That was all to the good, in Felix’s mind. More than a few months here would drive him up the walls, he had decided. It had been a soft number for many years now, the “landing strip” it had been called, where they eased in new Gendarmes while they eased out the veterans. Nothing happened in Stefansdorf, a half-hour outside Graz, this village that had stayed small. By way of introduction to the area, Gebi had passed on a clue to Felix shortly after he’d arrived: Why do all the dogs in Stefansdorf have flat noses? went the joke. It was because they were always chasing parked cars.

Felix put his hat on the shelf and unlocked his drawer. Gebhart sat back.

“Greetings yourself, Professor. A spring in your step today.”

Felix winked at him.

“I’ll think of you while I am away.”

“Italy, you said?”

“I want to make a good impression on her family. Naturlich.”

“On a topless beach.”

“Funny you mention that.”

Felix nodded toward the closed door to the Bezirkinspektor’s office.

“Dieter is consulting,” said Gebhart in the same dry tone. “In regards to the investigation of the thefts of those containers up from outside the warehouses last week. The cigarette case.”

Gebhart had hinted that when Korschak, the other member of the post, went off on the training course to Vienna, they’d expect Felix to be Korschak’s replacement “temporarily.” Big changes on the horizon or not, Felix did not like the sound of that.

Korschak, the third member of the post, arrived with the huge bag that he used for his sports paraphernalia.

“Gruss, Gebi. Felix. Wie gehts?”

“So far so good, Manfred,” said Gebhart. “But you know Stefansdorf. All hell could break loose. You’re duty officer today, right?”

Korschak nodded and dumped the bag on the floor.

“What in the name of Christ and His Mother Mary is in the bag today?”

“Soccer,” Korschak said. “Pylons and things.”