and pushed the door open, leaning into the oak and glass door with the brass fixtures, the knob seeming bigger than ever.
“Armina,” he said. “How nice to see you. Come in.”
He came around and closed the door behind her.
“Well, that’s better,” he said. “Won’t you sit down?”
She took the chair that was in front of his desk, sat back, tried to smile.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
Ritter put a cigarette into his mouth, turned the wheel on a lighter, which made a spark like one from a burning fuse, and the flame looked like a yellow sequin. Armina wished he would come with her to smell the dead leaves, the lingering perfume, to look at the bunched-up skirt….
“They’re getting younger,” she said.
“That’s to be expected,” he said.
“There’s less time between them,” she said.
Ritter flicked his cigarette against an onyx ashtray.
“Can we talk frankly?” he said.
“What other kind of talk is there?” she said.
He smiled.
“Yes, of course. What else is there? What are you doing about the women in the park?”
“I’m looking around,” she said.
“That’s good to hear.”
“I don’t think there’s a political aspect to this. So, I don’t think it’s something for you,” she said. “The best thing is to look into what is going on with an open mind.”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
The typing from the hall was insistent, as though one letter or number were being typed over and over: 9,9,9,9. She thought of the shape of a young woman at the bottom of a gully, the torn stockings, the pile of yellowing cigarette butts.
“So, who are you looking at? Have you got some names for me?”
She opened the file and took out the piece of paper with her neat handwriting on it.
“Andreas Weber, Alda and Michael Bauer,” she said.
“Weber?” said Ritter. “A banker? The sniffer?”
“That’s him,” said Armina.
“Give him a try,” he said.
“I intend to,” said Armina. “Edel Arnwolf, Erich Kortig, Josef Hahn.”
“Who are they?” said Ritter.
“They go to dump girls,” said Armina.
“Hmmmm,” said Ritter. “Scum.”
“Bruno Hauptmann,” said Armina.
“Where did you get that name?” said Ritter.
“I went to the train station,” she said.
“The Moth,” said Ritter. “He’s still there? That’s who you talked to?”
“Hauptmann. Bruno Hauptmann,” she said, if only to get out of his office and to go about her work. “He lives in Wilmersdorf.”
“I know Bruno Hauptmann,” said Ritter. “I went to school with him. The
Gymnasium
. The university.”
“Maybe you can help me,” said Armina.
“Look. Bruno has an organization to help young women get out of thepark. That’s why he’s being accused. Well, don’t you see? The dumpy man with the red hair, the Moth, wants to get rid of anyone who would stop girls from working for him. I would have thought you were more adroit than that.”
“I think we should look into it,” said Armina.
“No,” said Ritter. “I can vouch for Bruno. Forget it.”
The typing stopped outside. They waited. A secretary ripped a piece of paper out of the carriage of a typewriter. The sound was like someone skinning a deer and pulling the hide away from the meat.
“I’m not so sure about that,” she said.
“I am,” he said. “Drop it.”
“Look,” she said.
“There’s no looking,” he said. “I’ll vouch for Hauptmann. That’s enough. Who else have you got?”
The paper trembled in her fingers, and as she looked at Ritter she was appalled he could see her anger in such a small gesture. She looked down at the sheet and then at Ritter as she made it stop.
“So?” said Ritter.
“Harvey Becker, Konrad Richter, Otto Mayer,” she said.
“Who are they?” he said.
She held the paper while she kept her eyes on him. Was she going to let him push her around, just like that?
“They’ve hurt their wives,” she said. “Put them in the hospital.
“Armina,” he said. “How nice to see you. Come in.”
He came around and closed the door behind her.
“Well, that’s better,” he said. “Won’t you sit down?”
She took the chair that was in front of his desk, sat back, tried to smile.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
Ritter put a cigarette into his mouth, turned the wheel on a lighter, which made a spark like one from a burning fuse, and the flame looked like a yellow sequin. Armina wished he would come with her to smell the dead leaves, the lingering perfume, to look at the bunched-up skirt….
“They’re getting younger,” she said.
“That’s to be expected,” he said.
“There’s less time between them,” she said.
Ritter flicked his cigarette against an onyx ashtray.
“Can we talk frankly?” he said.
“What other kind of talk is there?” she said.
He smiled.
“Yes, of course. What else is there? What are you doing about the women in the park?”
“I’m looking around,” she said.
“That’s good to hear.”
“I don’t think there’s a political aspect to this. So, I don’t think it’s something for you,” she said. “The best thing is to look into what is going on with an open mind.”
“Yes,” he said. “Of course.”
The typing from the hall was insistent, as though one letter or number were being typed over and over: 9,9,9,9. She thought of the shape of a young woman at the bottom of a gully, the torn stockings, the pile of yellowing cigarette butts.
“So, who are you looking at? Have you got some names for me?”
She opened the file and took out the piece of paper with her neat handwriting on it.
“Andreas Weber, Alda and Michael Bauer,” she said.
“Weber?” said Ritter. “A banker? The sniffer?”
“That’s him,” said Armina.
“Give him a try,” he said.
“I intend to,” said Armina. “Edel Arnwolf, Erich Kortig, Josef Hahn.”
“Who are they?” said Ritter.
“They go to dump girls,” said Armina.
“Hmmmm,” said Ritter. “Scum.”
“Bruno Hauptmann,” said Armina.
“Where did you get that name?” said Ritter.
“I went to the train station,” she said.
“The Moth,” said Ritter. “He’s still there? That’s who you talked to?”
“Hauptmann. Bruno Hauptmann,” she said, if only to get out of his office and to go about her work. “He lives in Wilmersdorf.”
“I know Bruno Hauptmann,” said Ritter. “I went to school with him. The
Gymnasium
. The university.”
“Maybe you can help me,” said Armina.
“Look. Bruno has an organization to help young women get out of thepark. That’s why he’s being accused. Well, don’t you see? The dumpy man with the red hair, the Moth, wants to get rid of anyone who would stop girls from working for him. I would have thought you were more adroit than that.”
“I think we should look into it,” said Armina.
“No,” said Ritter. “I can vouch for Bruno. Forget it.”
The typing stopped outside. They waited. A secretary ripped a piece of paper out of the carriage of a typewriter. The sound was like someone skinning a deer and pulling the hide away from the meat.
“I’m not so sure about that,” she said.
“I am,” he said. “Drop it.”
“Look,” she said.
“There’s no looking,” he said. “I’ll vouch for Hauptmann. That’s enough. Who else have you got?”
The paper trembled in her fingers, and as she looked at Ritter she was appalled he could see her anger in such a small gesture. She looked down at the sheet and then at Ritter as she made it stop.
“So?” said Ritter.
“Harvey Becker, Konrad Richter, Otto Mayer,” she said.
“Who are they?” he said.
She held the paper while she kept her eyes on him. Was she going to let him push her around, just like that?
“They’ve hurt their wives,” she said. “Put them in the hospital.
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