Detective Pulaski climbed the stairs of the tenement in Saint-Gilles. The wood groaned tired. Outside it rained.

  The door to 4B was open.

  Berger Frelinghuysen was on the floor, clearly dead. He was a small man. His neck was purple. Someone had used a heavy hand.

  Pulaski kept his hands in his pockets. He looked at the window. The glass was dirty.

  -Yeah, Berger, he said. You really stepped in it. Nobody liked a debt collector.

  A local gendarme stood by the door, confused about whether Pulaski was talking to him. He didn’t have a lot of experience with the detectives.

  Even though the Germans had occupied Brussels, and half of Europe, he wore the same thing the gendarmerie wore before the war, a dark blue coat, collar open, with matching trousers, zipper up and a single stripe of red piping.

  The boy even wore the wide-topped kepi.

  He was shaking.

  -Did you touch him? Pulaski asked.

  -No, Monsieur. I called you.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  -Good boy. Go stand in the hall. Sometimes they return to the scene of the crime.

  Pulaski knelt. He used a fountain pen to move the victim’s lapel. He found a wallet. It was full. He found three thousand Belgian francs. Crisp.

  -Big money, he muttered. You were doing well, Berger. Too well. Someone didn't want to pay the interest, huh?

  He found the tram tickets. They were tucked in a small pocket. Line 33. The line to the fancy part of town. The part with the black uniforms and the quiet houses.

  -Avenue Louise, he said. Busy, busy, Frelinghuysen. What kind of name is that?

  He looked at the victim's throat again.

  -It’s a debt all right, he said to the empty room. A German debt. Someone in a uniform couldn't find the cash. So he found a heavy object instead. It’s not a problem. Simple story.

  He stood up. His knees popped. He looked at the sink. There was a single dish. It was clean.

  -He was waiting for someone, Pulaski muttered.

  He walked to the window. Down in the street, a woman was walking fast. She'd have a yellow star soon. She didn't look up. Nobody looked up anymore.

  -A business partner who doesn't like his bill, he said.

  He adjusted his hat. His blonde hair was damp. His blue eyes reflected the gray light.

  -I'm going to find your friend, Berger, he said. I’m going to find the man who owes you. He owes me now. He’s probably at a desk. Germans love desks.

  Pulaski went out to talk to the gendarme.

  -What’s your name, kid?

  -Benoit.

  -You talked to the neighbors?

  -Nobody has said anything yet. They do not like him. The old woman downstairs called me over when she found him. I have a statement from her, but she is too weak for something like that, Benoit said, gesturing back to the room.

  -Canvas the neighbors until the wagon shows up, I guess.

  And then Pulaski walked out without looking at the gendarme and started to mutter again.

  -It’s a long walk to the Palace. But I need the exercise.