Desert Fire by David Hagberg

hurt.”
    â€œI’ll get to the hospital on my own, Patrolman. As soon as a KP officer shows up, have him report to me. In the meantime, I want you people out of here and all entrances secured.”
    The cop was confused. “The man out there is dead … Shall we call for the coroner?”
    â€œThis is a simple suicide, for the moment. The victim is not German, and what’s more, he has diplomatic immunity.”
    â€œThe woman … she was armed.”
    â€œShe too is not German. Return her weapon to her, with my apologies. She will be allowed to remain in the apartment.”
    â€œVery good, sir.” The cop turned on his heel and began issuing orders.
    Roemer quickly searched the bedroom, beneath the mattress, in the drawers of a large chest and in the Schrank. But there was nothing else of interest.

    The apartment had quieted. Leila stood in the doorway, looking very angry.
    â€œHave you called your embassy?” he asked.
    â€œThey are on their way.” She held out her hand. “I want it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhatever it is you found in here. Letters. Notes. Files. They are of no concern to you, and in fact may contain information classified by the State of Iraq.”
    â€œA pretty speech,” Roemer said.
    â€œI demand …”
    â€œYou’re in no position to demand anything, Fräulein Kahled. You are on German soil now.”
    â€œThere will be a lot of trouble over this, Investigator.”
    â€œThe name is Walther Roemer.”
    â€œHow do you know my name?”
    â€œYou would be surprised at the extent of my knowledge.”
    Someone called his name from the corridor. Roemer walked out to the living room as Lieutenant Manning, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his long tan overcoat open, charged through the open door.
    â€œGuten Morgen, Lieutenant,” Roemer said wearily.
    Manning took in Pavli’s body, Leila just behind Roemer and the wound in Roemer’s arm.
    â€œHe’s dead,” Roemer said. “Self-inflicted gunshot wound.”
    â€œHas an ambulance been called for you?”
    â€œI’ll manage on my own,” Roemer said. “The boy is Ahmed Pavli, an Iraqi citizen, with, I’m told, diplomatic immunity. However, he was, and this scene is, material to our investigation into the Sharazad Razmarah murder.”
    Manning looked at Pavli’s body. “Did he kill Sarah?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Manning looked up. “The woman?”
    â€œLeila Kahled. An Iraqi who also enjoys diplomatic immunity.”

    â€œYou’re a cop?” Manning asked her.
    â€œYes, Lieutenant,” Leila said. “And I wish this apartment to be secured immediately.”
    Manning’s eyebrows rose. “Has your embassy been contacted, Fräulein?”
    â€œIt has.”
    Manning looked at Roemer, then back to Leila. “Very well, we shall wait until the proper diplomatic authorities arrive. But I will have to ask you to remain on the scene. There will be questions.”
    â€œNaturally,” Leila said gruffly.
    â€œAnd now, Investigator Roemer, if you would care to step outside, I would like to have a word with you,” Manning said.
    â€œSure.” But before Roemer left he hunched down over Pavli’s body.
    â€œDo not touch him …” Leila started, but then she realized Roemer was just closing the man’s eyes.
    Roemer followed Manning outside. A crowd had already formed, and the uniformed police were busy dispersing it.
    â€œAre you all right?” Manning asked. They stopped at his unmarked car.
    â€œJust a superficial wound. Hurts like hell, though.”
    â€œWhat happened up there?”
    â€œThe man shot himself.”
    â€œWhat brought you here?”
    â€œHe was Sarah Razmarah’s boyfriend. I came to talk to him.”
    Manning nodded. “And the woman?”
    â€œI think Pavli telephoned her this