost spiky. The look, combined with her customary punk-chic ensemble of T-shirt, jeans and oversized leather jacket seemed to have been engineered to make her look tough. It failed: the elements simply combined and conspired to accentuate her girlish femininity. But, Henk had heard, she was tough. Really tough.
Anna made half-hearted small talk while they waited for their drinks: she asked Henk what he thought of the Mordkommission, how different it was to his SchuPo duties, and other uninspired, idle questions. Their drinks arrived.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’ Henk took a sip of his beer.
‘What do you mean?’ Anna arched her dark eyebrows and when she did her face took on a schoolgirl innocence.
‘I know you resent me . . . well, no, not resent, that’s too strong . . . I know that you don’t totally approve of Herr Fabel taking me on to the team.’
‘Crap,’ said Anna. She slipped off her leather jacket and placed it on the back of her chair. As she did so, her neck chain slipped out from under her T-shirt. She sat back in the chair, slipping the chain back under her shirt. ‘He’s the boss. He knows what he’s doing. If he says you’re up to the job, that’s good enough for me.’
‘But you’re not happy about it.’
Anna sighed. She took a large sip of her bourbon and ginger ale. ‘I’m sorry, Henk. I know that I haven’t exactly rolled out the red carpet for you. It’s just . . . Well, it’s just that I had a tough time coming to terms with Paul’s death. I take it Fabel told you all about that?’
Henk nodded.
‘Well, I know we need someone to take his place. But not take his place, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do. I really do,’ said Henk. ‘But, to be honest, it’s not my problem. It’s a history I’m not part of. You have to accept that I have come into the team to do the best I can. I didn’t know Paul Lindemann and I wasn’t part of that investigation.’
Anna took another sip of her drink and wrinkled her nose as it went down. ‘No. You’re wrong. You are part of that history. If you’re part of the team, you’re part of what has happened to the team. And that night out there in the Altes Land, we all changed. Me, Maria – God knows, Maria changed out there – even Werner and Fabel. And we lost one of ours. We’re still all dealing with that.’
‘Okay.’ Henk leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘Tell me about it.’