“What’s his name?”
“Ernst Hausman.”
“Has he ever been to this country?”
“No. I hear from my sister several times a year; I think she’d have told me if he came here.”
“Where does he live?”
“In Hamburg. I don’t have his address. He works at a cigarette factory, I believe.”
“Social work, huh? Helping out his fellow man.”
Mitteldorfer shrugged. “He doesn’t have my conscience.”
“Stone, you got any questions?”
“Mr. Mitteldorfer,” Stone said, “do you have any regular correspondents besides your sister?”
Mitteldorfer hesitated for a moment. “There’s a woman I once worked with,” he said finally. “We write from time to time.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Do you have any regular visitors?”
“Just the woman,” he replied.
“What is her name?”
“I do hope you won’t drag her into whatever this is about,” Mitteldorfer said, pleading in his voice.
“What is her name?” Dino demanded.
“Eloise Enzberg,” he replied softly.
“She live in the city?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He gave Dino an address in the East Eighties. “I hope you won’t find it necessary to visit her. She’s a very proper sort of person, and she would be shocked if the police knocked on her door.”
“What sort of work do you do here?” Stone asked.
“I’m the office manager,” Mitteldorfer said. “I oversee the prison bookkeeping, and I hire and train other prisoners to do office work.”
Dino broke in. “Have you cut anybody’s throat lately, Herbert?”
Mitteldorfer looked horrified. “Please. I think you’re aware that my crime was one of passion. I’m not the sort of person ever to repeat it.”
“Does Ms. Enzberg know what you’re in here for?” Dino asked.
“Yes, she does. She read about it in the papers when you arrested me, and after the trial she wrote to me.”
Stone was becoming uncomfortable with this. Mitteldorfer was a mild little man, much different than Stone remembered. He seemed to have served his time well, and there was no point in persecuting him. “That’s it for me, Dino,” he said. “You ready to go?”