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Walter went on: "And if Carla is right, they will try to discourage inquiries, withhold information, and intimidate the parents of the dead children by suggesting that their questions are somehow illegitimate."
Erik looked less comfortable about that.
Half an hour ago Walter had been a shrunken man. Now somehow he seemed to fill his suit again. "We will find out as soon as we start asking questions."
Carla said: "I'm going to see Frieda."
Her mother said: "Don't you have to go to work?"
"I'm on the late shift."
Carla phoned Frieda, told her that Kurt was dead too, and said she was coming to talk about it. She put on her coat, hat, and gloves, then wheeled her bicycle outside. She was a fast rider and it took her only a quarter of an hour to get to the Francks' villa in Schoneberg.
The butler let her in and told her the family were still in the dining room. As soon as she walked in, Frieda's father, Ludwig Franck, bellowed at her: "What did they tell you at the Wannsee children's home?"
Carla did not much like Ludwig. He was a right-wing bully and he had supported the Nazis in the early days. Perhaps he had changed his views: many businessmen had by now, though they showed little sign of the humility that ought to go with having been so wrong.
She did not answer immediately. She sat down at the table and looked at the family: Ludwig, Monika, Werner, and Frieda, and the butler hovering in the background. She collected her thoughts.
"Come on, girl, answer me!" Ludwig demanded. He had in his hand a letter that looked very like Ada's, and he was waving it angrily.
Monika put a restraining hand on her husband's arm. "Take it easy, Ludi."
"I want to know!" he said.
Carla looked at his pink face and little black mustache. He was in an agony of grief, she saw. In other circumstances she would have refused to speak to someone so rude. But he had an excuse for his bad manners, and she decided to overlook them. "The director, Professor Willrich, told us there was a new treatment for Kurt's condition."
"The same as he told us," said Ludwig. "What kind of treatment?"
"I asked him that question. He said I would not be able to understand it. I persisted, and he said it involved drugs, but he did not give any further information. May I see your letter, Herr Franck?"
Ludwig's expression said he was the one who should be asking questions, but he handed the sheet of paper to Carla.
It was exactly the same as Ada's, and Carla had a queer feeling that the typist had done several of them, just changing the names.
Franck said: "How can two boys have died of appendicitis at the same time? It's not a contagious illness."
Carla said: "Kurt certainly did not die of appendicitis, for he had no appendix. It was removed two years ago."
"Right," said Ludwig. "That's enough talk." He snatched the letter from Carla's hand. "I'm going to see someone in the government about this." He went out.
Monika followed him, and so did the butler.
Carla went over to Frieda and took her hand. "I'm so sorry," she said.
"Thank you," Frieda whispered.
Carla went to Werner. He stood up and put his arms around her. She felt a tear fall on her forehead. She was gripped by she did not know what intense emotion. Her heart was full of grief, yet she thrilled to the pressure of his body against hers, and the gentle touch of his hands.
After a long moment Werner stepped back. He said angrily: "My father has phoned the hospital twice. The second time, they told him they had no more information and hung up on him. But I'm going to find out what happened to my brother, and I won't be brushed off."
Frieda said: "Finding out won't bring him back."
"I still want to know. If necessary I'll go to Akelberg."
Carla said: "I wonder if there's anyone in Berlin who could help us."
"It would have to be someone in the government," Werner said.
