The sun was streaming in, and outside the weather suggested that spring really might have arrived. Von Falkenburg sipped his breakfast coffee and thought about Röderer. The man had killed himself at the worst possible moment: after he had fingered von Falkenburg, but before von Falkenburg had been able to get any information out of him. “Damn him,” von Falkenburg said to himself, “why the devil did his timing have to be so bad?” Bad for von Falkenburg, anyway. Von Falkenburg held the cup half way to his mouth as he reflected on the point. Röderer’s timing had been disastrous for von Falkenburg, which conversely meant that it had been perfect for von Falkenburg’s enemies. Could they have had a hand in Röderer’s death? But how would they have gotten Röderer to shoot himself? No, it looked like von Falkenburg’s idea led nowhere.
