she found the name Birkner and a phone number next to it. Two tick-
ets had been ordered under that name. “When was this order made?”
Bertram Vogt glanced at the list. “We started advance sales four
weeks ago. I’d guess this entry was made a week ago, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Were you the one who took this reservation?”
“No. That’s my wife’s handwriting. Whoever is free to answer
the phone writes the name, the number of tickets, and the telephone
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number under the date. Look, the handwriting is always different. This was written by my wife. This is Antje’s handwriting, and that—”
“That’s all right. I don’t need to know this,” Lina said before sip-
ping her espresso, which was so hot and strong that she felt her brain finally jolt wide awake.
Bertram Vogt was about to close the book, but Lina put her hand
on the open page. “I’m sorry if I was impolite. If I’d had your espresso before, it wouldn’t have happened.” She smiled and the innkeeper’s
furrowed brow smoothed. “Could you make me a copy of this?” She
fluttered her eyelashes, a trick she always found a little much but which always worked, or almost always.
The innkeeper flashed a smile and disappeared into a nook behind
the bar, which probably served as an office. When he came back, Lina went through the list once more. “The name is crossed out. Does that mean the two tickets were picked up?”
“Not always. It means that we no longer have to hold on to them.
He might have called and canceled, but that’s not likely. It can also happen that people order more tickets than they need.”
“So he could have been here alone?”
“Possibly, but who attends a concert alone?”
They heard voices from the kitchen. Assuming that the cook wasn’t
talking to himself and using different voices, one of the other employees must have arrived. Lina looked at Bertram Vogt, who disappeared
again. She heard his deep voice and shortly afterward two women came to the bar. That was lucky.
Jule Wollschütter looked like a typical business student. She wore
her long blond hair in a braid. Sabrina Prost looked older, but maybe only because of her staid appearance. She was small and rotund, with short brown hair. She recognized Philip immediately.
“Oh sure, he sat back there,” she said and pointed to one of the
long tables on the left of the entrance. “With two women.”
“Two women? Are you sure?” Lina asked.
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Maria C. Poets
“Well, anyway, he had a lively conversation with the one who sat
next to him. They seemed to know each other, and the woman knew
the other one.”
“Did the three arrive together?”
“Sorry, that I don’t know. Antje sat at the cash register last night.”
“Are you sure they knew each other? Could it be they just met by
chance?”
Sabrina Prost thought about it. “Could be,” she conceded after a
while. “However, the two of them, the man and one of the women,
were pretty familiar with each other for people who just met. If you get my drift.”
Lina had an idea what the woman meant, but hunches didn’t go
over well in a police report. “No, I don’t quite get it. What do you mean by ‘familiar’?”
“Well, they were making out with each other. Lost to the world.”
“And the second woman just sat there?”
“After a while, she wasn’t there anymore. Jule, did you see the sec-
ond woman later?”
“No. I didn’t pay attention to any of that. My tables were the ones
behind them. All I picked up on was that at the end of the evening
both of them were plastered and couldn’t keep their hands off each
other.”
“Who? The two women?”
“No, the man and one of them.”
“So this was one of your tables?” Lina asked Sabrina Prost. She
wondered whether the server responded to every “Prost” she heard at
work (unless the more international “Cheers!” was used at the new
Waldschänke).
“Only as long as the box office was open. Then it belonged to
Antje’s area.”
“So, it’s possible that the three arrived together, but equally pos-
sible that the man and the two women came here separately. The man
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Dead Woods
and one of them talk with each other . . . very intimately . . . and at one point, the second woman disappeared. The couple remained. Am
I right so far?”
“They even left together. Rather late. They were the last guests.
And like I said, they were really drunk, both of them.”
“They weren’t just really drunk, they were totally wasted,” said Jule.
Lina looked from one to the other. Sabrina shrugged. “All right,
they were excessively tipsy.” She grinned. “The boss doesn’t like