Translated by Jonathan Huston
Chapter 2
The news of Lene Kulm's murder reached Inspector Gideon Horlitz in the early morning. When the chubby-cheeked police trainee who had been entrusted with the urgent message finally found him, he was just visiting the site of a different human tragedy. Several people swarmed around him, most of them in uniform, talking excitedly among themselves, surveying the room with measuring tapes and plumb lines. Only one person was no longer moving: he was hanging from the ceiling on a rope, an overturned chair beneath him.
The group had come together just outside the old city centre in a side alley that was not clogged with horse carriages, workers and dawdlers. The room itself where the men were investigating the suicide was at the back of an extensive property, part of an arcade that probably had served as a retreat for its owner from the raging of the world.
Inspector Horlitz leaned over to get a better look at the work of his crime scene artist. "Good work, Bentheim. That's another fine display of your talent."
Julius Bentheim looked up briefly and smiled with gratitude. He was 19-years-old and used his sketching to earn some extra money for his legal studies. On the pastel sheet of paper, he thumbed over part of the drawing he thought was less successful, and he rubbed out a small splotch of coal. First, he reached for a piece of chalk, and then a wax pencil, improving the detail. From time to time, the policemen called out length and width measures to him. He had sketched the crime scene on a 1:25 scale, and now only a few small details were missing to complete the drawing.
Soon his work was done, and now he focused on the conversation between Gideon Horlitz and the messenger from the former Grumbkow Palace, where the police headquarters were located.
"Professor Goltz, you said?"
The young man nodded and an excited sparkle shot out of his superior's eyes.
"My Lord! A major catch."
