“That’s all right, Frau Berger. I don’t need to know the exact time.
But would you happen to know where Frau Jensen lives now?”
“She wrote it down for me. Wait a moment. I’ll check. I must have
the note somewhere . . .”
Without looking at Max, the old woman turned around and saun-
tered to her front door. Max noticed only now that the apron she wore over her dress was tied the wrong way around, and that she wore two
different socks. He followed her, and even though he took the longer way, on the sidewalk, he arrived at the door before her. The old woman unlocked the door and went in. The hallway was painted in a light
color, photos of nature scenes hung on the walls, and it smelled pleasantly fresh. It was not what he had expected to find in the house of an old lady.
“My grandson did those,” Frau Berger said proudly and pointed to
the pictures. “He lives with me, with his girlfriend.”
“And Jonas?”
42
Dead Woods
“Jonas? What Jonas? I don’t know a Jonas.”
She was standing in her hallway and looked at Max with a mixture
of confusion and fear.
“And who are you, by the way? What do you want here?”
“Frau Berger, I’m Max Berg from Major Crimes, Hamburg. I’m
here because you were going to give me the address of your neighbor, Frau Jensen.”
“My neighbor’s address? You’re talking nonsense, young man. She
lives next door, of course. Why don’t you just go there if you want
something from her? What an outrage! And in the middle of the day.
Scram, before I call the police. What gall! Honestly . . .”
Max slowly stepped back, smiling, talking to the old lady in a
soothing tone.
“Yes, Frau Berger, I’m leaving. And you don’t have to call the
police. I’m from the police myself. Don’t worry. I’m out of here.”
The old woman watched him suspiciously and slammed the door
shut after him, grumbling loudly.
Max sighed and looked at his watch. With some luck he might
still be able to talk with someone at the forest ranger’s lodge in the Niendorfer Gehege. It wouldn’t take him long to get to the little forest.
He took his phone out of his jacket and dialed the number, which he
had saved earlier. He was lucky. Herr Behnke, the forest ranger, picked up after the second ring. He was still in the woods and promised to
wait for him.
Twenty minutes later, after GPS had guided him unerringly
through the Niendorfer Gehege, Max parked in a yard that was sur-
rounded by small red wooden houses. The flat buildings seemed to be
mostly sheds. A tall, sturdily built man with fashionably neat stubble came out of one of the buildings. He was in jeans and a T-shirt. His face and arms were tanned. Max guessed he was not older than twenty-nine. His deep voice had made him sound older on the phone.
43
Maria C. Poets
“Herr Behnke?” Max shouted and went toward him. Behnke nod-
ded and quickly took in Max’s jacket and good shoes. Max introduced
himself and shook the young man’s hand. He had a warm, strong
handshake, neither too firm nor too weak.
“Freaking shit, the dead man,” Behnke said, managing the feat of
not appearing disrespectful.
Max nodded. “I wanted to ask you whether you’ve noticed any-
thing out of the ordinary today or recently—in the forest in general and especially near the scene of the crime.”
Tobias Behnke was laughing. “You couldn’t have formulated the
question in more general terms, even if you’d wanted to.”
Max had to agree. He smiled but did not make his question more
precise.
“I thought about it, of course,” said the forest ranger, “when I realized this morning that a dead body was found here, in my forest.” He shrugged. “I know that it’s not ‘my’ forest—but then again, it really is.
I’m responsible for it and have to protect and take care of it. And then for such a thing to happen . . .” He trailed off. It felt as if he considered the dead man a blemish that someone had inflicted on the forest—a
disgrace, a flaw that would be part of it from now on. He spoke as if the murder had robbed the forest of its innocence. Behnke shook his head.
“Let’s take a short walk.” He looked at Max’s shoes, “Or maybe not?”
Max smiled. “They aren’t as delicate as they look,” he said. “Besides, they’re just shoes.”
They passed a few gnarled, overgrown hornbeams and shortly
afterward walked by a beautiful house on a huge plot. Max was about
to ask the ranger about it when Behnke started to explain. “The for-