“Lieutenant Kloster? This is Kapitän Löffler, Statspolizei.” (state police).

Kloster was about to correct the policeman for cutting him down in rank—he was, after all, an Oberleutnant—but he stopped himself; the name Löffler rang a bell. If memory served him right, the man was actually one of the more competent investigators within the police ranks in Oranienburg.

“Yes, Captain, what can I do for you?” Horst replied, almost graciously.

“I’m afraid I have some sad news, sir.”

A thousand questions went through Horst’s unscrupulous and suspicious mind. Had Schinkel been in an accident? Had a former lover he had bedded been indiscreet? Did it have something to do with Ziller’s untimely death? Horst could have gone on, but he detected a seriousness in the man’s voice that his instinct told him wasn’t concerning a trivial matter. 

“All right, what is so important? Out with it.”

“Otto Saufman is dead,” Löffler replied curtly.

“He’s what!?” Horst nearly shouted, barely containing himself. “Did I hear you right? Otto, dead?”

“Yes. He’s dead.”