Frau Fuchs, a young widow
sitting in front of them, reminded Thomas of Zeng Pu’s Fu Caiyun. And, to be fair, he wasn’t the one to blame her for that: the old grunt Fuchs was a real bastard, one of a kind. If they say, de mortuis aut bene, aut nihil, Thomas would s pit on his grave silently; widow’s decision to cremate his decrepit body and scatter the ashes over Spree was quite ironical. That was where he belonged, just among all the wastes of local factories criminally privatized by him in the 90s, and the bodies of drowned debtors, which he and his gang have been bringing there for years.
She was a short, brown-eyed brunette, dressed in a short white skirt and a chiffon blouse of the same colour. Max was shamelessly checking her thin figure, placed into an uncomfortable chair, out. Thomas did his best calming down not to throw something at him to get that grin off his dumb freckled face. Although, judging by the fact that the widow herself was smiling easily at him, she didn’t mind that at all. Thomas was never a sexist, he would have thrown something at her too.
“Huth,” he barked, making the hearts in Max’ eyes disperse, “bring me frau’s record.”
“Well,” he coughed instead of a regular greeting when the assistant was finally out the cabinet, and opened his tablet with the girl’s file on it. It wasn’t that at least a single person in their town didn’t know who she was, though. “I suppose we can start now.”
“Stay off,” Thomas texted him then, pretending he’s filling the interrogation record a little longer. The widow only smiled at him graciously and took out her smartphone.
“What,” the boy answered immediately, “why?”
“I need you to enter the base.”
“Frau Fuchs, you were born in Augsburg and raised in Zurich, right?” he asked as soon as typed out the sentence; the girl simply nodded. “Entered the local Institute for Electronics,
but left. Do not share why?”
“I thought you got access on your tablet,” Max sent him, and Thomas even regretted he wasn’t here, son of a bitch.
“Sure,” he should’ve interrupted her rudely, if only he cared, “But at the same time, you’re fluent in eight languages, aren’t you?”
“You thought, aha.”
“I guess you counted German and Swiss German as two, and I’m fine with that,” she laughed half-heartedly, “But I also learned English and French before twelve years old, then Spanish, Portuguese, Danish and Dutch.”
“Wait, aren’t you suspecting her,” Max continued.
“Gosh, she lost her husband, you remember.”
“Insanely impressive,” he played out a surprised tone.
“That’s nothing,” the girl chuckled quietly and their looks met. Thomas shivered from discomfort; her husband must have taught her some psychological tips.
“Shut up and get ready,” he typed, distracting himself from that feeling.
“Yes, sir,” he got an answer then,“you jerk.”
“You said you learned English and French before twelve?” Thomas inquired.
“My parents died when I was ten, as you already know from your file,” she started, and he suddenly felt himself again in the high school: trying desperately to look as attentive as possible while texting with friends. An only correction was Max wasn’t exactly his friend; he was a nonce.
“Her parents.”
“What,” he answered, but corrected himself earlier than Thomas could told him something not so pleasant,“uh, frau Fuchs’.”
“Their house set on fire late at night.”
“The girl called the fire department when it was already too late.”
“I know what you’re thinking ‘bout now, and stop it.”
“She was ten years old, come on.”
“When I speak another language, I’m like turning into a completely different person, and it makes me forget about all the pain I’ve suffered, even if just for a few hours,” she lowered her gaze at the tiled flour. “I know that’s crazy.”
“Was it the same with other languages?” Thomas softened his voice to sound delicate.
“I think so,” he wanted to laugh at how easily she went for it. “I learned Spanish and Portuguese after my grandparents’ of my father’s side death.”
“Grandparents,” he sent after, ignoring everything he’s written earlier.
“Fine, whatever,” Thomas could swear he heard him habitually sigh, “Which ones?”
“By her maiden name.”
“Give me a sec.”
“Carbon monoxide poisoning.”
“Three years ago, she was at her friend place, and when arrived,
found their bodies in the garage.”
“After I lose my close friend I learned Danish,” she continued with eyes glued to the flour, and Thomas had no need to pretend he’s not chatting anymore.
“Some friend.”
“Well, that’s quite troublesome, don’t you think,” Max answered cockily, and he rolled his eyes.
“She was a witness, use a contest search.”
“Oh, there is the one,” the boy sent half a minute after.
“The boy fell out of the window, she found him.”
“And a funny thing, she called the ambulance first, yet there was another call after her, by someone in hysterics, crying out that he had found the dead body.”
“But if she found him first, wouldn’t she say that she had already called the ambulance.”
“’kay, that’s a bit strange.”
“And Dutch after my firstborn passed away,” her voice cracked artistically, and Thomas played out a sympathy.
“I’m so sorry,” he comforted her, feeling poor Stanislavski spinning in his grave.
“Her kid.”
“Strangled by the umbilical cord, she was giving birth at home.”
“And the corpse of the baby was not sent for autopsy, and this, in addition to being absolutely abnormal, also contradicts all the requirements for conducting a forensic examination.”
“I’m returning now.”
“And what should we do?”
“Frau Fuchs,” he perked up, willing to deal with her before Max returns, “your signature here and you can be free.”
He gave her a tablet and a stylus, she signed, and he’d already wanted to take it back, when
the widow twisted her wrist so that a small tattoo appeared from under the sleeve of her blouse. “ Outside noisy, inside empty” it said, a generally known Chinese proverb. Thomas couldn’t believe she would get a tattoo of something she wasn’t common with. Then, why did she decide not to mention she also has spoken Chinese?
“Zhu ni yi tian yu kuai,” he breathed out, when she took her handbag and wanted to step out the cabinet.
“Duo xie,” she smiled once again, without a second thought. Max ran into the door a moment after, earning a great view on the scornful grimace on her face. She snorted and went out, slamming the door.
“She speaks Chinese?” Max raised his eyebrows. “We’re so lucky you’re such a nerd.”
Thomas signed and looked for something to throw at him.
“But what should we do?” the boy repeated then foolishly and ran a hand through his overgrown reddish hair.
“Correct eight to nine.”
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