The Child by Sebastian Fitzek Page A

opened before he could say ‘Come in’. The first to enter was the male nurse everyone in the hospital called Picasso, although Müller could detect nothing artistic about his uncouth exterior. Picasso’s right hand rested on the shoulder of a little boy, and was gently propelling him into the office.
    ‘Hello Simon.’ Brandmann heaved his bulk out of the visitor’s chair and greeted the boy with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. Simon just nodded shyly. He was wearing pale-blue jeans with patch pockets, a cord jacket and a pair of brand-new white trainers. The headphones of an MP3 player dangled from his neck.
    Müller came out from behind his lectern. ‘How are you feeling today?’
    The boy looked quite well, but that could have been down to his wig, which tended to distract attention from his pallor.
    ‘Pretty good. A bit tired, that’s all.’
    ‘Fine.’ While speaking to Simon, Müller drew himself up in an attempt to offset the inspector’s obvious height advantage. ‘This gentleman is from the police. He would like to ask you some questions about what happened the day before yesterday. To be more precise, he wants to carry out a test on you, and I’m not sure if I should ask you to undergo it.’
    ‘What sort of test?’
    Brandmann cleared his throat and took great care to give the boy a disarming smile.
    ‘Simon, do you know what a lie detector is?’

10
    The Hackescher Markt district of Berlin seldom had a parking space when you needed one, so Borchert simply double-parked his four-wheel drive when they reached their destination in Rosenthaler Strasse. Stern had spent the drive from Moabit to the city centre making various phone calls, among them one to Information. This had yielded several entries for Dr Johann Tiefensee. To his surprise, Tiefensee proved to be a psychiatrist as well as a psychologist; in other words, a qualified medical man. He was even, it seemed, a lecturer in medical hypnosis at Humboldt University.
    ‘Just a moment, Robert.’
    Stern, in the act of undoing his seat belt, felt Borchert’s hand close on his wrist like a vice.
    ‘You may be able to kid that girl Carina, but I’m not buying it.’
    Stern tried to free his hand but failed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
    ‘Why are you playing the gravedigger? The defence lawyer I know only sets foot outside his house for a fee, he certainly doesn’t work for mentally disturbed children. No, let me have my say.’
    Stern’s arm had gone numb, Borchert was squeezing his wrist so hard. He seemed quite unaware of the drivers tooting him as they drove past.
    ‘I’m not an idiot. Lawyers like you don’t skedaddle from the police for no reason, so tell me why we didn’t wait at the haulage depot.’
    ‘I didn’t want any aggro with Engler, that’s all.’
    ‘Bullshit. You’ll get aggro in spades if old Giesbach spills the beans. So what’s going on?’
    Stern looked through the tinted window on the passenger side. The street was busy, the wide pavement teeming with people. It was only late October, but the window of the Café an der Ecke was already sporting a Santa Claus.
    ‘You’re right,’ he said with a sigh. Allowed to move his hand at last, he reached inside his jacket. Borchert raised his eyebrows when the DVD was held under his nose. ‘This was among my mail yesterday.’
    ‘What’s on it?’
    In lieu of a reply, Stern inserted the disc in the CD player and the little satnav screen lit up.
    ‘See for yourself.’
    He shut his eyes and waited for the sinister voice to ooze from the car’s speakers like poison gas. Instead all he heard was a faint hiss.
    ‘Is this your idea of a joke, Robert?’
    Mystified, Stern opened his eyes and peered at the screen, which was flecked with red.
    ‘I don’t understand.’ He pressed a button, hurriedly withdrew the DVD from the player and examined it for scratches from every angle. ‘It must have got damaged. It was all there last night.’
    Or were those