She would probably spend the whole morning coaxing the machine to cough up more posters.
Consolata’s ambition had almost atrophied. She was, she believed, the typical cuckoo in the nest of optimists. When she stopped to let the copier cool, she rolled a cigarette. The nicotine improved her mood a little. Those she had been at school with or known at university were mostly married and pushing prams, had jobs or had flown to freedom. She soldiered on, knew her enemies but not her allies. She could see, through the glass window in the door, the committee: men and women satisfied that they were ‘in the vanguard of changing attitudes’, ignoring her. She was, they thought, a ‘doubter’, perhaps even a ‘heretic’. Again, she started the machine. Again, it spluttered to life. Usually she said it to herself, but this time she shouted over the noise of the photocopier, ‘Not one of those people knows my name. We’re doing nothing. Until they know my name, we’ve failed.’
No one heard her, but more posters fell into the tray.
In her Charlottenburg apartment, the client said, ‘I like you, Mr Browne, and I like your apology. I also like your explanation of the circumstances of the error, and that you have not attempted to deflect blame from yourself. I’m impressed, too, that you came to me, your client, before going to hospital for treatment to your face. You came here as a priority and ran through the performance of my portfolio. Now you must report to the police the assault against yourself and the young woman. The police are at Bismarckstrasse, to the north of Savignyplatz.’
Jago nodded. He thought her attitude to him was pretty gracious. He had come to her door looking a mess – his tie was askew, his hands dirty, his nose still bleeding and his hair all over the place. She had led him to the bathroom, then given him a towel and soap. When he had emerged, sheepish, she had offered him a slug of schnapps. He had refused, but she’d poured it anyway. Twice during his explanation, the phone had rung – the FrauBoss. The client had been fulsome in her praise of him and had made no mention of his ‘adventure’.
‘Promise you’ll give a statement to the KrimPol on Bismarckstrasse, Mr Browne.’
She dripped money, but without ostentation. Her jewellery was discreet, her clothing simple but classic; her face and throat showed her age. Most of the pictures on the walls would have been valued at more than Jago’s annual salary.
He started to retrieve the papers he had used for his presentation. The client had three accounts: one in Zürich with Credit Suisse, one with Deutsche in Frankfurt, the third with Jago’s bank. Her money, targeted by the FrauBoss, was the stuff from which bonuses flowed.
Jago closed his briefcase. He had given her a brief description of what had happened on the pavement, just enough to account for his appearance and his reason for being four and half minutes late. Where he came from in East London, nobody went to the police to complain of a minor assault. He said softly, ‘Hardly worth it.’
‘But you should.’
‘I’m sure they have better things to do.’
They stood up. There was a trace of perfume about her. Her eyes were watery and had lost youth’s sharp lines. Her hand was on his arm and crabbed fingers clawed a grip on the material. ‘Because you do not wish to be involved?’
He tried to laugh it off. ‘Someone where I used to work, in London, would say when anything went wrong, “I expect worse things happen in Bosnia.” I don’t know much about Bosnia, or what happened there, but it’s what he always said.’
‘Was it at the new pizzeria?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Were they Italian?’
He grimaced.
‘Perhaps you’re an innocent, Mr Browne.’
He still had nothing to say.
‘Of course the police should be involved. You should stand up as a witness, Mr Browne. In Germany, still in living memory, we made an art form of avoidance. Evil flourished and we did nothing. Evil of any sort should be confronted. I am an old lady. I speak out because I have nothing to lose by doing so. For the young it may be different. Perhaps your pride is hurt because you were knocked over. Perhaps you can put the attack behind you because your place of work is on the other side of the city. Can you?’