one die from such a thing? Sure, he was still alive when I left—I know that for sure—but . . .”
Lina looked at the woman in front of her for a long time. Franziska
Leyhausen had started to cry and wiped away tears with her hand. Lina 157
Maria C. Poets
fished for a handkerchief in her desk drawer and pushed the entire
package toward her.
“But he might still be alive if I hadn’t just left him alone.” She blew her nose.
“Why didn’t you come forward when you heard about it?” Lina
asked.
Franziska Leyhausen shrugged. “I was afraid you’d arrest me. I was
afraid you’d think I was responsible for Philip’s death.” She sobbed.
“And in a way . . . I am guilty.”
The reception area of the emergency room in the university hospi-
tal at Eppendorf was very busy. Three people injured in a severe car accident had just been brought in. Doctors and nurses rushed, somehow reassuringly calm, along the corridors, and patients who—it was
assumed—could tolerate a longer wait sat on plastic chairs in the waiting area. Max Berg went to the reception desk, showed his badge, and explained that he wanted to talk with the patient Niels Hinrichsen.
“You want to talk with him? Good luck with that,” the clerk said
and gave him a room number. Max slowly walked along the long hall-
way. He was about to knock on the door, when his cell phone rang.
“Max, it’s Lina.” He went to a nearby window to talk in privacy.
“The Leyhausen woman is our unknown lady from the Waldschänke.
And in addition, she knows Daniel Vogler, Frank Jensen’s colleague.”
She told him briefly what Franziska Leyhausen had testified to so far.
“And?” Max asked, “Are you keeping her?”
“We haven’t finished the interrogation.” Lina was silent for a
moment. “Hanno wants her arraigned, but I think her story adds up.
I believe her.”
“You have a strange gut reaction,” said Max.
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After an irritated silence, Lina asked, “What do you mean by that?”
She steeled herself.
“You have far less evidence against Katja Ansmann.” He heard her
breathe in deeply and continued quickly. “Just a thought. Your gut
reaction is usually on target.”
Slightly disgruntled, Lina said good-bye. Max returned to the
room of a witness who, as he now knew, was also a suspect in the crime.
They had put Niels Hinrichsen in a private room. He wore one of
the hospital-issued white gowns and had a huge bandage around his
head where they had stitched up the wound to his temple. The man’s
eyes were closed and he smelled disgusting. His mouth was moving as
if he were chewing on something, and he groaned every now and then.
When Max quietly knocked on the door, Niels Hinrichsen had not
responded. When Max now cleared his throat, the man turned toward
him but seemed to look right through him. “Good morning,” Max said
in a friendly tone. No response.
“Maybe you don’t remember me, but we met yesterday, in the for-
est, with Herr Barsfeld. Do you remember?” No reaction. But Niels
Hinrichsen’s gaze followed Max as he pulled up a chair and sat down.
Was Hinrichsen sedated?
“Some horses were on a visit in the woods, a young one and its
mother.”
Hinrichsen’s eyes lit up for a second.
“You showed me the stone that a knight hit with his sword a long
time ago. Do you know which one I mean? The one with the groove.”
“Yes, the knights. They fought.” The voice sounded hoarse but also
strangely young, like a child’s voice. It did not match the wrinkly face with the gray beard.
Max hesitated for a moment. “You’ve also fought today, haven’t
you?”
Hinrichsen turned his head away. “Done nothing wrong.”
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“I didn’t say you did.” Max paused again. “Fighting isn’t always a
bad thing. Sometimes you have to do it.”
“The man was evil.”
Max tilted his head. “Which man?”
“The woman scolded him and clobbered him because he was so
nasty.”
“Do you mean the woman with whom you fought today?”
“Didn’t fight. Not like knights. I’ve got no sword.” Niels Hinrichsen looked at his dirty hands, which contrasted with the sparkling white blanket. He seemed to ask himself for the first time where he was. He lifted his head and looked around.
“What man was the woman angry with?” Max said, trying again,
but the moment had passed.
Niels was scanning his surroundings more and more frantically, as
if he were trying to figure out how he had landed here. “Where’s my
cap? I wanna have my cap. I need it!” He got louder, sat up, and was about to get out of bed.
“Herr Hinrichsen, you better lie down again. You’re injured. Have