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After what feels like an hour, the phone tweedles again. The officer answers, then nods at me. “Go through there. You can leave his bag.” A buzzer sounds, and she points at the door behind her.
I push the door open and stride in. A row of windows provides a view of a cell or interrogation room—I assume it’s one-way glass. Eva sits in a chair beside a desk, her face stormy. Her fingers drum on her thighs in a complicated rhythm.
A loud guffaw startles me, bringing my gaze to the other side of the room. To my right, an officer sits behind the desk, with three of his cronies gathered behind him. All four are laughing. Two of them clutch their stomachs, and a third looks like he might pass out from lack of air. “Play it again,” one of them says in German.
I summon my sternest voice—the one coached into me by years of tutors hired by my grandmother, the former Grand Duchess, to “put some polish” on us. “Warum halten Sie sie fest?” It sounds pretty commanding, if I do say so myself.
The laughter cuts off. The guy behind the desk stealthily slides the mouse—as if he’s worried about what I might see if I look at his screen. The tallest of the three standing behind him steps forward. “I am the shift leader. What do you want?”
“Why have you detained my friend?” I repeat my question.
He glances at the screen, then at Eva, who is still oblivious to my arrival beyond the glass. “There was an… attack.” His lips twitch. “A report was filed. It was necessary to investigate.”
“An attack? You must be mistaken. My friend would never attack anyone.” At least not physically. I’ve seen her take a bully down verbally before.
The man shrugs. “We must investigate all reports of violence. And she’s American.” He says this in a conspiratorial way—much like my comment to the woman at the desk about Eva’s lack of proficiency in German.
“I assure you my friend is not violent. What are the accusations? And where is her accuser?”
At this, the shift leader squirms slightly. “The woman declined to file an official report. But we must still take accusations of an attack seriously. We had to hold your friend while we reviewed the video.” He waves at the computer screen. His lips twitch again although he is clearly attempting to maintain a grave demeanor.
After years of being trained in that skill, I recognize the expression.
I raise a brow. “And your findings?”
He sucks in a breath, but it doesn’t steady his voice. “It was a… misunderstanding. There was some confusion, but this video makes the situation clear. Your friend may go. But no more littering.” The other men chuckle.
I frown and cross my arms. “Would you care to elaborate?”
They exchange laughing looks, then the guy at the desk swivels the screen so I can see it. He clicks the mouse, and the black and white video plays. It must have come from one of the many overhead cameras in the baggage claim area. Eva walks across the lower right corner, dragging a large suitcase. A small child slams into the case, pulling it from her hand.
“As you can see, there was an attack.” The shift leader no longer attempts to hide his smile. “There’s no audio, but according to Frau Hertzsprung, the perpetrator is screaming ‘mine!’ Fortunately, your friend sustained no injuries, aside, perhaps, from a broken nail. She did deposit trash in a recycling receptacle, but given the stressful situation, we will overlook that.” On screen, Eva picks up the discarded scarf and stomps to the bin.
I give them my best royal glower, and their laughter subsides. They know they shouldn’t have brought Eva in at all, but clearly they’re bored. Technically, they could cite her for the recycling incident, but they won’t. Although they have no idea who I am, they respond to the authority in my bearing. I must remember to thank Herr Cerny for his tutelage. At the time, I thought learning to act like a royal was a ridiculous waste of time. Who knew it could come in handy when rescuing a friend at the airport?
One of the officers hurries across the office and opens an internal door. Eva emerges, glaring at the man holding the knob. When she turns, she spots me. “Teo! What are you doing here? They won’t let me go. Will you talk to them?”
“They’ve reviewed the video.” I glare at the shift leader again. “You’re free to leave. Come on, I’ll take you to Freiberg.”
“Freiberg?” The shift leader raises a hand. “You’re leaving the country?”
I swing back to him. “Yes. Why would that be a problem?”
“It’s not. I just thought…” He gives Eva a considering look and switches to English. “I’ll need an address in case there are further questions.”
I give him the glower again. “Really? You think there will be further questions for Eva from a woman who didn’t bother to file a report over the behavior of her offspring?”
He looks from me to Eva and back, then seems to deflate a little. “Never mind. Enjoy your stay in Freiberg, Frau Hertzsprung.”
Eva doesn’t bother answering as she flounces out the door with her ridiculous suitcase in tow. “Hans! There you are.”
I follow her to the waiting room where Hans is chatting up the female officer. The woman smiles at him over her Starbucks cup, and he winks, then turns to Eva. “I see Teo fixed things up as expected. Good work, Teo. Now, let’s go.” He turns back to the officer and in the most incredibly bad German says, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for your care of my friend.”
Eva sucks in a gasp—apparently her German is good enough to decipher Hans’s garbled flattery. She rolls her eyes and drags her bag toward the door.
I reach to open it for her and usher her to freedom.
Hans hurries after us, yelling, “Shotgun!”
