Grave Intent by Alexander Hartung Read Free Book Online Page A

during work time. Possible post-traumatic stress disorder occurs during situations of stress, not while golfing.”
    “What post-traumatic stress disorder?”
    Kerima briefly glanced behind them, down the hall. Some of Jan’s fellow cops just happened to be leaning in doorways, trying to look busy. “I’m not sure we should be discussing this here.”
    Jan turned to Bergman. “I have to get over to Dr. Valburg’s office.”
    “You’ll have to take a short detour first.”
    “There’s a murderer on the loose out there.”
    “He’ll still be there in half an hour.”
    “I’m really not up for this.”
    “Tough luck. I’m the Chief of Detectives. So you’re going with Dr. Elmas right here and now. Don’t come back out until a half hour’s up.”
    The psychologist turned to Bergman. “Afterward, we should talk about your management style.”
    “Hey, I’m not the patient here, Jan is.”
    “It’s no problem,” Kerima said. “I don’t have anything else scheduled for this morning.”
    “Yeah, you should definitely talk to Herr Bergman here about his management style,” Jan added, grinning. He might just get to like this woman yet.
    “Shut it, Jan, or I’ll use your Christmas bonus to bet on horses. And as far as you’re concerned, Dr. Elmas? When I feel the need to interpret inkblots, I’ll give you a call.”
    “Doesn’t work that way—in my position, I can suggest a consultation and all the staff have to comply.” She allowed herself a smile.
    Bergman looked at his watch. “Oops, got a meeting.” He turned and left them standing in the hallway.
    “He does that a lot,” Jan told Kerima.
    “Does what, exactly? Insults, threats, appears unwilling to learn?”
    “All of that.”
    Max came around the corner. He was riding a chrome kick-scooter, leaning into it like a race driver in an aerodynamic stance. He pushed off with his right foot to gain speed and whooshed by them. “Morn-eeeng,” he called out in a childlike voice, drawing out the ee until he reached the end of the corridor.
    Kerima peered after him. “Maybe I should set up a permanent office right here in the station,” she muttered. “Lots of work to be had here.” She steered Jan into to the conference room and shut the door behind them.
    “What do you want to hear?” Jan grumbled.
    “I’m interested in how you’re doing.”
    “Me? Pretty well.”
    “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
    “What makes you think I’m having any problems?”
    Kerima took a file folder from her bag. “Let me go over it. In your last case—just a few weeks ago—you were suspected of murder, were hunted by your colleagues, and had to go underground. It was finally revealed that your girlfriend was the murderer and she was using you as the fall guy. She tried to kill you, so you had no choice but to shoot her dead.” The psychologist folded her hands in her lap. “Even if you’re the toughest cop in Berlin, Herr Tommen, no one recovers from all that in just a few weeks.”
    “What was I supposed to do, take time off, go into a monastery and meditate?”
    “I want to know how your life has changed since this case. How you’re getting through the day, if you’re having trouble sleeping, things like that.”
    “I have nightmares. I had to get rid of all photos of Betty and me, and yet I drive by all the places in Berlin that remind me of her.”
    Kerima nodded. “I’ve never heard anyone be so open the first time we talk.”
    “What do you expect? Of course it’s stayed with me. But the worst thing I can be doing is nothing at all. Working helps. Hanging out with friends helps. Sitting in front of the TV watching a good soccer game helps too. What doesn’t help is always having to think about it.”
    “Talking about it helps too.”
    “Who am I supposed to talk to? My buddy? He was there. He saw my girlfriend pointing a shotgun at my head. He saw me putting a bullet in her, her life flowing out of her. He nearly