March Violets by Philip Kerr Read Free Book Online

the less shocked she was, at least at this stage, the more I would get out of her.
    â€˜Are you a policeman?’ she asked.
    â€˜I’m investigating the fire,’ I said evasively.
    â€˜I’m sure you must be too busy to drive an old woman like me across Berlin. Why don’t you drop me on the other side of the bridge and I’ll walk the rest. I’m all right now, really I am.’
    â€˜It’s no trouble. Anyway, I’d quite like to talk to you about the Pfarrs - that is, if it wouldn’t upset you.’ We crossed the Landwehr Canal and came onto Belle-Alliance Platz, in the centre of which rises the great Column of Peace. ‘You see, there will have to be an inquest, and it would help me if I knew as much about them as possible.’
    â€˜Yes, well I don’t mind, if you think I can be of assistance,’ she said.
    When we got to Neuenburger Strasse, I parked the car and followed the old woman up to the second floor of an apartment building that was several storeys high.
    Frau Schmidt’s apartment was typical of the older generation of people in this city. The furniture was solid and elaborate - Berliners spend a lot of money on their tables and chairs - and there was a big porcelain-tiled stove in the living room. A copy of an engraving by Dürer, which was as common in the Berliner’s home as an aquarium in a doctor’s waiting room, hung dully above a dark red Biedermeier sideboard on which were placed various photographs (including one of our beloved Führer) and a little silk swastika mounted in a large bronze frame. There was also a drinks tray, from which I took a bottle of schnapps and poured a small glassful.
    â€˜You’ll feel better after you’ve drunk this,’ I said, handing her the glass, and wondering whether or not I dared take the liberty of pouring myself one too. Enviously, I watched her knock it back in one. Smacking her fat lips she sat down on a brocaded chair by the window.
    â€˜Feel up to answering a few questions?’
    She nodded. ‘What do you want to know?’
    â€˜Well for a start, how long had you known Herr and Frau Pfarr?’
    â€˜Hmm, let’s see now.’ A silent movie of uncertainty flickered on the woman’s face. The voice emptied slowly out of the Boris Karloff mouth, with its slightly protruding teeth, like grit from a bucket. ‘It must be a year, I suppose.’ She stood up again and removed her coat, revealing a dingy, floral-patterned smock. Then she coughed for several seconds, tapping herself on the chest as she did so.
    All this time I stood squarely in the middle of the room, my hat on the back of my head and my hands in my pockets. I asked her what sort of couple the Pfarrs had been.
    â€˜I mean, were they happy? Argumentative?’ She nodded to both of these suggestions.
    â€˜When I first went to work there, they were very much in love,’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t long after that that she lost her job as a schoolteacher. Quite cut up about it, she was. And before long they were arguing. Not that he was there very often when I was. But when he was, then more often than not they’d have words, and I don’t mean squabbles, like most couples. No, they had loud, angry arguments, almost as if they hated each other, and a couple of times I found her crying in her room afterwards. Well, I really don’t know what it was they had to be unhappy about. They had a lovely home - it was a pleasure to clean it, so it was. Mind you, they weren’t flashy. I never once saw her spending lots of money on things. She had lots of nice clothes, but nothing showy.’
    â€˜Any jewellery?’
    â€˜I believe she had some jewellery, but I can’t say as I remember her wearing it, but then I was only there in the daytime. On the other hand, there was an occasion when I moved his jacket and some earrings fell onto the floor, and they weren’t the sort of