Deep Pain

by Marcus Hünnebeck

  She offered her hand.

  “Hello,” Bäcker said and returned the handshake. Then he just stood there, staring at her.

  Why was he so reserved? Just a few weeks ago, he had offered to take her out to the pubs, and now this.

  “Well,” Spannberg said, “will you invite me in?”

  Bäcker looked over his shoulder. “Your visit comes as a surprise, Frau Schumann.”

  “Oh, not that name, please. After the divorce, I’ll go back to my birth name.”

  “Divorce?”

  “Why aren’t we on a first-name basis? Theresa,” she said again, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Ronald, right? Not Ronäld.”

  “Yes,” he said, chuckling. “That’s right. Last time I saw you, you seemed a lot more reserved.”

  She sighed. “Have you ever been involved in a divorce? You’re not quite so presentable in that state, when you’re going through hell. But Erwin finally emailed me on Saturday to agree to my terms. Since then, a huge weight has fallen off my shoulders. But I totally understand if I’m catching you at a bad time. We can postpone. Just let me know when it suits you better.”

  “You got that wrong. Come in,” Bäcker said. He stepped aside.

  “Are you sure?”

  Bäcker nodded and led her into his living room. On the dining table was a laptop, which he closed. He paid no attention to the pack of tissues that lay next to the computer. Spannberg, however, immediately guessed what he had been looking at on that laptop. Her disgust for the man wore at the edges of her smile. She would have liked to beat him senseless with the wine bottle. But before she finished him off, she had to find out if—and at what point—someone would miss him.

  “It’s nice here,” she said. “I like the way you’ve furnished the place.”

  He smiled proudly. “Yes, I have a knack for that. You’re not the first woman to notice that.”

  In fact, she would have expected worse from a man like Bäcker. The carpet runner matched the oak parquet, and some tasteful art prints hung on the walls. She had expected something much different, like oversized Playboy covers. The furniture was getting on in years, but it, too, blended well into his style. For her taste, he had squeezed too many pieces of furniture into the room, but that was all she could fault.

  Bäcker invited her to sit in an armchair. Instead of sitting down immediately, she handed him the bottle of wine.

  “I didn’t know if you were more of a wine lover or beer lover. But the wine was already at the right drinking temperature, so…”

  He inspected the label and nodded. “I won’t say no to a good white wine.”

  Bäcker went to one of the cupboards. He took out two wine glasses, which he held up to the light of the ceiling lamp. In a drawer he found a corkscrew. He put the glasses down before he skillfully uncorked the bottle and poured a small gulp into it.

  She accepted the glass, smelled it and tasted it. “I like it.”

  “Then I’ll trust your taste.” He filled both glasses and sat with her. Gently they touched shoulders.

  “So you’re in a mud wrestling match? With your ex?”

  Sadly, she nodded. “After twelve years of marriage, the asshole cheats on me with his younger secretary. She gets pregnant after three months of the affair, and he moves in with her, head over heels. Second spring, second chance. We had no children. And because our lease was in his name, he didn’t give me notice.”

  “So that’s why you ended up here?”

  “A furnished apartment without a long rental period. It was perfect. I’ll be out by the time Marcel returns.”

  “Where did you live before?”

  “In Halle. But I won’t go back under any circumstances. As soon as the verdict is through and I know how much money I’ll get in my account, I’ll look for something new in Leipzig.”

  “Are you that flexible in your job?”

  It was obvious that he was questioning her. It reassured Spannberg that he was so curious. If he suspected who she really was, he would probably react differently.

  “I have to find something first. No idea. My husband earned well, so I didn’t have to work. At the moment, I get by on alimony. He agreed to that this weekend. We have to be separated for a year before the divorce can be finalized. After that, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She sighed and took a sip. “And you?” she asked. “I like your decor, but I don’t see any female influence here. No decoration or fresh flowers.”

  “Been single for three years.”

  “That long? Wow! How come? You seem like a great guy.”

  Flattered, Bäcker combed his fingers through his hair. “Finding women who are serious isn’t so easy these days. You get to know someone, and then you realize it just isn’t working out. Some are only after money, so when they hear I’m just a stock boy, they disappear immediately.”

  “Stock boy? Must be exhausting.”

  “It is. The last year in particular was a tough one. I had to take ten days off because of staff cuts. Instead of flying to Malle in September, I have two weeks off today. But honestly, where can you go in February without spending a fortune?”

  “That’s true.” She had a hard time suppressing a grin. At least at work, he wouldn’t be missed for the next few weeks. So all she had to do was find out if he had made any plans with friends for the vacation season.

  At that moment the doorbell rang.

  “My goodness,” Bäcker said, “what’s going on today? I never get visitors in the evening.” He got up and left the room.

  Since Bäcker did not close the door to the living room, Spannberg heard him open the apartment door.

  “Mrs. Weller,” he said in surprise.

  Spannberg immediately recognized the name. She had studied the bell signs carefully and knew that Mrs. Weller lived in the building. But what did she want with Bäcker?

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Bäcker. I only have one question. Do you know if Mr. Mohr has gone abroad? Is his apartment vacant at the moment?”

  Spannberg glanced toward the hallway. Why did the woman ask about that?

  “I got a call from someone at the LWF today,” Mrs. Weller continued. “I guess they are afraid that the heating pipes could freeze in a cold snap.”

  “The apartment’s not empty,” said Bäcker.

  “So is Mr. Mohr there? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  Spannberg acted impulsively. She jumped up and joined Bäcker in the hallway.

  “Oh, hello there,” Mrs. Weller said in surprise.

  “Good evening,” Spannberg said. “Mr. Mohr is actually abroad at the moment. But I live there temporarily. I’m subletting.”

  “All right, then.”

  “Who was wondering again?” Spannberg asked.

  “A nice young man from the LWF. He called me about an hour ago, and I couldn’t stop worrying about it. If heating pipes burst, the whole house would freeze. We’ve been through that before. Remember, Mr. Bäcker? Four years ago? We couldn’t heat for three weeks in the deepest winter.”

  “I do remember,” Bäcker said.

  “No need to worry,” Spannberg said. She squeezed herself past Bäcker. “Ronald, let’s talk more tomorrow. You’re on vacation and hopefully not doing anything.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “But why—”

  “Mrs. Weller, why don’t you come over to my place for a moment?” said Spannberg. “I definitely turned up the heat. I get cold fast. Besides, I don’t want anybody to think I’m responsible if the heaters go out again.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Weller said. “I would like that. I was really worried.” She followed Spannberg, unconcerned.

  “Good night, Ronald. See you tomorrow.” She blew him a kiss, and he waved, completely oblivious to how close he had come to dying tonight.

  In Spannberg’s apartment, Mrs. Weller nodded her approval. “It’s really nice and warm in here.”

  “I
like it cozy,” Spannberg said. “Do you get cold feet as easily as I do?”

  The lady smiled. “Not after menopause I don’t.”

  “Lucky you! Do you remember the name of the man who called you? I’ll get in touch with him tomorrow to let him know I’m taking care of the place.”

  “Yes, his name was Theo Klein.”

  “Fantastic memory,” Spannberg said.

  Mrs. Weller smiled proudly. “I solve Sudokus every day. If you want to stay fit, you have to do something.”

  “May I offer you some water? I could answer any other questions the LWF wanted to know.”

  Weller stayed for ten minutes, and Spannberg told the story of her nasty divorce a second time. As soon as she was alone again, she tried to analyze what she had learned.

  The call itself sounded harmless. Nevertheless, she feared the cops had picked up her scent. Had the chief inspector cleverly interrogated the old lady on the phone? Spannberg considered disappearing, but was reluctant to do so. She had yet to punish Bäcker, and finding a new suitable apartment so quickly would be tough. She had also learned never to panic. When you panic, you make mistakes.

  Thoughtfully, Spannberg went into the bedroom and heaved the suitcase from the closet onto the bed. The suitcase had a false bottom that was not visible at first glance. She pressed a button and the flap swung open. In this hiding place she stored some wigs, as well as her weapons. She fished the switchblade out of her trouser pocket and put it back into the case. If the cops didn’t track her down here, Bäcker would die. But maybe she had another use for him first.

  3

  At half past six in the morning, Till parked his car on the street near the murderess’s suspected address. Unlike yesterday, this time he brought his camera. Cell phone photos usually sufficed, but he wanted to provide Chief Inspector Krumm with evidence in the best possible resolution.

  Had Spannberg left the house at all today? Too often, Till had lain in wait for days without success. Part of the job. Submerged targets like Spannberg often lived like shut-ins, locked up behind doors and shuttered behind windows—at least in the first few months after their escape.

  Till had planned to hold out for at least two days. If he had not captured Franka Spannberg on film by Wednesday evening, he would contact Krumm on Thursday and leave it up to him on how to proceed. He urgently needed solid proof. The chief inspector seemed to have included Till in the investigation without consulting his partner. Krumm would probably only request support from Leipzig now if Till could share more than a few vague leads.

  He reached for a thermos of warm tea and took a small sip. Then he lifted the camera and took a picture of the entrance to the house. He checked the result on the built-in display. Perfect. If someone should leave the house, he could capture them in full detail from his current position.

  To pass the time, Till connected an MP3 player to the rental car’s stereo. He scrolled through the various tracks he had stored on it. Besides rock music he also liked symphonic film music. His finger hovered over a file folder in which he had stored a total of eight Hans Zimmer productions. Then he changed his mind and scrolled to the John Williams folder. In no time at all, the first sounds of the epic masterpiece Star Wars boomed out of the car’s speakers.

  4

  Franka Spannberg had not slept all night, kept awake by the fear that at any moment the cops would storm the apartment. When she threatened to lose the fight against fatigue at three o’clock in the morning, she countered with medication.

  Now she sat at the kitchen table drinking the third cup of strong coffee. She tried to analyze her situation. If it was the cops who had called Mrs. Weller, they probably would have struck during the night. Nothing had happened. So her investigators seemed to be still in the investigative phase, uncertain whether they had landed the grand prize.

  This gave her new perspectives. She had to find out who she was dealing with. Anyone spying on her would position themselves in close proximity to the house.

  She went to the bathroom, peed, and then put on thick, warm clothes in the bedroom. The temperatures, currently in a downward spiral, conspired with her. Besides the lined jacket, she could inconspicuously wear a cap and scarf to cover up her identity.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. Thanks to the scarf, only her nose and eye area remained visible.

  Spannberg put the pistol in the inside pocket of her jacket. Then she unwound the woolen scarf once more. She didn’t want Bäcker to be frightened at the sight of her. She left her apartment and rang her neighbor’s doorbell. He opened much faster that morning. Apparently he was not busy with his laptop.

  “Hi,” she said, greeting him cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

  “Uh, what?” he said. “Sure. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I care. Do you have any plans for the next few hours?”

  “Sorry, but I’m not coming with you right now. By the way, I found it rude that you disappeared so suddenly yesterday because of Mrs. Weller. We had a nice chat and then…”

  “Oh, I didn’t think you’d take it personally. I’m sorry! It was the perfect opportunity to get to know her. I’ll probably be here until the end of the year. I want to get on well with the neighbors. After all, I’m clearer in my head now that Erwin isn’t always weighing on my thoughts. I had a nice time with you, too, so what about this? We go for a walk together now and continue our conversation.”

  “Now? What about your run? I usually see you leaving the house in running clothes at this hour.”

  He did not seem to be aware of how much he had just revealed about himself.

  “Somehow I feel more like a leisurely walk today,” Spannberg said. “And after you’ve been outside, maybe you’ll find you enjoy another form of physical activity.” She winked at him and grinned.

  “Uh, okay.” He seemed like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Come on in. I just have to get dressed. Seems pretty cold.”

  Spannberg went into the living room while he disappeared into the bedroom. Unlike yesterday evening, he had pulled up the outside blinds. A small garden plot belonged to Bäcker’s apartment. Since there was no patio door in this room, he probably had access to it from the bedroom. She stepped to the window and looked around the surroundings with interest. Through the back garden one could reach the next street. Something to consider in her planning.

  5

  With the touch of a button, Till stopped the music and reached for his camera. For the second time that morning a person left the house, this time a man. Till aligned the camera. The resident turned back to the entrance, as if waiting for someone. Seconds later, a woman followed. She was wearing thick winter clothes, a cap and a scarf that covered her chin and mouth.

  Till pressed the shutter button and checked the image. Good enough. Hopefully he could enlarge the shot later.

  The woman hooked up with her male companion. He smiled, and they headed toward Till. He put the camera aside and slid down a little in his seat, lowering his head. When they were a good twenty paces away from his car, he held the phone to his left ear and turned his face away from the window without looking up again. In this position, he couldn’t see whether the couple registered him, but it was more important to him that they didn’t recognize him. After all, Till could not rule out that Spannberg had spied on Jonathan, with whom Till spent considerable time. It would be fatal if she recognized him. If the woman was the wanted murderer at all.

  6

  Spannberg paid very close attention to the surroundings when she left the house. After a few seconds she noticed a man in a gray vehicle. He put something on the passenger seat. She was far enough away she didn’t get a clear look at what it was. After that, the man made no attempt to leave his car.

  “Let’s go this way,” she said and hooked up with Bäcker.

  He smiled. “Now I’m having fun on vacation in February after all.”

  “Do you have plans for the next two weeks?” she asked
.

  Bäcker started babbling, and she concentrated on the man in the car. He slipped down in his seat, lowered his head, and held a cell phone to his ear.

  Despite all this, Spannberg recognized him. She had seen him at least twice in Hamburg with Jonathan Albrecht. Was he acting on behalf of the Hamburg cops who had no jurisdiction here in Leipzig? Or did he work on his own to clear up his friend’s death? She was much more concerned with another thought: How had he found her? When had she made such a critical mistake?

  She and Bäcker strolled past the gray vehicle. The man turned his head conspicuously, as if to keep his face hidden. Someone like Bäcker probably would not have noticed him. Spannberg probably wouldn’t have noticed him either, if Mrs. Weller hadn’t unwittingly warned her. Was this the man who had called Weller, pretending to be an employee of the housing association?

  About a hundred meters ahead, two roads crossed. They could continue walking straight ahead or turn right.

  “Theresa?” Bäcker said, pulling her back into the present. Apparently, he had asked her a question.

  “Yeah?” she said.

  “Do you like going to the movies?”

  “When a good movie’s playing, sure. But you know what I like most about going to the movies? It’s not the movies.”

  “Let me guess. The nachos?”

  She grinned. “You’re a real ladies’ man.”

  Bäcker continued to babble, revealing detailed knowledge about the movies currently in theater and those about to be released.

  “Let’s go this way,” Spannberg said.

  The two turned the corner.

  7

  “Shit!” Till said.

  In his wing mirror, he saw the couple round the corner. Had the woman noticed him? Usually he was following people who didn’t expect to be observed. Even if they were suspicious, they didn’t know what he looked like or who he was. In these cases it was enough, so long as they didn’t notice him twice in a row; people were good at spotting patterns.