Frings woke to a noise, confused for a moment by the topography of the living room. He pushed himself up on an elbow and saw Renate’s silhouette in the kitchen doorway. He found her drinking a glass of water, her face pale without makeup in the harsh light of the kitchen.
“Our friend is sleeping in the bed?” Renate’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion.
Frings nodded. “She needed the sleep and I would have been stuck in the bedroom if she was out here.”
Renate nodded, showing Frings her palm, not happy but without the energy to fight about it.
“You can sleep in the bed with her,” Frings suggested.
Renate was about to reply—doubtless something petulant—when the bedroom door opened and Ellen emerged, again in Renate’s robe. Renate’s mood changed instantly, as it often did, and she rushed over to Ellen, putting her hands on the woman’s shoulders, asking her how she was. Ellen smiled shyly and the two women sat at the table. Ellen offered to sleep on the couch, but Renate wouldn’t hear of it. Frings wondered if Renate was going to share the bed with Ellen or whether he was going to end up on the floor with Renate sleeping on the couch. Either way, he pulled another beer from the refrigerator.
The women were deep in conversation, so Frings went out to the living room and found half a reefer in the ashtray. He smoked, listening to the traffic noise, trying to empty his mind, but thinking about the shanties and wondering what might be happening there this night.
Eventually Ellen and Renate left the kitchen, turning off the light as they did. Renate told him that the two women would sleep in the bed; he could have the couch.
“Before you go,” Frings said.
“Yes?”
“Ellen, did you have a doctor? Was his name Vesterhue?”
“It was Dr. Vesterhue sometimes.”
“But sometimes it was a different doctor?”
“Sometimes I saw Dr. Berdych. Why?”
“Just wondering,” Frings said, but his body tingled with adrenaline. “I’ll grab the alarm clock from the bedroom. I need to be up early.”