"We are here to request an investigation into activities against young Jewish women”

Despite the assurances of Wilhelm’s uncle that Chief Inspector Dessoff would be at work, without a doubt, they both feel that it’s a risk, going to the police a day after New Year’s. Either they will be motivated, ready to start the year with a resolution of dedication, good work, and perseverance. Or they will be hungover, bleary-eyed, and foggy-headed. It’s a risk they will have to take.

The streets are cold and quiet as they walk to the central police station. Everyone should be at work, but there seems to be a silent conspiracy to remain in bed. It’s a wet January morning, after all.

In the station, no one sits behind the front desk, which is bare save for a green glass bauble. The air smells slightly musty, as if no one has bothered to open the windows.

“Surely, there are police officers on duty over the holiday?” Wilhelm asks, pushing open a window. The rush of air is damp and cold, but better than the close mustiness of the room. They open a door that leads to the inner precinct and walk toward the back of the building.

Most of the doors are ajar, and they peep in as they pass. In one, there’s a figure behind the desk. They check the brass plaque outside the door. Chief Inspector Dessoff. Excellent. They knock lightly and push the door open.

Dessoff has his feet up on a stool and is concentrating on brushing his bowler hat. He stops as they walk in.

“Company, I see,” he says. He smiles and reveals two large front teeth at odd angles.

Felix leans over the desk and holds out his hand. The inspector looks at it, looks at his hat and his hatbrush and shrugs. Felix can’t help but chuckle. Without waiting to be asked, he takes a seat as does Wilhelm.

“I do not deal with robberies.” Dessoff has started brushing his hat once more, in tiny repetitive strokes. “I do not deal with bribery or blackmail or perjury. I do not deal with physical violence.”

“We know that. And we know that you are the person to help us,” says Wilhelm.

Dessoff’s large eyebrows dip in a question.

“My uncle is Herr Arrweiler.”

A sharp nod.

Together, they outline the story. The man with the advertisement, which Felix has clipped and now slips across the desk for Dessoff to examine. The man finally puts down his hat and brush, and looks at it closely.

“And this is the man that attacked you?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Did you not hear me say earlier that I do not deal with physical violence? There are enough thugs in the station who take an interest in those kind of cases.”

“We are not here to launch a complaint about physical assault. We are here to request an investigation into activities against young Jewish women.”