“Our translator,” he said.
She was a short stocky woman of indeterminate age, with hair lacquered into a wide globe around her head, like a golden motorcycle helmet. She was wearing a gray dress, some kind of thick gabardine, as stout as a uniform tunic, and thick wool stockings, and shoes that might have weighed two pounds each.
She said, “Good morning,” in a voice that sounded like a movie star.
Griezman said, “Shall we go in?”
Reacher asked, “What does Mr. Klopp do for the city?”
“His job? He’s a clerical supervisor. At the moment for the Department of Sewers.”
“Is he happy in his work?”
“He’s in an office. It’s not what you would call a hands-on position. He seems happy enough. His performance reviews are good. He’s considered meticulous.”
“Why the weird hours?”
“Are they weird?”
“You told us he starts early and finishes after lunch. That sounds manual to me, not clerical.”
Griezman said a long word in German, the name of something, and the translator said, “There was a proposal to reduce pollution by reducing congestion at rush hour. Workers were encouraged to stagger their office hours. Naturally local government was expected to set an example. Clearly the Department of Sewers voted for the early start and the early finish. Or they got stuck with it. But either way the city has announced that beneficial results are already visible. The latest tests show particulate emissions have lessened more than seventeen percent.”
She made it sound like the greatest thing ever. Like a 1940s movie, black and white, a giant silver screen, the straightlaced guy agreeing to do the very bad thing, all because of the breathy way she asked him.
“Ready?” Griezman said.
They went in, and Helmut Klopp looked up. Like Griezman had said, he seemed happy enough. He was center stage for once. And ready to enjoy it. A frustrated man, probably. German, but an easterner in the west, with all an immigrant’s resentments. Griezman made an opening statement in German, and Klopp replied, and the translator said, “You have been introduced as top-level operatives who have come from America at a moment’s notice.”
Reacher said, “And how did Mr. Klopp answer?”
“He said he’s ready to help in any way he can.”
“I don’t think he did.”
“Do you speak German?”
“Maybe I picked some up. I’ve been here before. I understand you’re only being polite, but my sergeant and I have both heard worse than anything this guy can say. And accuracy is more important than our feelings. This could be a very serious situation.”
The translator glanced at Griezman, who nodded.
She said, “The witness told us he’s glad they sent white people.”
“OK,” Reacher said. “Tell Mr. Klopp he’s an important figure in a current operation. Tell him we intend to debrief him thoroughly across all policy areas. Tell him we want to hear his opinions and his advice. But we have to start somewhere, and the beginning is always best, so our initial focus will be a detailed physical and behavioral description of the two men. Starting, randomly, with the American. First we want to hear it in his own words, and then we’re going to show him some photographs.”
The translator said it all in German, facing Klopp, with animation and careful enunciation. Klopp followed along, nodding gravely, as if contemplating a long task of great difficulty, but willing to give it his best.
Reacher said, “Does Mr. Klopp go to that bar often?”
The translator translated, and Klopp answered, quite long, and the translator said, “He goes either two or three times a week. He has two favorite bars, which he rotates to match his five-day work pattern.”
“How long has he been going to that bar?”
“Nearly two years.”
“Has he seen the American in that bar before?”
There was a pause. Thinking time. Then, some German, and, “Yes, he thinks he saw him there two or possibly three months ago.”
“Thinks?”
“He’s as sure as he can be. The gentleman he’s thinking of two or three months ago was wearing a hat at the time. Which makes it hard to be certain. He would be prepared to admit he might be wrong.”
“What kind of hat?”
“A baseball cap.”
“Anything on it?”
“He thinks a red star. But it was hard to see.”
“Long time ago, too.”
“He’s remembering it by the weather.”
“But either way the American is not a regular customer.”
“No, he’s not.”
“How does he know the guy is American?”
There was a long consultation. A long list. The translator said, “He was speaking English. His accent. The loudness of his voice. The way he dressed. The way he moved.”
“OK,” Reacher said. “Now we need a description. Did he see the American standing up or sitting down?”
“Both. Walking in, sitting alone, sitting with the Arab, sitting alone again, and walking out.”
“How tall is the American?”