Broken Glass

by Alexander Hartung

  The check-in area consisted of a marble table and three comfortable chairs. The woman sat down opposite him, opened a folder and took out a Montblanc pen. ‘Can I get you anything at the moment?’ she asked.

  ‘A coffee with soya milk and something sweet, please,’ answered Nik. ‘I never got round to lunch. Normally I’m just getting up at this time.’

  It was 6 p.m. The patients had probably had hours of aquajogging and Pilates by now but Pia maintained her friendly, neutral face and passed on Nik’s order. After just one minute of small talk about Nik’s journey from Munich, a silver tray was delivered. On top of it stood a porcelain cup full of steaming coffee, a small jug of soya milk, a mini chocolate croissant, some peeled mango and a macaroon.

  ‘Today we’d like to give you the chance to get to know the resort,’ said Pia. ‘Your belongings will all be unpacked by staff and your room will be prepared as requested. You will find four bottles of Cape Karoo mineral water in your fridge and our concierge has passed on your preferred coffee brand to our kitchen team. These are the people who will be organising your spiritual food throughout your stay. You can also help yourself to a selection of açaí bowls for breakfast.’

  Nik had no idea what Pia was talking about. Balthasar had been in charge of any correspondence before his stay. Pia leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve left a colonic cleanser set and some saline solution in the bathroom so you can deal with your faecal blockages.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nik calmly, while thinking about all the ways he was going to torture Balthasar to death when he left the clinic.

  ‘We’ll get started with your treatment plan tomorrow,’ the woman continued in a business-like manner. ‘We deliberately avoid the use of medication and use a dual approach, which includes spoken therapy with Dr Alois Perlick and physical detoxification, led by Dr Rafael Gawinski and his team of nutritionists and sports physicians. You will feel like a different person by the time you leave,’ Pia concluded.

  ‘I can’t wait.’ Nik had to try very hard not to sound sarcastic.

  ‘Great. Then if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to sign our agreement.’ Pia spread out three sheets in front of him. ‘The first one gives us permission to confiscate your mobile phone and look through your luggage.’ She gave a brief smile. ‘A lot of patients try to smuggle in drugs and alcohol, which are strictly forbidden here.’

  ‘No problem.’ Nik took the pen and signed his fake name.

  ‘The second form gives Dr Perlick consent to decide when you have completed the healing process and send you home.’

  This was new to Nik. ‘You mean I give him . . . ?’

  ‘I hope you understand. Our main concern is your welfare. Your family members have also agreed that we can take you into our custodial care.’ She pointed to her folder and smiled even wider. ‘I promise, you will have everything you need here. We have swimming pools, massage therapy and a large sauna area. You also have a large selection of streaming services in your room.’

  Nik wasn’t sure if such a contract was even legal. Reluctantly, he signed the sheet. Jon and Balthasar had gone to a lot of bother to make up a false family background. He wasn’t going to waste it all over something so small.

  ‘And by signing the third form, you agree to the treatment methods. All the risks and side effects were sent to you beforehand by email.’

  It would’ve been nice if I’d actually been forwarded the email, Nik thought while signing the third sheet.

  ‘Thank you.’ Pia closed the folder. ‘Shall I show you to your room?’ She gestured towards a corridor that led further into the building.

  The splendour of the exterior and the reception area didn’t diminish. But Nik wasn’t interested in the expensive paintings, the soft background music or the exotic fish in the aquarium. It was the high-grade locks on the doors and the security glass in the windows that were grabbing his attention. It was going to be almost impossible to break open any doors.

  As Nik arrived in his room, a stocky man was hanging up a freshly ironed bathrobe on a coat hook. His beer-barrel torso and long arms reminded Nik of a chimpanzee. Going by the size of his biceps, it didn’t take much to guess what his job was at the resort.

  ‘I’d like to introduce you to Gunnar,’ said Pia. The man shook Nik’s hand without looking him in the eye. He had a powerful handshake and his knuckles were scarred. He nodded at the woman and left the room. ‘I hope you have a pleasant stay,’ said Pia, before closing the door. Despite all the light wood finishes, luxurious carpet and marble wash basin with gold taps, the place still felt like a prison.

  ‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ mumbled Nik. But he wouldn’t leave the resort until he’d found a clue about whoever was behind Olga and Viola’s disappearances. What would be easy, however, was pretending to be someone suffering from alcohol withdrawal. Nik was already missing his obligatory evening beer and it was only the first night. He padded restlessly around the room and searched the TV channels. He even tried to read a book. But it was no good. He couldn’t relax. His hands were trembling and he had the urge to fight. He got down on the floor and did push-ups until his arms hurt, but that didn’t help him fall asleep either. It was three o’clock in the morning before he finally managed to fall into a restless sleep. When he woke up for a second time, his pyjamas were sodden with sweat. Nik couldn’t take it anymore and forced himself to get up to dry himself off in the bathroom. He put on some fresh pyjamas and was making his way back into the bedroom when he heard a faint noise coming from the corridor. He put his ear to the bedroom door and heard lots of people walking around. Nik wasn’t surprised so much by the fact there were people up and about, but he couldn’t understand why they seemed to be moving around so quickly.

  ‘Hurry up!’ he heard a man say. And then there was the sound of a defibrillator being charged up. A man swore and something was rolled past Nik’s room. He waited until the noises had faded and opened the door. Three doors down the hall he saw a nurse pushing a trolley with a man lying on top. Nik guessed the patient was around forty. His eyes were closed and his head had flopped over to the side. He was wearing an oxygen mask and a light liquid was running from a bag through a tube and into his arm. Still pushing the trolley, the nurse pulled out a card from his pocket, then stopped and held up the card to a reader that was embedded in the wall. A lift opened. It blended in so perfectly with the walls that you wouldn’t know it was there unless you’d seen it in use.

  ‘Don’t worry, Herr Kirchhof,’ Pia said out of nowhere. She was wearing jeans, a polo shirt and sandals. She obviously wasn’t on the clock. ‘The guest just had a dizzy spell. We’re taking him to the hospital just to be on the safe side but I’m sure he’ll be feeling better very soon.’

  ‘Did you give him something?’

  ‘We don’t administer any medicine here.’ Pia opened her hand and gestured to Nik’s room. ‘Get some rest. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow.’

  Nik had no desire whatsoever to step back into his room. He was desperate to know who the man was and what had happened to him, and if that kind of thing happened a lot at the resort. But it would be fatal to risk his cover on the very first day. He’d need to play the wealthy alcoholic for a bit longer and that involved being uninterested in fellow human beings.

  ‘I see,’ said Nik. ‘Good night.’ He stood back and closed the door before lying down on the bed. There was no chance of sleep now, but there was nothing else he could do. He’d just have to wait until morning and then he could get on with the investigation.

  Chapter 9

  Nik’s T-shirt was dripping with sweat and he had to fight for each painful breath, but he kept running towards the barrier. An ambulance flew past him with its piercing siren and he could hear the helicopter’s rotor blade chopping at the air above him. A strange, hazy glow had been painted over the street and there were millions of glass shards lying on the ground, sparkling in blue and red as they reflected the police lights. He heav
ed himself through the gawking masses and ducked under the barrier tape, ignoring the police officer’s orders to get back. He started to run, and with every stride, his screams got louder. Everybody was staring at him as he ran past the massive truck, lying on its side like a sleeping giant. The glass from the clinic’s loading area had spread out over the road like a lake. As Nik crunched his way across the top, shards of glass pierced his boots and cut the soles of his feet, but he ignored the pain and kept running. He kept screaming and tears streamed from his eyes.

  And then he woke up.

  Alois was the stereotypical psychologist. His hair was blonde and thinning, he wore a pair of steel-framed glasses and was very scrawny. He expertly balanced a pad of paper on his lap and held a pencil in his left hand. Whenever Nik said something, he would nod understandingly, always maintaining full eye contact, until it was his turn to talk. Then he would raise his right hand to his chin and look up, as if he was talking to some higher power.

  ‘Do you feel in any way distressed after seeing that man last night?’ He spoke slowly.

  ‘Well, yes,’ Nik replied. ‘It doesn’t exactly make a great impression when a patient dies the day you get here.’

  ‘He didn’t die.’ Alois waggled his finger. ‘He just fainted. Wouldn’t want to start any rumours.’

  ‘Nobody just randomly faints in the middle of the night.’

  ‘I promise we do everything we can for our patients’ physical and mental well-being.’ Alois was trying to steer the conversation towards meaningless chat. ‘That must have been obvious when you went to breakfast today.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ Nik replied, battling with his own sarcasm. Breakfast had been a health-food nightmare. No eggs, no bacon. In general, nothing fatty. Just heavy slabs of wholemeal bread that would lie in his stomach for hours. Then the weird açaí bowls Pia had mentioned and some purple mush, which was apparently bursting with all the vitamins you needed to start the day off well. And then there was the juice, which looked and tasted like spinach that had been regurgitated by a baby. The only half-decent thing was the coffee, but even that was limited to two cups per person. ‘I’ve never had a breakfast quite like it,’ Nik said, thinking about how much he missed his waffle machine. ‘I can particularly recommend the juice I was told to drink.’

  ‘Ah, that’s not just a juice,’ explained Alois. ‘It’s the liquid result of all our knowledge on nutrition and superfoods. Has a wonderfully revitalising effect. You must have noticed?’

  ‘If you mean half an hour on the toilet with brown water gushing from your backside. Then yeah. Never felt so revitalised.’

  ‘Well, there you are then!’ The psychologist clapped his hands together. ‘You’ve already solved the blockage issue your brother told us about in so much detail.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Balthasar. Such a great support,’ responded Nik enthusiastically, thinking about how desperately he needed a beer.

  Alois looked up again. ‘Now, let’s talk about you. What do you think is the reason behind your alcohol addiction?’ He looked down at his notepad. ‘The state of your liver is very concerning.’

  ‘It just somehow caught up with me, I suppose. You start drinking in high school, then you’re at all the uni parties. And later on there’s the stress at work. That’s it really. And before you know it, you’re addicted.’

  Alois nodded patiently. ‘And have you ever thought about how you could get rid of your addiction?’

  ‘I just thought you’d ply me with drugs and then I could go home two weeks later all recovered.’

  Alois gave a short and powerful puff out of his nose and throat. Nik took it as a laugh but it sounded more like a choking sheep. ‘If somebody could invent a drug like that, they’d be a very rich person. They’d be able to rid the world of alcohol addiction.’

  ‘A friend of mine told me about some drug that kills the craving to drink,’ Nik explained. ‘Diso . . . disulfate or something like that?’

  ‘You mean disulfiram?’ asked Alois.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Disulfiram is a substance that’s very hard to control, and it doesn’t suppress the urge to drink alcohol, it causes poisoning when it’s mixed with alcohol. The reactions are very dangerous and in the worst cases it can cause a heart attack.’ He shook his head. ‘Disulfiram can only be used to treat alcohol addiction with the most disciplined of patients because any relapse could mean death. Not only does that kind of treatment go against our principles, there are very few people who would be willing to take such a risk. And anyway, since there is no alcohol on the premises, the use of such a medication would be in vain.’

  ‘Right, of course,’ Nik said sceptically. ‘Anyway, about my neighbour from last night . . . the one who fainted or had a heart attack or whatever it was . . .’ Nik winked. Alois took off his glasses and examined him more closely, evidently unsure what to make of him. ‘Is he OK?’ Nik asked. ‘I never saw an ambulance leave?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Alois said calmly, playing down the question. ‘We took the patient to our sickroom, where he was stabilised.’ He made a note. ‘And now to you,’ he said, changing the subject again. ‘How do you feel when you drink alcohol?’

  ‘Strong and confident.’ Nik had read enough on the typical alcoholic to pass the test. ‘I feel less inhibited around others.’ Alois nodded and wrote down something else. ‘Like, if I have a meeting, I’ll have a drink beforehand. It calms my nerves and I feel like I can face anything.’ Nik was rolling out all the clichés. But as Alois got to the end of a second page on his notepad, Nik realised that was probably enough. He also didn’t want to exaggerate. ‘Oh God.’ Nik stood up and put his hands on his stomach. ‘Something’s not quite right here. Back in a sec.’ Nik ran out the room and slammed the door shut, but instead of heading to the toilet in his room, he put his ear up to the psychologist’s door. Alois was on the phone. The door was so well insulated, he could barely hear a thing, but he still made out the words ‘Nikolas Kirchhof’ and ‘disulfiram’. Nik smiled and went back to his room. The foundations had been laid and it would be interesting to see whose feathers he’d ruffle.

  Lunch at the resort was also the opposite of what Nik would describe as a good meal. A piece of white fish, some steamed potatoes and carrots, and a spoonful of pickled beetroot and kohlrabi. No sauce. No fat. Just a small side salad, two apples for dessert and a glass of water to wash it all down. And as if the food wasn’t bad enough, the staff were continuously going on about how well balanced it all was. When Nik asked for some salt and ketchup, the employee laughed sincerely, as if he’d heard a really good joke, and went on to give Nik a lecture on how vital it was to avoid saturated fats, sweeteners and flavourings. By the time Nik had finished everything on his plate, he was hungrier than when he’d started. He picked up an apple and took an unsatisfying bite while simultaneously scrutinising his fellow inmates. There was a strict daily routine at the clinic and meals were only provided within small time slots. If you turned up late, you didn’t get any food. So Nik could be pretty sure all the guests were at lunch.

  Nik’s first analysis didn’t reveal much. Other than him, there were twenty-two patients in the clinic. Seventeen men and five women. The youngest one only looked about eighteen and the oldest, around sixty. Most of them were alcoholics, evident from the tell-tale spindly red blood vessels on their faces and the shaky, clammy hands that come from withdrawal. He also noticed a few coke and heroin addicts. But none of these people were going to help him solve the case. He finished off his apple and was about to leave when he heard a couple of men behind him.

  ‘Leo!’ one of the men called as he plodded into the restaurant. He was extremely overweight and sweating profusely. His face was bright red and he wheezed with each breath. He arrived at his friend’s table next to Nik’s and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The friend smiled and stood up. He was about forty, with blonde curly hair and very tanned skin. He looked like he’d just got back from a hol
iday in the Caribbean. His smile revealed a set of dazzling white teeth and his eyes were a piercing blue. His designer stubble softened a sharp jaw line. Leo would have looked more at home on a sunny Australian beach than he did in a Bavarian wood in winter.

  Unaffected by the sweat, Leo hugged the man like they were old pals. At first it appeared completely harmless but on closer inspection, Nik spotted Leo’s hand sliding into the big guy`s trouser pocket. The move was fast and discreet, like he’d done it on many occasions. Leo scanned the staff to see if anyone had noticed, but they all appeared to be doing something else. Nik made a start on his second apple and observed the two men from the corner of his eye. There weren’t very many things someone could hide in the palm of their hand. Mobiles, alcohol and sweets were out of the question. Money wasn’t an issue for these people and even a USB stick would have been too big. So the only feasible thing was a tiny bag of drugs. Leo and his friend chatted a little while longer until finally, Leo left the restaurant and the overweight man sat down to eat. Nik followed Leo into the corridor.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Nik called. Leo stopped. An inexperienced criminal would have lost their cool if they thought someone might be confronting them about a crime. But as Leo turned around, he was the perfect salesman: open, friendly and utterly confident.

  ‘Yes,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Hi. Sorry to bother you,’ Nik began. ‘My name’s Nikolas. I just got here yesterday and, well . . . God, I’m bored. D’you know if there’s anything to do around here that doesn’t involve talking about your childhood, or eating shitty food or being healthy?’ An untrained eye would have missed the slight change in Leo’s smile, but Nik could tell he’d made the man stop and think. He looked Nik hard in the eyes, like he was trying to examine him internally, and considered how to answer the question.

  ‘Did you have anything in particular in mind?’