A Time for Scandal [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONEShe had buttocks hke a horse. A thoroughbred, naturally. Smooth, firm and rounded, mobile and mettlesome. There was a seductive, stupefying scent about her - or so he guessed.In short, a first-rate filly capable of winning any class of race for her owner of the moment. No doubt she had her price. Whatever it was, Harald Fein could pay it. As things stood.For the moment he seemed content to survey the lovely female specimen from a distance, meditatively. It was the third time he had kept watch in two weeks-or was it the fourth time in three weeks? He couldn't remember.She emerged from her usual haunt, the bar on the corner, and sauntered towards the apartment house. Her heels tapped out a slow but purposeful rhythm on a sidewalk. She must be expecting a visitor, perhaps a succession of visitors. Harald Fein wondered who would be first in Une this time. He already knew several of her regulars by sight and one in particular.It was the sort of late summer evening which is only possible in Munich, with opalescent shades of blue that merged with the gathering gloom but threw everything into focus. Sharply silhouetted buildings, human figures like cardboard cut-outs, the streets a blue-grey wash appUed with a loaded brush.There was Uttle movement at this hour - a few cars, a few pedestrians, scarcely a dog in sight. It was time for the simultaneous ingestion of supper and TV news broadcasts, a habit which was boosting the incidence of unwonted gastric disorders in an age noted for its multitude of strange new aihnents.Harald Fein, sitting in his parked car beside the kerb, looked watchful and faintly amused. He smiled to himself as he registered what went on around him. His patience seemed inexhaustible.Harald Fein, some days later, while being interrogated by the CID, otherwise termed 'assisting the police with their inquiries':