Rheinhardt and Liebermann entered the building and without exchanging words or glances ascended the stairs to the inspector’s office. Rheinhardt sat behind his desk and removed a stack of forms from one of the drawers. He picked up his pen and prepared to take a statement from his friend, but was distracted by the sweet fragrance of his wife’s baking. Reaching to the back of the drawer, he found the box of Linzer biscotten, which he took out and pushed towards Liebermann. ‘Else made them.’ ‘In which case …’ Liebermann bit through the thick, brittle crust of icing. The shortbread crumbled and he had to perform some complex manoeuvres to stop jam from dropping onto his trousers. ‘She makes them in the shape of hearts. Do you think that says anything about her character?’ Liebermann drew back a little. ‘Are you really asking me to analyse your wife’s choice of pastry cutter?’ ‘I was just wondering — that’s all.’ Rheinhardt acknowledged his friend’s censorious look and, pushing the final quarter of his own biscuit into his already crowded mouth, picked up the pen again.
