The fat man E-Book

Wolfgang Armin Strauch

• Herausgeber: tredition
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 350

Beschreibung

1967. The brutal murder of a woman sends shockwaves through the city of Krakow. Young detective Andrzej quickly determines the case in question could be connected with the victim's espionage activity during World War II. Alina, the deceased woman's sole relative, is not much help. That is, until she finds one of her mother's letters, a list of names, as well a document in Hebrew script. Andrzej and Alina then join forces to put the pieces of the puzzle together, and discover the love affair between Alina's Polish mother and her German suitor during a turbulent time in history in the process. But how does all of this pertain to references to the "fat man"? A riveting, high-octane thriller that confronts a complicated predicament head-on with unorthodox methods, yet without a moralizing undertone.

Leseprobe

Wolfgang Armin Strauch

The fat man

Thriller

© 2021 Wolfgang Armin Strauch

Publisher and printer:

tredition GmbH, Halenreie 40-44, 22359 Hamburg

ISBN

Paperback:

978-3-347-38159-9

Hardcover:

978-3-347-38160-5

e-Book:

978-3-347-38161-2

Cover photo: © fotoru

Translation of the German original: "Der dicke Mann".

© Wolfgang Armin Strauch, Published 2020

The work, including its parts, is protected by copyright. Any exploitation is prohibited without the consent of the publisher and the author. This applies to electronic or other reproduction, translation, distribution and making available to the public.

Foreword

1. Chapter

2. Chapter

3. Chapter

4. Chapter

5. Chapter

6. Chapter

7. Chapter

8. Chapter

9. Chapter

10. Chapter

11. Chapter

12. Chapter

13. Chapter

14. Chapter

15. Chapter

16. Chapter

17. Chapter

18. Chapter

19. Chapter

20. Chapter

21. Chapter

22. Chapter

23. Chapter

24. Chapter

25. Chapter

26. Chapter

27. Chapter

28. Chapter

29. Chapter

30. Chapter

31. Chapter

32. Chapter

33. Chapter

34. Chapter

Information about the author

Foreword

Until the end of the First World War, Graudenz was a town where mainly Germans lived. Poles were the minority. However, after the war the victorious powers assigned them to the new Polish state. And the German town became a Polish town, in which also mainly Poles lived. Now the Germans became the minority. Graudenz became Grudziądz.

Streets and squares also got new names. But even after the city was renamed, people continued to call it the old name for convenience. For the castle still stood on the old square and the Vistula River continued to flow past the city towards Danzig, where it merged with the Baltic Sea. It did not care who was in charge or what names the people thought up for the city.

I don't know why the city was called Graudenz. I used to think that it was because of the color of the old walls of the castle: gray - that shade between white, the color of innocence, and black, the color of death. That undefined shade that people like to use to describe sad times and to attach people without qualities. Colorless without character. The previous inhabitants and the new citizens of the city did not care. After all, people do not choose the place to live by the name of the place.

And wherever there are people, there is love. Even in the darkest times children are conceived because people carry hopes in them that are stronger than despair.

At some point, the descendants will ask about the life of their ancestors and are condemned to deal with history they are not responsible for but must pay its price. How high this price is, is determined by the parents - because they have it in their hands to leave their children a world that gets along without hate.

The castle still stands there. It looks defiantly at the people. Over time it has lost some stones, but the Vistula doesn't care. It flows north and taking along many salty tears. Just like 1000 years ago.

Wolfgang Armin Strauch

1. Chapter

It hit him completely unprepared. Only a few meters away from him two women were sitting at a table. Had they already discovered him? Were they perhaps talking about him?

It is hardly possible for a two-man to hide. He turned away and lowered his head. But out of the corner of his eye he watched what was happening.

Jadwiga had aged noticeably. She should be around 50 by now. Eva, however, seemed to have retained her youthfulness. He saw her in profile and only with the help of the mirror that was mounted above the counter and distorted her image. Under other circumstances, he would have tried to contact the women. But these two people were now life-threatening for him.

He did not believe in fate. Divine providence was a term without value for him. Too often he had already decided on life and death. He used to seek absolution for his sins in the church. But when a priest put him under, he sent the chatterer to his Creator, still in the confessional.

Eva laughed out loud. Was she mocking him? The women looked at a photo. He was too far away from them to see details. Cold sweat made him shiver. He hadn't thought about his filigree situation for a long time: a breath of wind was enough to destroy his house of cards. Everything would be over. Had chance lured him into the trap?

His friends were waiting at the table. They belonged to a travel group from Warsaw. He had met them only yesterday at the Wawel. He had gladly accepted the offer for a drink because he had nothing planned and his accommodation was uncomfortable.

A few meters separated him from the two women. The man pushed his massive body through the crowded restaurant and sat down on the uncomfortable chair. In this place, it was inevitable that visitors to the toilet would see him. If they hadn't recognized him before, they would see him at the next toilet visit at the latest. He was too big and too fat to go unnoticed. The other chairs at his table were occupied.

While his friends were amused about an unequal couple who insulted each other drunk at the bar with swear words, he was looking for an escape route. Only the window was left to him. The performance alone made him shudder. If the police came, he would have to take that route. He was trapped. In his pocket he had a heavy pocketknife with which he could smash the windows. If the house was surrounded, he would run into the arms of the militia. Cold sweat ran down from his forehead.

The food came. He pushed the plate to the center of the table. Edward teased: "Well, still full of yesterday?" Instead of an answer, the man poured the rest of the vodka into himself and frantically looked for alternatives. The restaurant was like a hose. The toilet was too small to stay there for a long time. The way through the kitchen was blocked by the many guests at the counter.

In the end, all that remained was the exit to leave the women's field of vision. It was time for action. If he took the initiative now, he might have had a chance. Waiting was not his thing. So, he crumpled up the half-full pack of cigarettes, muttered something about "buy cigarettes" and got up from his chair. He took out a handkerchief and snorted in it. Only his eyes peered over the edge. He saw that the women were paying. He had to leave the restaurant before them.

With a few jostles at the crowded bar tables, he reached the door. Without turning around, he pushed it open, jumped down the stairs and mingled with the passers-by. A cardboard sign with a slogan for the National Day blocked the view of the restaurant.

Had anyone followed him? He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to keep an eye on the exit. The women came out.

Jadwiga turned around. Had she seen him or was he just imagining it?

The hands trembled. The heart ached. His eyes turned black. His extreme overweight drove up his blood pressure. The lungs cried out for oxygen. Supported by a street bollard, he tried to calm down. He sucked in the air deeply, reached into his pocket and took out the pipette with the nitroglycerine. After a few drops his condition returned to normal. The thoughts became clearer again.

The fat man pondered: Should he flee into one of the ancient alleys? But that would only make sense if he had not been discovered, because his body weight prevented any rapid movement. Running away did not solve the problem, which piled up before him like a dark wall.

It was Saturday, July 22, 1967, Poland's national holiday. Everywhere on the street there were stalls with food, drink, and the usual tourist kitsch. From stages droned music that mingled with the murmuring of passers-by. So far nothing had happened. The two women walked slowly through Grodzka Street towards Wawel. The man assessed his chances. If they had not seen him, the fact remained that two dangerous witnesses were still alive.

While he followed the women at a proper distance, the fat man searched the surroundings for militiamen. Many people were on the street. To be on the safe side, he stopped at a jeweler's shop window and watched the people walking by in the mirrors of the displays. Apparently, he had no pursuers. He hurried so as not to lose sight of the women.

Jadwiga was fashionably dressed, but her age was noticed by the somewhat sluggish gait. Eva was in a festive costume. It was too modern for his taste. Did she want to keep up with the students who were animating the streets? He got some doubts. Was that really her? Perhaps he was wrong. But the stature and her gait made his insecurity waver.

He was sure about Jadwiga. He could just walk away. In Krakow nobody knew him. A search would be hopeless. But out of vanity he had made a mistake that could not be rectified. While visiting the Wawel, someone had photographed him, and he was careless enough to mention his name. When the man handed him his card, he understood the faux pas. The photographer was from the "Trybuna Ludu“. Perhaps his picture would be printed in the newspaper nationwide. But he had initially put aside the risk that someone might recognize him. Now it was different. Because of his size and stature, he was unmistakable.

Krakow was full of tourists. But he towered above most people. So, it was easy for him to follow the two women from some distance. If they looked around, there were enough opportunities to slip into an entrance of a house. Besides, it was dawning. He did not yet have a plan but was sure that he would act.

The ascent of the Wawel came in sight. The women stopped. He joined a group of passers-by who were listening to an accordion player. To avoid attracting attention, he reached into his pocket and tossed a coin into the hat of the musician who looked up and thanked him. The fat man would have liked to listen, but he had to be careful that the two women did not disappear from his field of vision. He could barely see Eva saying goodbye. She went in the direction of the Wawel, but then turned around once more and waved to the companion.

The ascent to the Wawel offered no camouflage and was also too steep. At first it looked as if Jadwiga would return to the market, but she took the path into the park that surrounded the old town. A few steps behind a restaurant she turned off, crossed a wide street and finally swung into a passage between two houses. It was narrow and barely enough for one person. Climbing plants sprouted on the walls and seemed to swallow the woman.

The fat man feared that he had lost her, but at the level of the entrance he recognized her stature in the backlight of a streetlamp that was about to go off. Still flickering, she hesitated to throw her rays onto the street. The twilight made everything appear dim. In the sparse residual light of the day, he saw the outline of the woman. He hurried. Before she could step into the light, he whispered: "Jadwiga!”.

The woman turned around. The delay was enough. His strong hands snaked around her neck. She tried to loosen the grip, flailing around with her arms, scratching him, and kicking with her legs. But she had no chance. Horror was reflected in her eyes.

His fat body pressed her against the wall. The leaves of the climbing plant rushed. His thumbs shattered the sensitive structures of the hyoid bone. Once again, he increased the pressure. All his hatred broke out of him at that moment. The woman was already dead.

The attacker loosened his hands. A residual air escaped from her lungs with a rattle. The mouth had opened slightly. The cry for help remained silent. The brain had stopped working. The decay of the body had already begun.

It was done. Only now did the man notice the deep wrinkles in her face. Some make-up and lipstick tried to hide the age. He noticed the scent of the German perfume "Kölnisch Wasser 4711", which his wife also used. Jadwiga fell to the floor like a sack. Bizarrely, her legs twisted. The fat man pushed his feet against the face, whose open eyes stared at him. He tore the chain with a large amber from her neck and picked up her bag. He shoved the booty under his jacket. It was like a rush.

Only now did he think of possible witnesses and an escape route. He looked around. Behind him on the street, passers-by scurried by now and then. That they saw him was unlikely. He stood in the dark. When a truck drove by, he stepped on the sidewalk. He looked back only briefly. The alley hid the crime scene. Nothing revealed that he had just killed somebody.

After about two hundred meters he sat down on a bench. As if in passing he checked the surroundings. Then he searched the bag. He took out her purse, an identity card and the key to the apartment. He threw the rest into the trash. He put the chain in his jacket pocket. It was his trophy. It would remind him of the victory over the past.

Ten minutes later he was sitting in the restaurant again. His glass was filled. He stood up and toasted with his friends. He ordered several rounds of vodka on his bill. Then he paid and left. The accommodation was not far away. Despite the alcohol he felt fit. On his arms were some scratches from Jadwiga's fingernails. Half asleep he thought of Eva.

2. Chapter

The call came in at 02:00. With difficulty Andrzej Mazur turned to the side to stop the annoying ringing. The militia officer on duty reported the murder of an older woman. The crime scene was in the city center and already secured. The coroners and forensic were informed.

While he was getting dressed, his mother showed up. Her fine hearing had awakened her.

"Gotta go?"

"Yes. Pack me some sandwiches, please! I don't know how long it'll take."

He shaved to appear halfway civilized. His shirt was freshly ironed, and a matching tie was provided by his mother. Instead of putting on the formal jacket, he took the leather jacket off the hook. It was more practical on the motorcycle. He would change in the duty room.

Then he put bread and a thermos in his briefcase. With a kiss on the cheek, he said goodbye to her and disappeared in the hallway. He had bought a Czech motorcycle from a small inheritance. The "350 Jawa" was wine-red. Chrome parts reflected the street lighting. At the first kick the engine started. Powerfully the vehicle vibrated. He turned the handle and let the clutch come. The machine accelerated and pulled the driver into the night.

His colleagues had given Mazur the nickname "Jawa". He did not resist. Maybe he was even a bit proud of it. He was more upset by the arrogance of some veteran militiamen who, at twenty-eight years of age, still considered him a newbie. He had a university degree and had already been involved in significant cases. The fact that he was now called to a murder was, however, because many colleagues had the Sunday after the holiday off. It was fine with him. Murder is murder.

The crime scene was easy to secure because the narrow alleyway had only two entrances. The patrol had used a few bucks from the nearby construction site. Additionally, militiamen stood on both sides. Spotlights illuminated the crime scene. Forensic technicians searched everything for traces. But in view of the gravel path, the plastered house walls and the climbing plants, the effort seemed pointless. Nevertheless, they checked centimeter by centimeter. The coroner was already waiting.

The victim was an approximately 50-year-old, well-groomed woman with pronounced strangulation marks on her neck. Further injuries were found on her face and upper body. Broken fingernails and hematomas on arms and legs indicated that the victim had defended herself. Dr. Zeman ruled out a sexual offence for the moment. He bent over the face of the corpse.

"Do you smell that? I'd say it's cologne 4711."

Mazur also heard the sweetish scent, but he did not know about perfume.

An ambulance stood at the side of the road. Paramedics took care of a man who was visibly gasping for air. He had discovered the dead woman.

Mazur had the date and location confirmed. Since no papers were found with the body, he asked the witness to look at the body.

"It's Jadwiga Klimek from 32."

Number 32 was a three-story old town house with a small portal and a huge door framed with Art Nouveau elements. The squiggled bell board was made of brass. The victim lived on the second floor. Only after a long ringing did a window open. A drunk man shouted incomprehensible words into the street. When Mazur nevertheless rang the bell again, someone from the ground floor apartment answered.

"Klimek is drunk. Try noon tomorrow. Maybe he'll be all right then."

Mazur did not let up and shouted: "We are from the militia, and we absolutely have to talk to Mr. Klimek. Please open the door! “

The neighbor opened the front door. "Did something happen?"

The criminalist and two uniformed militiamen entered the house.

"When did you last see Mrs. Klimek?"

The neighbor hesitated.

"I don't know. Maybe yesterday afternoon."

After long knocking and ringing, the door of the apartment where the victim had lived opened a crack.

"What do you want?"

Mazur showed his identity card. "We're from the militia, Mr. Klimek. It's about your sister."

The man stared at him as if he came from another world. He stank of alcohol and urine. His nightgown was covered with vomit.

"What is this? Leave me alone, you dogs! “

Without waiting, Mazur pushed his way past Klimek into the apartment.

"When was the last time you saw your sister?"

"I don't know. If she's not in the room, she's not here."

He pointed to a door. It was locked. Klimek claimed not to have a key. With some force, a militiaman managed to open the door. The room was very tidy. A bookshelf dominated the place. On the walls hung some family photos. Mazur searched for ID cards or other papers for identification. In a drawer there was a company ID card with a photograph. The victim was Jadwiga Klimek.

Questioning her brother had no sense. The criminalist put a business card on the table, on which he noted an appointment for 13:00 o'clock.

Forensic and coroner had nothing surprising to report. So, Mazur wrote a short report for his boss. On the cover page it said, "Murder case Jadwiga Klimek".

Around eight o'clock he was called to his boss, who asked him about the current state of the investigation. In view of the brutality, Mazur suspected a relationship crime. If it was a robbery, the perpetrator would have grabbed his bag and run off. However, strangulation is a different category: you get very close and there is always the danger that the victim will call for help and resist massively.

The offender was obviously physically superior. The intense strangulation marks spoke for this. The hands had left large deep blue marks in the skin. The coroner had certainly ruled out a sexual offence. As expected, no fingerprints or footprints were found at the crime scene.

"Does the victim's brother qualify for the crime?"

"It is not to be excluded. He was drunk. An interview is scheduled for 1:00 p.m."

The boss officially assigned the murder case to Mazur. Three people were at his disposal as homicide detectives. In addition, there were militiamen who were responsible for the district. Among them was Adam Krawczyk, who had already begun questioning the neighbors with his colleagues. Since the dead woman did not have a bag with her and the key could not be found, the task force searched the neighborhood. On Sunday morning, there were few passers-by, so Mazur saw good chances for the use of a tracking dog.

The survey of the neighbors only revealed that Mrs. Klimek worked in the university library. For most she was the nice sister of a former officer who was constantly drunk.

The homicide squad was given access to the personnel file via the university management. Jadwiga Klimek had already worked in the library before the war. According to an official certificate, she was arrested by the Gestapo in 1944. She was one of the survivors of the Auschwitz concentration camp. After the war, she got her old job back in the library. Evaluations described her as diligent, friendly, and courteous. Originally, she came from a small town near Graudenz, but she lived at the same address in Krakow since the 1930s. She had inherited the apartment from an aunt.

There were some entries about her brother Tadeusz Klimek in the militia archive. Before the war, he worked for the city councils in Graudenz and Krakow. In 1939 he was drafted into the Polish army. After the defeat of Poland, he lived in the Soviet Union. There were no records about this time. From 1943 he belonged to the 1st Polish Army as an officer. Under Division General Stanisław Popławski he took part in several battles. After the war he worked in the building department of the city of Krakow but was disabled in 1963 due to a war injury. A transcript of an interview suggested that alcoholism was the actual reason for his dismissal.

In the city administration, there was evidence that he was the legal guardian for his granddaughter Alina Klimek, but she no longer lived here. In the militia archive there were numerous complaints about disturbance of the peace. On several occasions he had insulted neighbors while under the influence of alcohol. Violent acts occurred, as a result of which he was sentenced to fines.

Around 10:00 o'clock arrived the tracking dog. Mazur had high hopes for "Alex". The dog picked up the trail at the scene of the crime, stopped briefly at No. 32, but kept then moving. At a park bench he sniffed at the waste basket. Via some detours they landed near the Marienkirche at the marketplace. There the trail got lost. To be on the safe side, the handler returned to the scene of the crime and led him to the other side of the alley. From here he first ran in the direction to the Wawel and then again to the marketplace. He stopped at the Café "Elena".

Since there was only one cleaner in the café, Mazur had the manager get out of bed and asked him about the visitors of the previous evening.

"Yesterday we had a full house. Because of the holiday, even the chairs at the counter were full. I didn't notice anything special."

Mazur showed him the photo of the dead.

"This is Mrs. Klimek. She was sitting at the table for two with her granddaughter as usual."

Mazur asked astonishedly: "But you can remember them well?

"Yes. She meets with the girl every other day. Usually, they eat a piece of walnut cake and drink coffee. Yesterday they didn't stay there as long as usual. About 9:45 pm they left. Except for the order I did not talk to her. I am sorry. She was such a nice woman."

Mazur asked for the names of some regular guests.

Tadeusz Klimek was at the top of the list of suspects. Since he did not show up at the appointed time, Mazur visited him in his apartment in the late afternoon. When he opened the door, the criminalist showed the judicial search warrant for his sister's room. While his employees were searching, he spoke with the owner of the apartment, who was still drunk.

"So, she is dead. How did it happen?"

Klimek took a deep breath before continuing. Can murder happen? It was this lack of compassion that irritated Mazur. His sister had just died, and he spoke of her as if she were a thing.

The criminologist asked whether he had noticed anything unusual lately or whether new acquaintances had appeared in the surroundings. Klimek knew nothing and no one. They lived in the same apartment but had hardly any contact.

Mazur asked about the granddaughter who was with the victim.

Klimek said angrily, "That's not her granddaughter, but mine”.

He did not know that the two had met regularly. Nor would he have been interested. Despite several inquiries, he did not give the criminalist an address. Grumpy, he sat on an old leather chair and ignored all further questions. Instead, he opened a drawer and took out a bottle of vodka. He filled his glass and poured the liquor down in one go. Then he just babbled.

Mazur gave up. There was nothing more to get here. His colleagues were more successful. They had found a file in the room with the pension documents, personal receipts and a will. She had inherited the house from her aunt and declared Alina Klimek, her brother's granddaughter, to be the sole heiress.

One folder was filled with newspaper clippings about the Auschwitz concentration camp. One document identified her as a former inmate of the camp. An exercise book contained an extensive list of names. For some persons an address was entered. Others were marked with a cross. Behind it, in some cases, the place, date, and name of a cemetery were written. Another overview included addresses of organizations that took care of Nazi victims.

Gradually the victim got a face. Also of the granddaughter, Alina Klimek, an address was found in the documents. Mazur had everything packed up and drove with the company car to a student dormitory where she was supposed to live, but never met her. A roommate said that she was working on a project and would certainly not be home before 8 p.m.

In the office he reported to his boss on the situation:

"If it was the brother, we could close the case quickly. But there are neither witnesses nor evidence. The man was so drunk that he could not give any information."

"One suspicion is not enough for an indictment. Let me know if you need more help. The entire crew will be available again on Monday."

Mazur wrote some reports. Then he rode his motorcycle to the address of Alina Klimek. He rang the bell. The young woman, 21 years old, looked like a schoolgirl. He had pulled his service card out of his pocket, but she did not pay attention to it.

"My name is Andrzej Mazur. I come from the militia. It's about Jadwiga Klimek.

"Come in. Please, excuse the mess. I just got here. What about Jadwiga? Did she have an accident?"

The voice of the young woman trembled.

Mazur sat down on a shaky chair. She sat down on the bed.

It was his first death notice. Slowly and haltingly, he reported what had happened, but omitted those details that illustrated the brutality of the murder. Alina Klimek wrung her tears. She grabbed the pillow and held it in front of her face to sink her pain into it, complaining loudly. Runs of salty drops wet the fabric of her blouse, which was printed with colorful spring flowers.

Mazur was not sure. But then he sat down on the bed and locked the deeply hurt girl in his arms. She gratefully accepted the offer.

After she had calmed down a bit, he asked: "When did you last meet Mrs. Klimek?

"Yesterday we went to Café 'Elena'. Around 9:30 pm we left. We said goodbye before the entrance to the Wawel. It was perhaps just before 10:00 pm. I had an appointment as checkroom attendant at an event. Jadwiga wanted to go home."

Her voice faltered. Apparently, she realized that the murder had happened afterwards.

"Was she different that day? Did she mention anything that struck you as unusual?"

"No. Not really. She got upset again about my grandfather, who is drunk every day. So, she had already toyed with the idea of throwing him out of the apartment."

"Don't you have any contact with your grandfather?"

"No. Not for months. Jadwiga had asked him to give me things from my mother. He said it was none of her business. I went to see him myself and asked for them. So, he slammed the door in my face."

"What was that about?"

"I do not have a picture of my mother or any other personal things. He would not even give me my birth certificate. Jadwiga said that he has received mail about me.

Alina Klimek became so excited that the criminalist could hardly calm her down. He asked her to come to the office the next day. He completed his business card with his personal telephone number.

"If you think of anything else, you can always reach me."

Mazur got on the motorcycle. He was another one. The young woman had triggered unusual feelings in him. Was it just the protective instinct? He did not know. During his studies, people had warned against letting cases get too close. She was a witness. You couldn't get too close if you wanted to be objective. He was tired but couldn't get sleep.

The next day, the victim's neighbor called. He reported a noise in the apartment. When Mazur arrived with the patrol car in front of the house, the caller was already waiting.

"It's quiet now, but after the murder I wanted to be sure."

Mazur thanked him. Together with his colleague Krawczyk he entered the house. Despite heavy knocking, nobody opened the door. He had the door broken open. Klimek lay in the living room. The doctor, who was called in, diagnosed death. He ruled out the possibility of external causes. With the large consumption of alcohol, such an end was to be expected.

To be on the safe side, Mazur ordered an autopsy.

It was already 10:30 o'clock. He thought about whether he should really go to Alina Klimek to give her the message. Still at the door he hesitated. From inside he heard piano music. He rang the doorbell. When she opened, a smile flitted across her face. She invited him in. Mazur slid back and forth in the chair.

"I'm sorry."

He avoided looking her in the eyes.

"Your grandfather passed away early this morning. It looks like a natural death."

Mazur tried to describe the course of events as objectively as possible. She hid her face behind her hands. Chopin was playing on the radio.

The patrol car took Mazur and Alina Klimek to the hospital. He sat down with her in the back seat. She remained silent the whole way.

The old man was still lying on the dissecting table, as the autopsy had just been completed. The dead man seemed relaxed.

"Do you want me to leave you alone with him for a while?"

"No, I want to leave, please."

Alina did not cry.

"Now I am alone. I have no other relatives."

Mazur's heart tightened. When his father died last year, he had felt a deep sadness. It was that emptiness that remains when words fail to describe the unspeakable and meaningless questions occupy the brain.

His mother was not able to comfort him because she was busy with herself. His motorcycle had brought him to other thoughts. He rode the Jawa hundreds of kilometers to the Baltic Sea to lie on the sand on the beach in Sopot and look up at the night sky.

In the morning, a seagull woke him up and searched his cap for food. High waves had washed algae and all kinds of garbage onto the beach during the night. The sea now acted innocent, and the sky promised a beautiful summer day. Amber collectors ran past. They hoped for prey. Some vacationers had ventured into the water. It was like another world in which he had immersed himself. He felt liberated. Back home he realized that mother had not noticed his absence. Back then he felt guilty for leaving her alone.

Alina Klimek had sat down on a bench in the long corridor of the hospital and stared into space.

Mazur asked: "May I help you? There are psychologists who in such cases …"

She waved away. "Thanks, I'm fine."

He brought her to the dormitory and asked her roommate to take care of her. As farewell he gave Alina his hand, which she held on to a little too long. She looked up to him.

The inspector in him said: "I will get back to you tomorrow. There are some formalities to be completed."

"Well then, see you tomorrow! “

In the hallway he had doubts about leaving her alone. Then he heard piano music. It was a quiet piece whose composer he did not know.

The next morning, he arrived at the office at six o'clock. He had to submit a report. But what should he write? A robberymurder was out of the question for him because of the brutality and the small prey. It had to be a relationship crime. His boss believed Tadeusz Klimek had killed his sister in delirium. However, this version did not match the track of the dog and the result of the autopsy.

Klimek was physically hardly resilient. The woman had defended herself. No injuries were found on her brother during the autopsy. He did not fit into the picture. Why would he run into the alley just to kill her? Drunk and waiting for her to come? Besides, there was no solid motive. It couldn't be because of the apartment, because his granddaughter, with whom he had fallen out, inherited it.

Mazur raised his objections. They were valid for him. But his superiors in Krakow urged a quick investigation. Allegedly Warsaw had requested a report.

The preliminary report, in which Klimek was named as a possible perpetrator, was not well received there at all. Investigations against a former officer were always critical. It was to be feared that the Ministry of the Interior would pull the case itself to avoid political damage. The result would possibly be that the truth would be buried with the coffins and the real culprit would remain unpunished.

Mazur had no other choice. He wanted to keep the strings in his hand. For Alina he wanted to solve the case. More and more often he left out the last name when he thought of her.

The investigations went round in circles. The bag of the dead was seized. It lay near the wastebasket that the dog had displayed. At the place where it was found, some other utensils were found. Comb, lipstick, and a small bottle of "Kölnisch Wasser 4711" carried the fingerprints of the dead. Wallet and keys were missing. On the clasp, however, there was half a thumbprint, which could not be assigned.

Alina had said that the victim had worn a gold chain with an amber. Since it was not found, one had asked jewelry dealers. Even relevant fences were visited. All denied having received suitable offers. Jewelry from a murder case was too hot. Mazur had to visit the apartment again. It was possible that something had been overlooked. He had a search warrant for the entire apartment, but he wanted Alina with him.

She opened the door wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Her student room was untidy, for which she apologized immediately.

"You know, I had to do something, and I started to sort out my things. But with each item I always remember things from the past. At some point I gave up. The day after tomorrow is the end of the project and I haven't written a page of the final report yet. If Jadwiga would know that."

She faltered. Jadwiga was dead. She would never know. Tears were streaming down her face.

"I wanted to study history because she wasn't allowed to. She had such high hopes for me."

Mazur hesitated at first, but he was not allowed any consideration.

"Alina, we must go back to the apartment."

She looked at him. She had noticed that he had gone over to the Du. It was fine with her.

"Is this really necessary?"

"We still haven't found the killer. I want to rule out that it was your grandfather."

"Is he a suspect?"

Mazur informed her about the previously known information about her grandfather. Alina listened attentively.

"I can't imagine it. He did not even manage to get the coals out of the cellar. It's true that he was loud and drank a lot. But murder…".

Mazur feared that he had lost her trust. But she reacted differently.

"I will help you."

She looked up. "I have so many unanswered questions too."

They drove with the official car to the apartment of the dead. On the way, Mazur informed her that a will had been found in which she was named as sole heiress.

"I knew it. She had it written when I moved out. The apartment was the only leverage I had against my grandfather. When I was little, he had always threatened to put me in a home. She didn't want that at all."

She took a break before continuing.

"I have listened to many of their arguments. But he never hit her. It usually started with him bragging about his war experiences. Jadwiga couldn't stand that. Although she was otherwise rather quiet, she then often said that the Polish army left the civilians defenseless in 1939. It was only under Stalin that he crawled forward again. He had sat in the heated tent when she almost froze to death in Auschwitz. My grandfather then always began to bellow, referring to his alleged heroic deeds. In the end, they each retreated to their room."

Alina took his hand.

"Without Jadwiga I would have perished. She was my mother substitute, my mom. She went with me to the park and read fairy tales in the evening. When I visited her at work, she showed me the old books. She always said that they were the legacies of the past. That's why I started studying history. Only now do I realize how little I actually know about her. She hardly ever talked about the war and Auschwitz, because then she always started crying right away.

Grandfather showed little sympathy. "Are you crying about the Jew again?" was a remark that deeply hurt her. I never understood that. Nor why they both didn't talk about my mother."

Alina wiped the tears from her eyes.

"And now I am alone."

She leaned against Mazur. He swallowed. But he pulled himself together.

He had seen the chaos in Tadeusz Klimek's room. Alina looked at the mountain of empty bottles of brandy in shock. It stank of vomit and urine. She opened the window.

"I am embarrassed that my grandfather left such a mess. I haven't been here in ages."

She turned away as if it was her fault.

"He would not accept help. His doctor had suggested that he be admitted to a clinic, but he refused. He insinuated that Jadwiga wanted to deport him."

The search of the apartment remained without result. Only a small, armored cabinet could not be searched, because the key could not be found. Alina knew nothing about the contents. She suspected, however, that he had kept personal documents in it, since no papers about the family were found in the whole apartment. Mazur promised to get a professional to open the box.

He locked the apartment and sealed the door. Then he brought Alina to the dormitory. They arranged to meet the next day at 13:00 o'clock. Until then he hoped to find a specialist for the safe. When he left Alina, he still had the smell of her hair in his nose.

At the office his boss received him bad-tempered. The Interior Ministry had requested a detailed report. Mazur promised to complete the letter immediately. But before that he called Mikulski, who knew about locks. The house jokingly claimed that he had been involved in the legendary mail robbery in England and was living incognito in Poland. In any case, he was familiar with all common makes of safes.

He put the report for Warsaw on the boss's desk, as he had long since gone home. On his own desk were piled up the minutes of interviews with residents and Jadwiga's work colleagues. The only thing worth mentioning was that she was very close friends with a former colleague whom she knew from before the war and now lived in Zakopane. For the investigations it seemed unimportant to him, but he hoped that Alina would be happy about it.

A dossier on Tadeusz Klimek had appeared, which was produced on the awarding of a medal. However, it turned out to be completely worthless, as it contained no objective information apart from platitudes and adulation.

It was already 23:00 o'clock. He got on his Jawa and drove home. As usual his mother had been waiting for him. She loved to watch him eat. There was roast pork. Even though Mazur was annoyed about the effort, he avoided saying anything because she only had him left. He slept like a rock.

His mother noticed that he needed a little longer in the bathroom in the morning. "You want to tell me something?"

"No, no. There's nothing new."

With himself he thought that today he would meet Alina again.

Andrzej Mazur could hardly concentrate. He struggled laboriously through the pile of paper. The interviews read like constant repetitions.

"Too many people were on the road. They had not seen anything."

Cirrhosis of the liver was the cause of death of Tadeusz Klimek wrote the coroner. These were all many words, but no indication of the crime, the perpetrator, or possible motives.