I turned and marched back down the hall, willing myself not to glance at the photograph.  If I did not look, perhaps it would not be true.

“Fraulein Vogel,” called Kommissar Lang.  I heard him sprinting after me.

Something was amiss.  Would he demand to see my papers again, papers I still did not have?  I envisioned myself bolting through the front door of the police station, but instead I turned to him, ready to concoct a story of lost papers.

“You forgot my autograph,” he panted.

“I do apologize.”  Relief flooded over me.  “It slipped my mind.  I am so late for the Becker trial.”

Kommissar Lang nodded.  “The rapist who targeted schoolgirls in the park?”

“That one.”  Any other day I would have asked him about his involvement in the case, but today I needed to get away before I broke down.

He thrust the paper at me.

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