“Did you run any errands outside the prison yesterday?” Dino asked.

“Asked and answered,” Mitteldorfer replied.

“You’ve been here how long?”

“Just finished my twelfth year.”

“So you’ll have a parole hearing coming up soon?”

“Yes.”

“Well, unless you’d like me to show up at your hearing and tell the board what a dangerous little shit you still are, you’d better start answering my questions with a little more feeling.”

“I apologize,” Mitteldorfer replied, chastened. “I’ll be happy to answer anything you’d like to ask.”

“How often do you leave the prison?”

“Once or twice a week, depending on what errands have to be run.”

“What sort of errands do you run?”

“I buy stationery and office supplies; I go to the computer store; sometimes I’m allowed to do some personal shopping.”

“What sort of personal shopping?”

“I buy underwear and socks, batteries for my portable radio, a new toothbrush. Sometimes I’ll have an ice-cream cone; they don’t serve Häagen-Dazs in here.”

“Do you have a son?”

“No.”

“Any male relatives who are younger than you?”

“No, not in this country.”

“Where else?”

“In Germany; I have a nephew, my sister’s son.”

“What’s his age?”

“Oh, mid-thirties, I suppose. I only met him once, when he was a teenager, when I visited her.”

“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?”