A Wake-Up Call

"Inspector! Inspector!" shouted the old doorman, running after Ron, who had nodded politely. Ron stopped. "Easy now, my dear Edmund, I'm waiting!" Edmund slowed his 130 kilos and stopped panting. He pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. "A letter for you, Inspector. It's been with me for at least two weeks; I simply forgot about it." Edmund, who had spent his entire life in the police force and was so happy that he was allowed to keep his uniform after retirement while working as a doorman, Edmund addressed everyone informally, the president just as readily as the Minister of the Interior. The Norns rubbed their gouty fingers together; everything was going according to plan. Edmund himself, of course, had no idea why the Norns had assigned him, of all people, a role.

Ron's eyes narrowed to slits. A letter from Frank Halter, and he's only receiving it today. "My dear Edmund, thank you so much for keeping it so carefully. But I need to know who gave it to you and exactly when?" Edmund thought hard. "It was the nice gentleman from the waterworks, he called himself — wait a minute — Schröder, from the waterworks. A nice guy, we chatted a bit almost every day, the barracks are on his way. He usually bought me a meatloaf sandwich from the stand across the street. A nice guy, but I didn't see him for a while. And it was on the day of the international match against Denmark that he gave me the envelope for you. Yes, sure, that's how it was, and after that I didn't really see him again, now that you ask, Ronald." Edmund shifted from one foot to the other as Ron took a rubber glove out of his pocket and then touched the envelope with it. "Oh dear, Ronald, have I messed up?" He looked very unhappy, because that's only how you handle evidence. "My fingerprints, Ronald, they'll be all over it. I had no idea it was so sensitive."

Ron stopped him. "No, Edmund, you definitely haven't done anything wrong, how could you have known?" He searched his cell phone for Frank Halter's photo. Edmund was quite agitated. "Yes, that's him, Schröder from the municipal waterworks! Except for the hair, he's got it really short now and there's a bit of gray in it too." Edmund was inconsolable. "A wanted poster, it's probably buried somewhere in my desk drawer. I haven't looked at them in ages, I'm not exactly on active duty anymore, Ronald. Why is he wanted? I'm getting a really uneasy feeling, I chatted with a criminal and ate a meatloaf sandwich! Will I get a dressing-down from Wallner?" Ron reassured him, Wallner couldn't care less, so no dressing-down, Edmund. "You're in charge of the gate, and you're doing a fantastic job. But you have to tell me everything about the talks; it can be absolutely crucial."

Edmund concentrated. "Actually, Schröder hardly said anything about himself. He lives with his old aunt in the 2nd district, on Taborstrasse. She has a 24-hour caregiver from Bratislava. Once, he said with a wink that he often fucks the Czech woman when his aunt is asleep, because the Czech woman is sexually starved. That sort of thing, Ronald, men blurt things out without thinking much. He seemed completely inconspicuous; we all wish for a little Czech girl, I certainly do. And yes, his dog Roxi is an elderly Labrador, blond and white. He hardly said anything about work; he's having a falling out with Wawranek, his team leader. He must be a real creep, and Schröder is thinking of quitting." Ron automatically memorized everything; there might be something important in the web of lies.

He patted Edmund jovially on the shoulder. "Let's forget about that little Czech girl, you're married, you old chap!" Edmund looked at him with loyal puppy-dog eyes. "Widowed, Ronald, Hermine couldn't wait to join her Savior! Last April, you weren't even here yet, Ronald. And not a Czech girl in sight, as if I had leprosy." Ron gave him a friendly nudge on the chest. "The chicks will probably think your pipe came from Napoleon's artillery!" Edmund grinned crookedly, but not unsympathetically, God knows when Emperor Napo... oh, never mind. "Artillery sounds too good to be true," Edmund deftly sidestepped the historical gap. "And yes, I think I told him about my neighbor, Papouschek, with whom I've had a little fling for ages, back when Hermine and old Mr. Papouschek were still around." Edmund blew his nose thoroughly and said he'd talked quite a lot about Miss Papouschek.

Ron said he had to hear everything. "Papouschek, she's a real stunner! She used to dance at the Moulin Rouge, in Walfischgasse. People would queue for miles to get an autograph back then. The Rouge didn't allow her any sexual activity on the premises, it was very strict. I drove her home every night in the patrol car, and she made up for it handsomely, my lovely Papouschek." The memories made Edmund's eyes moist, or was it the dust? "First she did it with me in the patrol car, after a few days she took me to her bedroom, far away from old Papouschek. That's how we started a real fling, every day. As required, I reported it to the group leader, he noted it in the file and shrugged, he didn't care. Carry on!"

"As soon as she left the Rouge, she received hundreds of paying admirers at her home. I had to stand behind the screen the whole time and watch over her. My group leader was only interested in whether she paid me for it, which she didn't. Yes, I told Schröder all of this little by little, and that I was an eyewitness to hundreds of these encounters. Yes, I told Schröder that for years I wasn't allowed to touch Hermine because of her Savior. I was young and handsome and had no intention of living like a monk. Papouschek really had a weakness for me and gladly accepted my armed protection. We've both gotten older now, Papouschek had saved quite a lot for her pension and was able to give up prostitution. And since Hermine is no longer with us, I stay with her all night. - Schröder told me very little detail about his caretaker, the Czech woman from Bratislava. The only interesting thing for me was that the Czech woman wanted only and exclusively the missionary position. She whined endlessly because she had to give him a blowjob after the break. She would immediately run to the washbasin to wash her mouth out, cursing all the while, if she had overdone it. Schröder found it delightful and amusing to ejaculate in her mouth. That's all I can think of at the moment, Inspector." Ron wasn't finished with him yet. "You'll have told him this and that, too. Of course, I need to know all that, and in great detail."

Edmund became uncertain. "Ronald, there wasn't much new information I could tell him. He replaced the water pipes in your wing, so of course he knew all of you. The president, Bodnar, Rosenblatt, Morgentau, and you, naturally. You were already there when he installed the pipes. Or maybe not? He knows everyone in the department, probably eavesdropped on you at the coffee machine, the rascal. Who was with whom, he even knew about Rosenblatt and his daughter Elli. He did most of the talking; I hardly contributed anything. Yes, maybe I blurted out the bit about Bodnar. That Bodnar and Morgentau hadn't spoken to each other for a week, otherwise they were like lovebirds. Rumor had it that Morgentau was having an affair. But I don't know the details myself. And yes, he pricked up his ears when I said you'd been on vacation for weeks. 'They must have fired him; no one in the CID gets that much time off, Edmund,' Schröder said. I didn't confirm it; I would have known if someone was fired. I'm always the first to know so I can't let them through again." Ron glared at Edmund. "Is that right, about me and my leave?" Edmund's eyes welled up with guilelessness. "Back then, nobody knew you'd been kidnapped, Ronald. And I certainly wouldn't make a big deal out of something like that. No, Wallner even got out of his car and told me himself that you were on leave, Ronald. And of course, I believed Wallner. He didn't say a word about kidnapping, our secretive President. I even suspect his wife has long since died or run off. The way Wallner stares at the Morgentau's ass."

Ron listened to Edmund for a while longer. He continued rambling, but kept an eye on the gate and saluted everyone who was allowed through. When someone unknown stared into the empty porter's lodge, he quickly ran over, and Ron left without waiting for Edmund. He went straight to the lab. Fingerprints of good old Edmund and Frank Halter, without a doubt. They carefully opened the envelope; it could be a letter bomb. No, it wasn't. Two pages, densely written in a child's neat handwriting. "Copy to graphology, to file Frank J. Halter," Ron ordered. "We don't need the DNA. I know who wrote it. And there's nothing to decipher either," Ron said, a little disappointed. Deviations in perpetrator behavior were always important. Always. Only now did he go up to the department. Morgentau projected the pages onto the wall. They read the beautiful child's handwriting.

To the attention of Detective Inspector Ronald Hofstätter

My dear Hofstätter, the fact that the President granted you such a long leave of absence gave me pause for thought. But the fact that you're going on vacation without your girlfriend and companion was rather alarming. What fool leaves his escort model at home? No, I didn't take that lying down. But it did interrupt our game, and I enjoy playing cat and mouse with you. Or is it more like a hare and a bloodhound for you? No, neither of us are. Definitely not. I certainly don't have long ears. And you're about as suited to being a bloodhound as a postman is to being an actor.

And speaking of which, apropos, as the English say. I've been observing your Fatme closely, photographing her a thousand times. She's a sight to behold, my goodness! I was tempted to book her for an opera outing, but my tuxedo is completely dusty and I can't fit into it anymore; I've lost a bit of weight in Karling, despite the gym and exercise. But Fatme, I'll keep her in mind; she'll be a very special treat. I'm already looking forward to it.

Well, I thought to myself, if the hunter takes a vacation, why shouldn't the hare also go for a rest? Yes, this will be news to you: I'm going on vacation with my mother, even though there's still a war going on there. She's dying of homesickness. Of course, the President has already found out that I've swapped my mother for a neighbor. Don't hurt her; she's only doing it because she desperately needs the money. She really knows nothing, neither about me nor my family, and certainly nothing about our good deeds. So, we're going, but I promise to come back.

President Wallner leapt from his chair. "Morgentau, straight to the Landl! To the Grey House. See if Halter really did escape!" Morgentau bolted like lightning. Wallner, unusually, lit a cigarette. "Back to the game!" he commanded, but the furrow of anger on his forehead was burning brightly.

Well, I'm curious to see if you have the guts to follow us. I strongly advise against it; the air there is thick with lead. And one more thing, since we're on the subject of lead. Mrs. Morgentau is a real scoundrel. The way she interrogated my mother reeks of the Gestapo. My mother cried a lot because she had to confess to everything, things that really have nothing to do with our game. I'm going to have a go at her, that much is certain. She wouldn't be the first policewoman I've strangled. Yes, yes, go ahead and run to the Minister of the Interior, have her put under guard. The citizens will feel safer without this unscrupulous Gestapo officer out in the open, and as you recall, bodyguards don't seriously slow me down. I heard the poor guy died in the hospital; it was unintentional. Kismet.

Of course, I won't say how long I'll be gone; there has to be a bit of suspense. I don't even know myself yet, or how long my mother wants to breathe the air of home. A month, a year? Who can say? I only know exactly how it will end. We'll face each other like at High-Noon, both of us with our rifles at the ready. One will blink, one will pull the trigger, and one will get away. My father, Artem, would like that very much. He'll be looking up from the depths of hell and betting on me. And I'm not going to let him lose, damn it. I owe him that.

Finally, I'm looking forward to continuing the game. Until then, just a little patience, as always, your game partner

Frank J. Halter, the same

Ron had read the letter aloud. Standing, perhaps that way he could get a better overview. He turned to his colleagues. "Clues, lots of them. But we should do it differently this time, take the text as it is first and then, in the second step, extract the clues." He turned abruptly to Bodnar and pointed at him. "Bodnar, on what day was the international match against Denmark?" Bodnar swallowed in surprise, then racked his brain. Rosenblatt blurted out, "June 28th, 0-3. The Danes really gave it to us! And Elli kept distracting me from the game, she's totally going through puberty!" Bodnar made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Spare us the details, you old incestuous pig!" Ron jotted down the date. "On this day, the Halter delivered the letter to the gatekeeper. And I've already interrogated good old Edmund; we should record all the details. Here, this is what good old Edmund stated for the record." He recounted the conversation with dear Edmund word for word. Only the president had an objection. "I never stare at Morgentau's ass, gentlemen. I know how to behave." Ron grinned because Wallner's ears had turned bright red.

President Wallner looked around the room. Bodnar, Rosenblatt, and Hofstätter looked down, embarrassed. Of course, Wallner was always staring at Morgentau's ass. And there was something else Wallner had to clarify. "My wife is doing great, she's staying with me. Yeah, she used to have that famous Czech ass, but that's none of your business. She's here, no matter what Edmund makes up. She's lying on the couch, stuffing herself with chips and watching those unbearably stupid shows and soap operas. A quick hello, she doesn't take her eyes off the TV-screen, and I just can't stand them anymore. So I go over to the neighbor, Ludmilla Becherowa. She's only 46, but she was once the national figure skating champion and makes the best coffee in Vienna. The Arabs would flock here if they knew her secret. Where honest Christians add a shot of grappa or plum liquor, she adds a shot of cannabis oil." Bodnar's head jerks up. "Cannabis oil?" Wallner waves it off. "Just relax, Bodnar. Medicine from the pharmacy, with a prescription, all legal. I assume." Bodnar turns his back to him, forms a ring with his thumb and forefinger, and thrusts his other forefinger in and out with an obscene gesture. Rosenblatt has to look away, fighting back a laugh.

Wallner senses something is amiss. He rows frantically to escape the maelstrom. Ron leans against the doorframe, his facial muscles under control. Wallner desperately takes the oars again. "Ludmilla is brilliant, and for years we've been playing a game she invented. Something like, 'I interrogate you, and you're the taciturn police chief I can't get a word out of.' A delightful game, gentlemen. Of course, she can't get anything out of me, only the most outlandish tall tales. Spicy, most of the time, Ludmilla loves to be smutty." Wallner breaks off and looks from one to the other. "And you're staring at her ass, at her magnificent Czech ass, Chief?" Bodnar asks hypocritically. Wallner erupts. "Discrimination, Bodnar? My wife and Ludmilla both come from the Czech Republic. They both had, or have, magnificent asses, my dear friend. Your Rosa would pale in comparison!" Wallner said triumphantly. Ron's expression betrayed nothing. He felt a certain pity for his boss, whom they were making run into a wall like unruly middle schoolers driving their teacher. And it'll end with a seized piston; this engine was defective.

Wallner jabbed his index finger into Bodnar's lumberjack chest. "You young folks, for you, sex is always associated with romance, drama, and tears. We older folks don't need all that stuff; a neighborly helping hand, a neighborly gesture, and gentle neighborly physicality are enough, dedicated solely to physical pleasure and completely innocent. You won't understand that so quickly, Bodnar!" Rosenblatt finally collapsed. "Oh, Saint Anthony!" He whispered tonelessly, "A wiry, spry president wedged between the athletic thighs of the ice princess!" Rosenblatt suppressed the urge to slap his thighs and roar with laughter. Wallner had stumbled back a step when, at Rosenblatt's interjection, he realized he had just dropped his trousers in front of the entire team. The Norns, never one to shy away from a good-natured prank, bumped elbows gleefully. The youngest chirped, "Curtain up, next act!"

Wallner's cell phone buzzed. Very few knew this number. A benevolent goddess wanted to help him out of this predicament. Wallner growled, "Yes!" and again "Yes," and several more times. "Repeat the name!" he barked into his phone. "Aaron? Are you absolutely sure?" He listened in silence for a long time. "Copy it, and bring it to me at top speed!" He turned back to Bodnar. "Bodnar, you're going to have a serious talk with Rosa, and a big one! She has a vocabulary that's unbecoming of a government official. 'He's fucking his mom!' Couldn't that be phrased less vulgarly?" Bodnar ducked; the president was right. How many times had he told Rosa to at least tone it down in the written reports — these were official documents that had been sitting in the archives for decades. "Yes, Chief, I'm trying!" Bodnar said. He wasn't her parent or her chaperone, for crying out loud! Rosenblatt interjected, "He's committing incest with his mother," he said, "that's the right and complete way to put it." Bodnar shot him a venomous look but remained silent.

Ron had no intention of digging any further into Wallner's love life. He pointedly stood in front of the projection screen and read Frank's letter aloud again, clearly and distinctly. Tempers had cooled; they listened intently. The letter was important, Ron made that perfectly clear. Rosenblatt interrupted him. "Is it true, do you have a girlfriend who works as an escort?" Ron answered calmly, because Rosenblatt didn't seem to know. "I met Fatme during the undercover operation, and yes, she works as an escort, Madame Florence, Fleischmarkt." Rosenblatt took notes and nodded, and Ron continued reading. Bodnar's head jerked forward. "He mentions three times that he's gone to Ukraine with his mother, maybe Odessa." Ron nodded, grimly. "He just throws Odessa and Ukraine at us like that. Where he certainly isn't! Oslo, Palermo, Biarritz, or Miami are more likely." Rosenblatt leafed through the file. "His mother takes a life-saving heart medication. Yes, here it is, Atenolol. It's only produced in Italy and India. So, Palermo or Mumbai?" Wallner interjected. "It's a common medication, every pharmacy carries it." Ron agreed with Wallner; the medication wasn't helping.

Morgentau stormed into the conference room. She brandished a USB stick, but the president took the lead. "Sit down, Rosa, and take a deep breath. Rosenblatt, get her a coffee. Now, Rosa, tell me everything in order and speak like a civil servant, not a streetwalker. Start from the beginning." Rosa nodded and took a deep breath. "It's true, Frank swapped his mother. When and how wasn't clear. The woman is just scared and afraid we'll take the money back. The officers will bring her before the magistrate; she won't get more than a warning, and she can keep the money. But now to Frank. Gold-rimmed glasses and a well-forged ID, and they let Dr. Aaron Weissman see his client. A lawyer's visit in the bar, all by the book. Only video, no audio. I've skimmed all the videos; he first had sex with his mother, and after the swap, with the neighbor. The poor woman didn't know what hit her." President Wallner interrupted her. "What a bastard! Dr. Aaron Weissman is probably one of the most decent lawyers; he certainly wouldn't stoop to such a charade. I was invited to his birthday reception last year, with Ludmilla on my arm. His 89th or 91st birthday. This Frank Halter is a cunning bastard. He steals the identity of an innocent man, and it stands up to any scrutiny. What a devious dog!"

Rosa continued. "I know that the Halters are having an incestuous relationship; it's in my report, in black and white. But to do it in the lawyers' chambers... that borders on disgusting audacity. He's sticking his tongue out at us, the slimy guy. And we're panting along behind him, wondering how he even got hold of Aaron Weissmann. I've done some rough research; the exchange must have taken place on or around July 1st. That was the day the security guards were regularly relieved. Frank must have known. The new guards only saw the neighbor; to them, she was Mrs. Halter. Devilish and perfect. Dr. Weissmann... laid the good woman across the table day after day, until August 23rd, his last visit." Rosa looked at Wallner. "Did I handle the more risqué parts well, Mr. President?" Wallner nodded, smiling. "Write it down in the minutes like that, keep it clear, and no dirty talk. We're sworn civil servants, we're not filming a porno here." Ron looked at Rosa and raised his eyebrows. "Otherwise?" Rosa looked directly at him. "The President ordered me to copy the videos from the lawyers' chambers. I'm uploading them, the first half with Mrs. Halter, the second half with the neighbor, a certain Rachel Kerzendocht. I interviewed her myself; she's very concerned about her reputation. She cares for her bedridden husband. She's a chaste and devout Jew and only has affairs in dire need, and only with circumcised men from the Jewish community — she has plenty of interested parties there. She only did it because Frank persuaded her and gave her a large sum of money upfront. He only talked about prison-swap, not about sexual favors; she certainly would have refused those. I mean, she's not even playing a supporting role, even though she's very agitated and aroused because she gave herself to Frank there daily... for 52 days... Mr. President. I think Frank simply overwhelmed her at first, and only then did her strong sexual nature demand its due." Wallner nodded graciously. "You see, Rosa, it can be done with decent language. Bravo!"

Morgentau scanned Frank's letter on the projection screen. "Ah, he wants to lead us to Ukraine, of course. I'd rather look in Greenland, you moron. He's really going after me, though. Well, at least I know how to conduct a successful interrogation, my dear friend. And he delivered the incest to us postage-free, because he knows when he's lost. Poor Mrs. Halter, poor Mrs. Kerzendocht. A respectable Jewess who has to sacrifice her innocence. He's not ashamed to parade the old ladies naked and humiliated. And the way he's going after your Fatme, Ron, you mustn't take that lightly. Frank Halter is a multiple murderer, a cop killer, a monster without a conscience. Fatme is now on his list, too."

Fatme arrived shortly before midnight, showered, and lay down next to Ron. Yes, of course, she had done it with the guest — quickly, professionally, in and out, without passion, without any fuss. But Ron's mind was elsewhere. He was talking about Frank. She took it calmly. "Should I be afraid, Hakim? As an escort, I'm in constant danger of being strangled by some rich idiot. That's what scares me. Your mass murderer, your Frank, can kiss my ass, forgive my bluntness. I go escorting without personal protection; it would be ridiculous. Tell me when Frank's back, and I'll keep an eye out. More importantly, I passed my first semester with flying colors. That's more important to me than your Frank and his rambling pronouncements. Don't announce the attack, attack. Sun Tzu, and Frank should read the ancient Chinese philosopher's work more carefully, because his perspective is still relevant today."

Ron hugged her warmly. "With flying colors, you say?" Fatme nodded. "Nothing but 'very good,' in every subject. Every single one." Ron stood up and got the champagne from the refrigerator. "I got it the day you started your exams. I was so sure! And now a 10-day break, then the second semester?" - "A 10-day break? That damn pimp booked me every night and already charged the guys three times the rate I asked for the happy ending. If you ask me, that's Madame Florence's influence. She hates it when an escort doesn't want a happy ending, the old sow. In her day, no escort girl would have dared to refuse." They drank the champagne; Frank and Florence stayed outside.

Frank's letter remained on the projection screen for two weeks. Frank had made his plan loud and clear. The remaining women on his list plus Morgentau plus Fatme, and then High Noon. Wallner asked, half-jokingly, how good Ron was with a rifle. Ron waved it off. "I carry my pistol every day now, and I'm actually quite good with it. I take the shooting test with the armorer every Monday, which is only mandatory once a year. I prepare meticulously, Mr. President." Wallner nodded; after all, he himself had given the armorer permission. Ron was a good shot, that wasn't the issue. It was just this waiting that was agonizing.

Rosenblatt went skiing with his daughter Elli for ten days over Christmas in Bad Gastein in the Salzburg region. Everyone in the department reminded him to take his service ID and weapon. Rosenblatt waved it off. That was obvious, as long as Frank Halter wasn't behind bars, he carried his service weapon every day too. He sat with Ron in the coffee corner. The older man had come to trust Ron. "What are the chances that Frank will go after my Elli, Ron?" Ron thought for a while. "I think about this every single day, Rosenblatt. Our whole department, all of us, are the bloodhounds hounding him, and will continue to hound him. He's threatened Morgentau and my partner by name, explicitly. Let's hope he doesn't know anything about Elli and Bodnar's daughter, although I'm convinced he knows all about us. He's thorough and conscientious, he has to be." They talked for a while longer.

Rosenblatt said that the whole condom business was getting on his nerves, if we could speak about personal matters. Ron nodded. Go ahead, there's life outside the aquarium, too. Rosenblatt nodded dejectedly. "Elli's so unreasonable, she doesn't take the condom thing seriously at all. And I'll die a thousand deaths, Ron, if she lets us be unreasonable again. Three times in the night, like an attack." ​​Ron tapped impatiently on the table. "The pill?" he asked. Rosenblatt shook his head in resignation. "The gynecologist insists the biological mother come along; it's the law. And that's impossible. I never want to see that bitch again." Ron said, "You're being unreasonable, Rosenblatt. Condoms only work if you actually put them on. Elli could have the pill for breakfast, and you'd have it under control. Forget your stupid pride, take the bitch with you, and just ignore her. Like a fly on the back of your hand, or something like that. Take the bitch with you, Rosenblatt. A pregnancy would be worse, wouldn't it?" Rosenblatt nodded, pale as a ghost. "My worst nightmare, Ron." Ron leaned forward, emphasizing each word. "Get the pill, Rosenblatt, absolutely, and quickly. You have to go through with it, Rosenblatt. For God, King, and Country. Winston Churchill. I'm just saying this off the cuff; I don't know Elli, the bitch, or your brawl."

Rosenblatt pulled out his phone. "I only have nude photos of both of them, sorry." Ron looked at the pictures of the slut first. "Her gaze alone is a mortal sin, Rosenblatt. How could you?" He flipped through the photos of the slut, slowly, picture by picture. "I understand, that woman is definitely a volcano. She would have, or did, cuckold you; I know women like that all too well." Rosenblatt nodded, crestfallen. "Nothing but debts and Elli, that's what she left me with, the slut. I'm still paying off her installments." Ron flipped through the pages. So this was Elli. A chubby, cheeky brat, posing just as provocatively and indecently as her mother. Elli wore thick, unflattering glasses. The little one posed very unashamedly, wanted to chain her father with her liberty, and was obviously succeeding. Ron flipped through the pages more slowly; Elli had something, that special something. A girl to lose yourself in, Ron thought. After the last picture, he handed Rosenblatt his phone. "Just don't let Bodnar or Morgentau see it. They'd tear you to shreds, because they don't see us as a family." He paused for a moment. "Elli is a very pretty child, with a lot of sex appeal, and I can well understand why you're taking her, Rosenblatt. Treat her well and make sure she grows up slowly and naturally. She doesn't necessarily have to become a slut like your ex. Not if you're a good father, Rosenblatt."

"A good conversation, Ron. Thanks for that. I'll close my eyes and let the slut get the pill. For Elli, only for Elli. And of course, for God, King, and Country. You're not the only one who's read Churchill. Only he meant it quite differently. English women should close their eyes and let themselves be made into little babies, future soldiers, for God, King, and Country. But all right, I know what you mean. I should swallow my ex's presence, for Elli's sake. Yes, I suppose I should." Rosenblatt stood up and offered him his hand. "Thanks, Ronald Hofstätter. Now I know who to turn to if I need a friend." Ron sat down again to finish his coffee. He felt a little guilty because his phone had secretly copied all the photos and data from Rosenblatt's phone. An old, bad habit from his days undercover. He would be studying the bodies of the slut and Elli with relish for a long time, maybe even showing them to Fatme. She'd be amazed.

Ron lay on his bed, watching the videos from the lawyer's office chronologically. He connected his phone to the large flat screen; that was a good idea. He didn't even know what he'd expected. The only extraordinary thing about incest was the knowledge of it. Technically, there was nothing special about it at all. He considered that Mrs. Halter was probably approaching 70, Frank was 52. He was very well-endowed, but Ron wasn't particularly interested in that. He tried lip-reading, but he wasn't getting anywhere. The two of them talked, though Frank seemed to be talking to her most. His lips were barely visible; there was probably no point in consulting Ms. Koppe, the official lip reader. He tuned out when Fatme came home from escorting. She was the main focus; Frank and his mother could wait until tomorrow.

Fatme came out of the shower and asked what that was all about. He explained. "Oh, I would have liked to see that too, but I'm already too tired." Ron nodded; he was barely halfway through. She could watch it tomorrow. Fatme thought for a moment. "Yes, tomorrow afternoon I'm going to Dad's to give him his money. I'll definitely be home for dinner; I still have to study. But we can watch it together. Okay?" Ron nodded and hugged her gently. "It's actually police work, in part. It's okay with me if you want to see it too, Fatme."

The next evening, Fatme came for dinner. Ron had fried shrimp, one of her favorite dishes. He just looked at her — whenever she visited Dad, she seemed like a small, vulnerable girl. He hardly said anything; on such occasions, it was the gentle, tender touches with which he showed her his love. He hadn't asked how things were at Dad's in a long time. He could see how vulnerable and fragile she was at heart. Ron cleared the kitchen counter and lay down next to her on the bed. Frank and his mother were on the screen. Fatme gasped when she saw Frank's genital for the first time. "Ooooh! — And the woman, she's his mother?" she asked, and he nodded. "Actually, I'm hoping to read his lips. I'm not bad at it, but he usually turns away; he seems to know where the camera is." He kept fast-forwarding; it was always the same.

But then Fatme nudged him in the side. "That's a different woman, Hakim." He rewound. She really did look like a doppelganger. But she definitely wasn't his mother. Now there was an argument, but Frank relentlessly undressed her. She was a few years younger than his mother, her body radiating sex appeal. If he paused the image, he could even see her tears. Her body language was defensive, but she couldn't stop Frank. She covered her face with her hands when she saw his genital. "The woman says," Fatme commented, "she says she's never been with an uncircumcised man. A proper Jewish woman only does it with circumcised men, even when cheating. And look, he pulls his foreskin all the way back and talks to her, simply slapping his big thing into her hand. Look how she rolls her eyes! Disgusted yet curious, she feels the foreskin, pulling and turning it, because she's never seen anything like it. She shakes her head, no, she's never had an uncircumcised man inside her! Look how he grins as he slides the foreskin back and forth, and a glimmer of understanding crosses her face as she realizes that this is how uncircumcised men masturbate. Hesitantly, she takes his cock in her hand again, sliding the foreskin back and forth, uncertain and confused. She gestures to him that it's much too big! No, she wouldn't go for that! But he convinces her with his Charm, we can see that clearly. Now, now she's letting her shoulders slump. He's won!" Fatme's face contorted in disgust.

Kerzendocht and Weissmann had to work hard to force it into her hole. They both had to work together diligently until he got it where he wanted it. Ron rewound several times, carefully examining the sequence. So this was the chaste Mrs. Kerzendocht, and she seemed to be putting up a tiny bit of resistance against Frank, but she didn't stand a chance. He watched it frame by frame and found the moment when she gave in, or yielded to her own powerful urges. That moment couldn't be a triumph for Frank. She looked at him uncomprehendingly during the happy ending; she should have taken much more time, she seemed to be saying. They whispered for another half hour, then got dressed again. No chance of reading the lip movements.

Fatme lay on his lap as the next round played. "All I could see was that he took her against her will. You found the moment she gave up. For the woman, it was nothing but an ordeal, not a moment of pleasure. I can empathize with her situation quite well, Hakim." She thought for a moment. "I don't know why she resigned herself to her fate. Emotionally, I would classify it as rape, even though he didn't raise his hand. He certainly forced her, I'm convinced of that." Ron and Fatme continued watching the videos. Ms. Kerzendocht became more and more open with each passing day. It was clear to see that she was becoming more and more involved and driven by her own sexual desire. Fatme had seen enough; Ron fast-forwarded and rewound, only checking sporadically. Not the slightest piece of information emerged that would give this criminal case a twist or a push. Ron was somewhat saddened by how dependent the good woman had become on her own sexual urges. Frank had driven her to the point where she threw herself at him like a cheap hussy, demanding his pleasure. It was entirely Frank's fault. In 52 days, he had managed to turn a respectable, shy wife into a cheap slut.

Rosenblatt had returned from his skiing holiday. Standing by the coffee machine, he muttered to Ron that the pill had worked and Elli had become more reasonable.

One day after another slipped by, the snow melted. It became February, then March. Ron looked at the nude photos of the slut and little Elli again and again. A feast for the eyes, nothing more.

Fatme was very downcast. "Dad will die soon, I can feel it, Hakim. He's not ill, no, it's not like that. He's just old, life is seeping away like the air from a deflated balloon. Ever since Mom died, he's clung to me as if I were his wife. But I'm not, even though I give him everything to make him feel like a real man. But his life is slipping through my fingers like sand. Can you see my grief, Hakim?" Ron hugged her tightly. "Yes, my love, I feel it every day. At the same time, I know there's nothing I can do. I can only ask you to spend every free moment with him. I don't want you to wonder later if you shouldn't have been closer to him, if you should have been with him more." Fatme looked up at him. "Hakim, I know how insecure you felt about our father-daughter relationship. You trusted me to always love you. I could never explain to you what my father means to me. He was the first man I was allowed to lie down next to. He was the one who silently pushed his plate towards me when I was hungry. Yes, he was also the one who sold me to the pimp. But only to save Mom and me from starving to death. He didn't take a single coin for himself. He didn't drink the money away. He bought me clothes and makeup so I could please the men and bring home money. He cared for Mom better than any nurse, he accompanied her with love and care as she died. He never violated me, he held me close and loved me like no other man ever did. That's my father, Hakim."

Ron could only love her, could only keep her on her path. In a few months, she would finish her second semester. She visited Papa every other day, or every day if she could. She studied as hard as she could to keep the afternoons free, and she performed many happy endings to bring Papa money and buy him nice gifts. Ron cooked her a fine dinner every evening and held her silently in his arms. She was more vulnerable and fragile than ever. She was so grateful to him for it; she had enough time to shower and make herself beautiful for the job, for the changing, faceless men. She went through the motions, right up to the happy ending, with ease and quiet automatism. The men melted in the arms of such a vulnerable, sad beauty. Her saddest time was her most professionally successful. Madame Florence shook her ugly head; this girl was pure gold and brought in gold, seven nights a week. No, she couldn't be persuaded to work on afternoons for Madame. Not for all the money in the world.

She rested in Ron's arms, faceless men drifting past her mind's eye. "How I wish that Papa would die between my thighs. In a moment of greatest happiness. He shouldn't die so miserably like an old dog. He wouldn't deserve that." Ron stroked her hip. "Yes, I know, my love. I hope you can wrest that from your aunts. They'll do anything to make you and him suffer a lot." Ron held his breath. It was improper to interfere in their family affairs. But Fatme nodded silently and wept her grief into his armpit.

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