Stasi Vice: An East German crime novel (Reim Book 1) by Max Hertzberg

Author:Max Hertzberg [Hertzberg, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Max Hertzberg
Published: 2018-10-17T23:00:00+00:00

23.

Berlin Friedrichshain

When I got home Renate wanted to talk. I could tell by the way she hovered around as I pulled my boots off and stretched my toes. I ignored her.

I got back from the kitchen, beer bottle in hand and she was still hovering. I switched the television on, and as it warmed up I pushed the neat pile of blankets, sheets and pillows to one side of the sofa and sat myself down. Our Little Sandman had just started his sugary theme tune, and I couldn’t help but hum along. The Little Sandman himself was visiting the troops, he had a big bouquet of chrysanthemums for the fighters for peace. As the screen cut to Plumps the water goblin, Renate sat down next to me, a glass of beer in her hand.

“Kid’s TV? I didn’t know you had a soft side.”

I didn’t answer, just drank my beer and got bored by the stupid antics on the screen. When the kids started singing the mawkish closing song my wife jumped up and announced she was going to get tea ready. I remained where I was, staring blankly as a presenter told me how to prevent voles digging up my lawn. I didn’t even have a balcony, never mind a lawn, so watching it was pretty pointless.

“How was work?” Renate asked through the archway that separated the living room from the kitchen.

I didn’t bother answering, pretended to be interested in an article on potting up anthuriums. Until five minutes ago I’d never heard of anthuriums.

“I was hoping I’d bump into you at work, and then I wanted to go shopping, but I wasn’t allowed into any of the other buildings. Apparently my pass only gets me into House 18. Should we have lunch together? You could come up to Lichtenberg—the canteen is in my building.”

I grunted a non-reply.

“I phoned your extension a few times to see if I could get hold of you, but you never answered.”

She was fishing, which pissed me off, but pretending to be interested in pot plants was easier than having an argument.

“In the end I phoned Major Fröhlich to see if he knew where you might be,” she said casually as she chopped some parsley.

That did it, she had my attention now. “You phoned the Boss? Well done! What a truly idiotic thing to do. Now he’s going to be wondering where I was all day. Thank you very much.” I was so pissed off I was practically shouting. I shook my head, then almost under my breath: “Women! Bloody busybodies causing trouble.”

That shut her up for a few minutes. I listened to the floral advice and the clatter of the plastic basket of bread slices and the knives being placed on the table, followed by the clink of glasses and side bowls for the salad.

“I’m sorry if I got you into trouble, I didn’t mean to,” Renate said as she put a plate of sausage down.

I looked over to the table, everything was ready,

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