Chapter 3 Chapter two

Alone, sleepless, looking as if he just threw up, but nevertheless has to show up to the office fresh: what is to be done?I washed my hair, put on my most flattering clothes, and spent many, many hours trying to get my makeup done to perfection.Fortunately, Mrs. Roemer was still on sick leave.I stayed in her office first (even without disco), where I could avoid the curious stares of my colleagues.However, the boss came in early in the morning. "Look, how good you look today. As soon as Romer's health improves, you can immediately notice that you are also full of vigor. That Disco and you go to the hospital every day, which undoubtedly becomes a big burden for you. But You look today as if you were living in your youth!"

"Nothing escapes you," I replied, as casually as possible, already drenched in sweat.My teeth were chattering all night last night, so now I'm just going to have a really bad head bleed. "Of course I know myself," my superior affirmed, "but now you have plenty of time to make up for the loss," he said, putting a file on the desk with fatherly affection, and he went out up.I went out and bought a copy of the "Rhine Neckar Zeitung", but I haven't had time to read it yet.Fortunately, nothing major happened last night and was published in today's newspaper.

When I went to the cafeteria for lunch at noon, I heard two young typists whispering, looking at me, and giggling in a low voice.It was clear they were talking about me.Originally, I had a colleague-like relationship with most of the company's employees, but it wasn't too close.The trainees and the young staff were a little bit afraid of me because I couldn't stand the foolishness they did.Whenever they didn't do something well, I would have them do it all over again.Generally speaking, they will also thank me for this, because if you cannot get used to working in a disciplined manner in time, then you will hit a wall everywhere in your future work, and it will happen that "the young and the strong do not work hard, the boss is sad" or something like that.But no doubt, some people think that I am too strict, and occasionally provoke me a few words.

I also know now that they are talking about my clothes.These young girls certainly noticed that I've been looking younger and younger lately.I definitely want to appear in front of people with an eye-catching appearance in the future, and this matter will be said quickly.I never cared about the gossip, even when my young female colleagues wanted to talk bad about "who and who" with me, I even cut them sharply right away.However, I got the most important information through my insider, Mrs. Roemer; and because Mrs. Roemer was a person of great age and respect, I allowed her to send me occasional messages.

Is it because my serious personas have become less believable lately?Could it be that love is inadvertently revealed from my eyes?Bid remarked to me not long ago that she has a sensitive intuition peculiar to women. Anyway, I had to get through the day, so I bought some mild sedatives at the pharmacy and went to bed early.But I didn't immediately think of going to sleep.What appeared in front of my eyes were those bloody scenes, Shirko's green shirt slowly turned bright red, and the injured Witold.I killed this woman!Witold is not a murderer.There's a more dire possibility--I haven't thought of it yet--that maybe she's not dead even though I've shot one.

The next day, the news was published in various papers, including the weekly Rattenburg Weekly: Murder Mystery at the Rattenburg Teacher's Home At about 1:00 a.m. yesterday, the police found the body of 43-year-old housewife Shirke Ai.The reason for this is still unknown.Her husband was shot next to the thigh and lay unconscious on the ground.The police have so far been unable to interrogate him.Both the deceased and the injured had been drinking excessively before this.No murder weapon was found at the scene. Footprints were found in the yard and on the carpet, suspected to be done by a third party.His eldest son is currently on vacation in Turkey, so he has not been contacted. The second son is serving civilian service in a hospital in Heidelberg. He was on night shift at that suspicious time.Police are looking for a tall man with a shoe size 41 who was walking the street at night.

In addition, the police appealed to the unknown woman who made the call to contact the Rattenburg Police Department immediately. In the evening, Peter called. "Have you read the Mannheim Morning Post?" she asked. I immediately expected her to ask, so I said as indifferently as possible: "See, what's the matter?" Bid was always happy to tell me about a sensational event: "Have you read that 'Murder in the Teacher's House'?" "Looks like I've seen it," I muttered, "I don't really care." "You don't think," Peed began, "that's the home of Rainer Engelstein, the guy I told you about recently. His wife was shot and he was wounded. I was told, She's a drunk. Hey, I said, maybe he killed her and then shot himself in the thigh to avoid suspicion."

"Do you think so?" I asked. "Well, when I listened to his class at the amateur university here last year, I thought he was pretty nice, but the murderer couldn't write on his face." Of course I want to defend Witold, but of course I wouldn't be that stupid. "Is there no third person present?" I asked. "There must have been," Peed replied, "perhaps it was a perfectly ordinary robbery, and the police just haven't been sure what was stolen. By the way, we talked a lot about Rainer Engelstein today, and there are It could be that he is having an affair with one of his female students. But everyone agrees that it is reasonable to be suspicious of a handsome man who is a teacher."

I've found that so far so far so good.They were looking for a tall man; for the first time I thought how awesome I had big feet.Witold has not yet been formally suspected.That woman is really a drunkard, I can see that clearly.Undoubtedly, there must be problems in their marriage.And if Witold does have a girlfriend, she may show up in my surveillance time at some point.But he was always sitting alone at the desk, working in loneliness.Although I don't have any definite plans, I'm still figuring out how things will play out.How will I appear before him after this?Well now, this accident helped me.

The first thing I need is information; I buy a local newspaper a day.There is a small clue to the murder: the police have found multiple footprints. Has Witold been detained?I called his home several times from a phone booth in Mannheim.Most of the time no one answered the phone, but on two occasions his son did. "Maximilian Engelstein," he said, sounding like his father. Did Peter learn any news?I decided to visit her on the weekend.I need someone who can go on and on like her, and I don't have that kind of ability. "Come here," Bid said, "Lacy's here, we might go to the movies."

On the one hand, I am not at all interested in this pregnant and childish Lacey, on the other hand, she is the only one. Maybe I can get through her girlfriend, who is good friends with Witold's son Max. Girlfriend, I learned something about him. Lacey only talked about her pregnancy at first, and there were still eight months to give birth.I don't care what name I give to this pitiful fetus!Still, I was nice to Lacey and joined in on the low-level chatter.But my suggestion was completely ignored, and Lacey had an Arab name or an ancient Roman name on her mind. But in a blink of an eye, Bid began to mention the Engelsteins. "If it's a boy, you might as well call him Witold!" "Oh, my goodness, don't call it that name again after such a horrible thing!" Lacey cried wearily. "How can you come up with such a bad idea, mother!" "Why, he's not a murderer," Bid said. "Is he really a murderer? What news did you hear?" Lacey tells about yesterday's phone call with his girlfriend, Eva, and Max is completely devastated.Tomorrow is the funeral, but the body has been placed in the Forensic Institute; through the missing persons notice on the radio, they finally found the brother who was on vacation in Turkey, and he is scheduled to return today. "What about the father?" I asked. Lacey said he spent two days in the hospital and has been questioned by police but is now able to go home, though he is not allowed to travel.In addition, he was extremely depressed. I asked if the policeman knew who had murdered his wife? Lacey continued that it seemed that Engelstein could not remember anything; he did not seem to be directly suspected either, but the police talked of sending him for a psychiatric examination. "But doesn't that mean you have to doubt him again?" I interjected. Lacey, the sports major, shrugged. "Frankly, the old man is nothing to me. I regret this Max, including this Christophe, even though I hardly knew him. Mother was murdered! It's understandable!" I Then interjected that the mother was an alcoholic. "So what?" Bid asked. Childish Lacey scolded me, "Mothers are always mothers," and I took the opportunity to distract the subject. It was not easy for me, but I didn't go to Rattenburg for four weeks, although I had to wait on Disco again during that time, and I had to take him for a walk in the evening.It doesn't go far now, I don't have to drive anywhere at all, only once I took this dog to the neighborhood and let the dog sniff by the plane tree for a while.Maybe Witold is under surveillance, his phone tapped, maybe one of the residents here recognizes me, even my car and dog will jog their memories. I decided to let my hair grow.For many years, I've favored very short girly hairstyles, which generally suit me well.With this tomboy head, these gym shoes and black trousers, one would clearly pass for a man in the dim light of night.Perhaps I was observed by someone who was older and slightly less sighted, and in this off-season the younger ones are almost all on vacation with their children.Firstly, if I had long hair, a dress, and small shoes, I wouldn't be seen as the tall man, and secondly, I'd love to appear in Vito as an attractive woman In front of Germany.I also know that my serious and unapproachable appearance does not conform to his aesthetic taste.His home was not furnished like mine. His home looked less tidy, more fanciful, more mixed, and more alive.But it's no accident that the entire trajectory of my life has made me the disciplined person I am now. Bid, for example, had always had a much easier life.She came from a family of many children, which, despite its occasional ups and downs, was generally happy.When she was very young, she was far superior to me and seemed very mature.My mother is too pious, and only allows me to invite three girlfriends to my house every year on my birthday.In my class—we're all girls, by the way—there were a few people like me who were hardworking and well behaved, more of a nuisance than a crowd pleaser.But most go to dance lessons, talk about boys, and have boyfriends.Even if the family is not rich, there will be a mother who will make a beautiful dress for her daughter, or even sew one herself.The other girls are confident, happy, and likable.So, this unfairness started like this, and it continues like this, and it still hasn't stopped until today. Ten years after high school, I was at a class reunion.The pictures that are presented to everyone are almost exclusively of weddings, babies and children.No other topics.Me and the rest of us just sat there blankly.Since then, I have never attended a class reunion.I hate these happy mothers who have given birth to child prodigies, these smug wives.But I have nothing against them. Now, for the first time in my life, I want to make a decision entirely for myself, with all my might and with one heart: I want Witord.I could do anything for it, give it my all, I could give it all my wits, and I could risk my career and my money for it. Been with my hair for weeks and I don't like my hair the way it is at all.When Bid called, I wanted her opinion.But she cut me off. "Let's talk about your hair later. I need to tell you something important first. First of all, Lacey isn't pregnant at all!" What I do know is that Lacey had tested positive with a pharmacy reagent four weeks ago, but had never been to a doctor.Despite this, she has announced to the world that she is pregnant.Bide took her to see an obstetrician and gynecologist a few days ago, and the female doctor advised her to have an ultrasound examination.The results are finally out today. "Honestly," Bid said, "I'm so relieved now. Otherwise, if I'm going to raise Lacey's kids, I'd have to quit my part-time college job. Because without a man taking turns with her With children, how can she continue to study in college?" Bid's joy of being a grandmother has thus become a farce, I thought bitterly. "What about the second news?" I asked, getting excited just thinking about it. It must be about Witold. "If you think about it, I've met a very nice man," Bid began, describing to me the virtues of a business representative ten years her junior. Even though I knew Bid's home was open, and she was open in bed, I teased her, "Is this your greatest happiness right now?" Bid did not show any displeasure. "Well," she said, "I know a woman of fifty whose greatest happiness has slipped away. There are only small or fleeting ones for her now. And I don't want to hide it from you." Disadvantages: He is married and has very young children. But they live in the Munich area and he only goes home at weekends." Yes, this is really just a small happiness.I was amazed that Bid was involved. "Any news about the murder?" I asked. "It never occurred to me that you were interested in murder," Bid said sarcastically.Still, she mentioned that Witold's son had been by his father's side in recent weeks, even though they already had their own residence in Heidelberg.But they want to go to Mexico with their girlfriends soon, it's still summer after all.They even thought of taking their poor father with them.But that doesn't work. Why not, I asked. "Yes, number one, he can't go because classes are starting again now, and he has to go; number two, the police must be able to find him anytime; and number three, he doesn't want to go either. Lacey told me that he A friend of mine had offered him a cottage in the Odenwald, where he wanted to retire as soon as the children were gone. Understandably, he had no interest in being alone in his own home, subject to the gang Journalists tangling with sympathetic neighbors." While we didn't talk about my hair, we got into more interesting topics.I am sure to find this cottage in Odenwald. When school reopened, I called the secretariat at Rattenburg High School.I informed that I was the secretary of Inspector Krüger, whose name I had luckily read in a newspaper; Krüger was currently in charge of the Engelstein case.But does the police have a secretary?Not long ago, when I gave a statement about a traffic accident, I saw all men, and my statement was typed by a police officer at a very slow speed.Yeah, it occurred to me that occasionally on a detective TV series there's a sullen woman making coffee for the cops. I told the secretary at the school that she didn't have to call Engelstein out of class now, but just send me a message. "Mr. Engelstein is on sick leave, and you can't speak to him anyway," came the answer from the microphone.I explained that he had just recently given me an address on the phone, but unfortunately I didn't know where to throw it.Once I let my boss know about this, he will definitely be angry.It seems that this female secretary understands me very well and knows how to avoid the anger of her boss, as if she is flipping through the materials at hand. "Well, I found his address," she said happily, "and it was registered by the headmaster himself. Well, you can find him at Dr. Bickerbach-Schroeder in Odenwald, at on Grid Street." I thank you politely.It's all going great.If Witold answered the phone himself, maybe I was so excited that I didn't know what to say, or maybe I hung up the phone.He would at least be suspicious. I found tiny Bickerbach on the map.Should I go there tonight, or on the weekend?I finally have purpose again, and my life after get off work has meaning again. Of course, I can't bear to go to his place until the weekend.In the evening, I took Disco and set off.When I arrived in Bickelbach, I parked the car on a small road and walked to find the Holzweigstrasse.I didn't want to ask anyone, and besides, I didn't run into anyone, and the place looked pretty deserted.Finally, at the end of the village, the Holzweig Street is found, which is an uphill road.There are several farmhouses here, apparently refurbished by the townspeople.The yard grew cabbages, snapdragons, carrots, cilantro, and phlox, and the city woman in me was ecstatic.Although I don't know the house number where he lives, I can recognize Witold's car.At the moment I have been wandering with the dog for half an hour.Holzweigstrasse winds its way up the hill.I saw up there on the hill, Witold's car parked on the lawn, and I trembled with fear.No, I don't want to knock on the door of his house today, I have to scout the surrounding environment here first.But it's not so easy here; this tiny house, a converted barn, surrounded by open lawns, I can be seen no matter where I am.I was like a stroller passing by; I saw no sign of Witold except the car.At last, when Holzweigstrasse ended in the woods, I turned back and got back to my car; now I figured it out. There are still three days until Saturday, and I always have new plans, carefully considering what clothes to wear, whether the dog should go with me, and so on.Finally the time has come.I went to the barber shop in the morning and got my hair permed.With this mess of curly hair, I look like a different person. And so, elegantly young and agitated and frightened, I walked up the steps on a Saturday and knocked on the door of his cottage.After a while, Witold came and opened the door. "Huh?" he asked unfriendly. "Don't you know me?" I asked back. He frowned, his face suddenly gloomy. "Come in, please," he stammered, very excited at the moment.He wasn't entirely sure that I was the suspicious woman who had been there when his Silco died. I entered the room, and there were four chairs in front of a Tochigi round table, and he pointed to one of them.He lit a cigarette involuntarily, then handed me the cigarette case.I shake my head. "Who are you?" he asked first. I was very careful, saying that this matter will not be discussed for the time being, and I will definitely tell him later.Witold took a puff on his cigarette, went to get an ashtray, and took the opportunity to look out the dirty window; he wanted to know if I came alone and what kind of car I was driving.But my car was parked on the other side of Holzweigstrasse and I left the Disco at home.I do think dogs tend to get more attention than people, and I know from experience that a person is more likely to be tracked if they take a dog for a walk. Witold finally said: "I'm really scratching my head, how did everything happen that night. Why did you come to my house suddenly?" Yes, this is a sensitive point.That's when I had to mention the dog.I said--although it didn't sound very plausible, because I had a headache, I was thinking of taking the dog out for a walk at night.In the open space near the yard, I let the dog move freely, but at this moment the dog suddenly disappeared.While looking for the dog, I broke into Witold's yard and heard gunshots.So I rushed into the house. When I was speaking, Witold was watching me intently, smoking a cigarette impatiently, feeling so uneasy that he didn't know what to do, and suddenly looked at the feet below me, estimating the size of my shoes. When I had finished, he resumed in exasperation: "Well, well, maybe that's it, though I can't recall seeing a dog at the time. But there's one thing I can't figure out at all. On the one hand you obviously You wanted to help me, and on the other hand, you almost killed me!" "No," I assured him, "I definitely didn't mean to shoot you, it just looked like I shot you. I later found out if your life was in danger and it wasn't that bad. " Witold said aggrievedly: "It's not that bad, you put it lightly! The bullet was only a few millimeters away from the artery, and I almost died of excessive bleeding!" As soon as he finished speaking, he rolled up his trousers, and I saw a small red scar on the outside of the calf. I had already seen the bullet hole at that time.But now he's showing me the inside of my thigh, and it looks different here: a deep dimple where the sunken bullet hole has left. Witold looked at me with a straight face, without the charming smile before. "I don't understand at all! You must have shot my wife too, but why? On the one hand you helped me, but on the other hand maybe you killed my wife and I just shot hurt her." I think about it.Then I asked him to tell me what the police knew and what he told the police. "At first I really couldn't remember anything," Witold replied, "but I didn't expect them to believe me. I told them my wife broke her sobriety and came back suddenly. When she came back Already drank, and then we both continued to drink. I don't usually drink much, I'm not used to drinking a lot, and I never drink whiskey. I told them I was so sick afterward that I lay down on the rug. And then I heard a gunshot, and I was in so much pain that I lost consciousness.—No, the police probably didn't believe me, but on the other hand, the shot came too far to be I shot myself. Besides, I couldn't run around with a wound like that without blood. They were looking like crazy for the murder weapon, but they couldn't find it." He paused." It must be in your hands!" he exclaimed excitedly. I nodded, "I've already disposed of the gun because your fingerprints are on it." "I don't understand anything," Witold cried again. "Isn't that pointless? Why on earth didn't you call the police?" I smiled at him. "I want to help you!" "Whether you have helped me is still a big question mark. The police are currently desperately looking for a person wearing gymnastic shoes whose footprints are clearly visible in the yard and on the yellowish carpet. That is to say , they probably thought a stranger appeared in the yard, shot into the room, and took the murder weapon away. But I never thought, why did you shoot my wife again? Did she not Dead? A single shot in the head would be fatal, but to be honest, I really don't know where I hit her." I took a look at Witold.Should I tell him he hit her on the head?But actually he should know that because her shirt was covered in blood when he shot her.But maybe he passed out just seeing her; or was he just testing me to see if I was lying, if I lost my mind at the last moment? He went on to say: "What reason do you have for doing this? It is meaningless (he has said this sentence countless times). I have been waiting for you to call the police. When you didn't call the police, I realized that I was You killed my wife." I said that when I accidentally wounded him, I completely panicked.In the same shock, I immediately shot your wife, but I, like him, did not know whether I had shot her in the head.Then I ran away, and it was only natural that I didn't call the police. "It would be better," Witold said, "we'll call the police now and settle this matter. It will all come to light one day anyway." I express my firm opposition. "Do you know what happens then? Instead of looking at the scenery and breathing the fresh air here in the woods of the Odenwald, you're looking at the bars of a prison in detention. Besides, no one will take this No one has seen my true face, and the footprints could have come from another person. What motive did I have for doing this? Besides—even if people believe what you say, if I Tell me about your shooting and it will be over for you! Are you still being watched by the police?" Witold muttered unhappily: "At first they were stalking me a lot, maybe opened my mailbox, tapped my phone, I couldn't get out the door at all. I was called for interrogation almost every day." He made a He took a deep breath, looked at me seriously, and went on to say, "Maybe they're thinking: My wife shoots first, and then I shoot her. But it's not the right angle. I'm shot in the thigh. Immobilized.—Perhaps they also thought it impossible for us to take turns holding the pistol. I have said that I could not conceal the weapon without leaving any blood. And if I shot her first, she It is also impossible to shoot at me again when I am seriously injured. The shooter must be a third person." I interjected, "Then who do they suspect?" "Perhaps they thought the man in the gym shoes was with me, a hitman I hired. They checked my bank account and confirmed that I had withdrawn three thousand marks from the bank two days before. But the first , I left the money untouched, and second, four of my colleagues can attest that I was supposed to start the holiday with them next week, so I withdrew the money." Vitold flicked the ashes into the trash can irritably. "That's it. It took about four weeks for them to let me go and let me stay here. But I have to call them every other day to report. —By the way, is anyone following you?" "No, definitely not. It was very deserted along the way. But I really don't know if your neighbors saw me." Oh my god, it popped into my head, I'm standing in front of the man of my dreams, but we're talking about murder, not love, and he's staring at me suspiciously.I must say a few words of affection for him in a suggestive manner. "To be honest," I lied, "although I was involved in this incident purely by accident, when I saw you, I immediately matched the picture of you. I saw it a long time ago. I was very excited to read a booklet you wrote about painting. I was so impressed by your photo on the cover, maybe because I like your book so much, the whole book is full of sparks of wisdom. Let me spontaneously have the idea of ​​wanting to help you." After speaking, I showed him the most charming smile.He smiled back in an instant. "Yeah, you've read my book."—the phrase I had just said was magical, for the tense, unfriendly expression on his face had changed, and now he was the same kind, charming man again, bringing with that sexy voice that suddenly changed my life a few weeks ago. "I don't have many readers," he went on, "do you really like this book?" I hastened to declare this to him, even reveling in the details of the beautiful slippers and the rug.I am really a poisonous snake, but after all, I can use any means for my purpose. But his friendly attitude didn't last long. "How can I believe that you are not a demented criminal," he said slightly sarcastically, for since he had pretended to be his reader he was less convinced of my absurdity, "Now and at last draw your pistol and kill me." "Why would I do that," I said sadly, throwing him a long, loving look.He seemed to get a sense that I didn't feel murderous about him, even though he certainly didn't realize that I was in love with him. I decided to start reciting again with magic words: "I read your excellent book and then some time later I went to a lecture you gave on Lyrics of the War of Liberation. It was a great night, I learned from you many interesting stories of that era, and I came home very full, "(this is true, I was full from the impulse of emotion, but I am not at all interested in that annoying romantic war literature. Can't remember either).He looked at me thoughtfully, and his face began to look cute again, without the frown at all.You're such a good listener, I thought, I've got a chance. "I'm glad," he said sincerely, "shall I make a cup of coffee?" I nodded excitedly; no one had made me coffee in years.Witold put the water on the stove to boil, and then said: "It would be ideal if you stole something and rummaged through it," but this time I heard his mocking but kind Tone, this tone is what I want to hear. "Yeah," I said, "if that's the case, the police found a motive for the shooting, and it was a robbery, or whatever. But I don't have any plans or considerations like you do. The two of us more or less did it." irrational behavior: you shot emotionally, and I did it because I was doing you a favour." We drank coffee together; there was a certain air of trust in the poorly furnished room.Witold was no longer so restrained, and there was a hint of humor in his words.He joked that we were complicit, that our meeting was a conspiracy.But he changed the subject and said that it might be better if we never met and tried not to have any contact with each other. "The police are looking around to see if I have a girlfriend, so I have a motive to kill my wife. But thankfully, I have been in a relationship with my last girlfriend for many years. But if someone sees me with you now , that’s exactly what the police want.” Sadly, I have to admit that he was right to do so.Although I'm glad to hear that he doesn't have a girlfriend, on the other hand I really want to be his girlfriend.But of course I wouldn't be stupid to say that. Witold again asked for my name and address.I promised that at the next secret meeting I would identify myself to him.Then I suggest to meet in Heidelberg next week, in the center of the bustling commercial street, such as at the entrance of that department store; we can completely disappear in the flow of tourists without being easily noticed.Witold felt that was inappropriate. "I kept running into people I knew well in Heidelberg," he said, but he seemed to have agreed to such a meeting in principle.He must urgently need to tell people about the previous tense days, and no one would normally talk to him about this kind of thing.Finally, we agreed to meet in a car park in the Odenwald, where, as I said, the chances of running into acquaintances are rare. I drove home two hours later.At dusk, a solitary apple tree grows on a gentle hill, and the shadows of the trees on the slope, the birds flying slowly and the setting sun in the west, all these are surprisingly beautiful to me, and I feel as if I It's like finally returning to life on earth after years of captivity.我傻呆地唱道：“兄弟们，到阳光中去，到自由中去。”我在平时是从不唱歌的，也绝对不会如此这般的。我感到很幸福，也满怀着希望，因为这个男人会不会喜欢我，现在已经不再是那么不现实的了。一周后，我就又能见到他了。