by Noah Fitz
Gabriela toyed with the idea of throwing the angry inspector out of her office, but since she always tried to treat every employee with respect, she decided against it. She had always been a friend of diplomacy.
Marc stopped in front of her. He was tall and had the stature of a Roman statue, not perfect, but well-proportioned. He raised his clenched right hand. The tendons of his wrist stood out, his veins pale through the skin. “If I were alone with him for just five minutes, I would slap that grin right off his face. Now someone else has to do it for me.” He lowered his fist.
“What are you talking about?”
“Not important. The girls are alive, that’s what counts. If it had taken us a day—a single day—longer to find them, the two princesses would be dead and we both know it. That’s what their mother calls them, by the way. Princess Lisa and Princess Elsa.”
A lump swelled in Gabriela’s throat, cutting off her air. He was right, and she knew it, but she was not allowed to approve of his methods. “Nevertheless,” she said, “it falls under vigilante justice. We had only circumstantial evidence at the time, not physical proof.”
“It was just a sewing needle,” Marc said.
“It was a knitting needle.”
Marc sniffed. “What’s the difference?”
“And what comes next?” Gabriela asked. “A stun gun?”
“No, from now on I will feed the suspects M&M’s until they break their silence.”
“This man has a family, Inspector. You might have been wrong.”
“First impressions can be deceptive,” Marc admitted. He took a handful of the colorful candies, looked at them, and placed them in a row on the edge of the table.
“You are not allowed to ignore existing regulations.”
“But they don’t tell you how to make a psychopath talk.” He chuffed and swiped the colored chocolate bits off the table. The candies clacked against the floor.
“Okay, fine,” Gabriela said. She raised her hands and sat down. “You’ve got one more chance. You’ll get a new case.”
Marc frowned as if he had misheard. “First you threaten me with suspension and now I get a new case? And who will take care of all the paperwork? My office is like a printing press.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for that. It’s the only way our democratic society works.” She bent to the side, tugged at the top drawer, and pulled out a thin folder, which she pushed with two fingers across the meticulously neat desktop.
Marc reached for it. “What is this?”
“Your last chance,” said Gabriela.
He skimmed the pages and closed the folder. “And you want me to do what?”
“Determine if that section of the bridge was intentionally damaged and find out if it caused the child to fall.”
Marc froze for a moment. “Are you kidding?”
“I’m serious, and you’ll have a partner.”
“Do you know when an idea appears in your head that you can almost grasp, and in the next moment it disappears?” Before Gabriela could respond, Wulf continued. “And all that remains of the idea is a bad taste in your mouth?”
Gabriela shrugged.
“That’s how I feel now. Shall I describe this taste to you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. But if you turn down this offer, you can look for a new job.”
Marc rolled up the folder and clapped it into his left hand. “So this is an open investigation? As far as I know that section of bridge was closed because of repair work. That’s what it said in the newspaper. Why should I take on this case?”
“Because I suspect there’s more to it than that. This was no accident.”
With his head tilted to the side, Marc squinted and ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Do you have a guilty conscience, or is there a catch? I can almost smell the bait.”
“None of the above. As far as I’m concerned, you can pull out all the stops on this case and follow your intuition, or your gut feeling.”
“Don’t these two terms describe the same thing?”
“Do you want this job or not? And no needles this time! Like I said, you’ll have a partner.”
“All right, but I don’t need support,” said Marc.
“You bet.”
He shook his head. “This is part of your plan. You not only want to humiliate me, but also make me look ridiculous in front of my colleagues.”
“You shouldn’t have thrown my M&M’s on the floor.” Gabriela sat back with a satisfied expression and made herself comfortable in her chair.
Marc just nodded. The first colored chocolate candy burst under his heel. He turned around and said, “Please see to it that the body is exhumed.”
Gabriela rose from her seat. With a trembling finger she pointed at Marc’s back. “Your job is to determine whether the handrail was deliberately sabotaged,” she said.
Without saying goodbye, he strode to the door. Under his shoes, the M&M’s cracked and left brown stains on the parquet. The door slammed shut behind him.
Gabriela fell back into the chair and held her head in her hands. The sudden ringing of the telephone sounded eerily loud in the silence. She picked up. “Chief Inspector Meierbach,” she answered. A female voice greeted her. It was the new inspector, Tine Stolz.
How could Gabriela gently break the news to her young employee that she would learn to hate her job starting tomorrow? She wondered how to weave the name Marc Wulf into the conversation so it did not immediately sound like a death sentence. Tine waited patiently.
“Nice of you to get in touch. I have already found a suitable colleague for you,” Gabriela began. Her joy sounded artificial. “I am sure that you will gain a lot of experience and knowledge in the next few weeks that you didn’t get at the police academy. You will be assigned to a case tomorrow that has raised many questions.”
“Is it true that I’m going to be working with Chief Inspector Wulf?” Tine asked.
“Yes,” Gabriela said.
Tine breathed out noisily.
Gabriela did not know how to interpret the sound. “He’s a professional. Even if not everyone likes his peculiarities, I can assure you that you are in good hands.”
“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Tine asked.
“Yes. My office at nine. I will personally introduce you to Chief Inspector Wulf.”
“Thank you,” Tine said goodbye and hung up.
Lost in thought, Gabriela grabbed two M&M’s and tossed them into her mouth. The colorful chocolate sweets burst between her teeth. I’m looking forward to tomorrow as much as I am to the weekend with the in-laws in the old peoples’ home, she thought. Then she remembered with sudden annoyance that she hadn’t organized presents yet. She lifted herself out of the upholstery, put the phone back in the charging station, and stormed out of her office. She only had an hour before the stores closed. Tomorrow was Friday, but she certainly wouldn’t have time for errands then.
Chapter 6
Marktheide
“Mama?” Peer came into the kitchen and looked at his mother with a smug grin.
“What is it? Why are you laughing? Weren’t you at Yara’s funeral today?”
“Yes, I was.” Peer’s smile froze and finally dissolved. “But it wasn’t a funeral. Just a memorial service.”
“Still, why are you so cheerful?”
She noticed that Peer kept his right arm hidden behind his back.
“What have you got there?”
“This.” He came closer and put two bars of chocolate on the table. In doing so, he fixed his mother with the reproachful stare.
“Where did you get those?” Eleonora said. She regretted sounding worried.
Peer’s gaze wandered to the ceiling. “Why are you suddenly so aggressive, Mother? How am I supposed to know how the damn chocolate got in our mailbox? If you make eyes at men while you’re shopping, it’s not my fault. I told you the pants you wore the other day were far too
sexy for you. You’ll never make up with Dad doing that.” Now it was Peer who sounded angry. “Anyway, it’s not my favorite.”
Their eyes met. She held a small piece of chocolate between her fingers. Next to the half-drunk cup of coffee sat an empty package. Peer had given her the cup when he was younger. It was old enough now that the red heart on the cup had faded. He was more interested in the empty package next to the cup though. She had smoothed out the colorful paper, and had folded the shiny silver foil to look like an envelope.
“What happened to your hand?” Eleonora said, realizing this was the right moment to ask her son about it. She had noticed the deep, dot-shaped burn marks the day before yesterday, but hadn’t said anything at the time. She knew that when Peer was angry, he would often say things that she would never get out of him otherwise. “What’ve you done, Peer? Were you trying to set the house on fire?”
He shrugged. “I burned myself on a soldering iron at school. I’m in the DIY club. But you’re not really interested in that.”
“Not even you, my child, are so clumsy,” Eleonora said. “That was a flimsy excuse. There is no such thing as a DIY club.” She slipped the chocolate between her lips and took a big sip of coffee. “I’m waiting,” she said after a short while. With a casual movement, she brushed an untamed red curl behind her ear. The curl was constantly falling across her forehead. “Well?” she said, making a bend in the aluminum foil. Now the envelope was complete.
“It was a bet,” said Peer.
“A dumb-guy bet?”
“Something like that.”
“Is it related to the game you’re playing on your phone?” she said.
Peer’s already pale face almost turned white. “No.”
“And the bracelets you’re wearing? Do they have any meaning? You have three now.”
“So what? These are just friendship bracelets. Are you spying on me?”
“Are you in some kind of gang?” she said, drawing air quotes around the word.
“Nonsense,” he said.
“Why are your fingers burned?”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Peer!”
“I had to hold a lit match until it went out.”
“And you succeeded, I trust?”
Instead of responding, Peer grinned and lowered his eyes, appearing slightly ashamed. He was trying to hide something, Eleonora knew him too well.
“Can I go now? You have your stupid chocolate. Maybe it was Dad.”
“That was really very stupid. Don’t lie to me anymore,” she said. She didn’t respond to his last sentence, but kept her eyes on his hand.
Peer rubbed his fingers together as if he wanted to erase the brown stains.
“Lies have short legs, my son. I don’t want to be lied to anymore.”
He took a deep breath and for a moment she thought he might embrace her like when he was a child, back in the days when he had given her this cup. Instead, he just gestured casually with his hand and said, “Don’t close yourself off to others.”
“What?”
“You’re not telling me the truth,” he said.
“Did I hear what I just heard?” Eleonora pushed the cup aside. The sadness clouded her eyes.
“You won’t tell me who shoved that chocolate in your slot! Or does he do more than just shove chocolate into it?”
Eleonora did not quite know how to react. She understood the implication, but didn’t want to deal with it at the moment. As so often lately, Peer made it clear that she had played her part in the divorce. Peer was fifteen and in the middle of puberty. Only three years ago he had lost his twin sister and Eleonora had lost her daughter. The terrible accident had caused her and her husband to grow further and further apart, even though they had both done everything possible to somehow cope with the sudden death of their child.
At the thought of Pia and her sparkling laughter, hot tears stung Eleonora’s eyes. The little girl with the blond corkscrew curls had been hit by a car. Witnesses who had seen the accident said that Pia had simply stopped in the middle of the road when she’d crossed at a red light. The person who ran her over had fled. The owner of the car had a watertight alibi for the given time, but maybe he was only covering for someone else in his family. The car had disappeared without a trace.
“Can I go now?” Peer said.
Eleonora wiped her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. “Yes, you can.”
Defiantly, Peer stomped through the hallway. A moment later the door to his room slammed. She could not blame her son for his outbursts. She often left him alone with his thoughts because she herself could not cope with the situation, even though she tried to appear brave.
Of all the fears she carried with her after the death of her daughter, concern for her son’s well-being was the greatest.
With a touch of melancholy, she was reminded of the time before the accident. She often asked herself whether it had been the right decision to tell her husband she no longer loved him. Looking back, she should have waited just two more days. Realization always comes a moment too late. We only really begin to miss something when we lose it for good. Eleonora was more than aware of that now. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks. I will do everything I can. I won’t give up on you, Peer. I can’t lose you.
“Mom?” Peer said from behind his bedroom door. “When do we eat?” The anger was gone from his voice, the argument forgotten. That was just the way he was. He cooled off quickly.
“Do you feel like a noodle casserole?” she said. She sounded unusually cheerful, irritating in contrast to the cruel image that manifested in her mind’s eye—Pia’s dead body, crushed on wet asphalt.
“I’m going for a run,” he said.
The kitchen door opened.
Her son stood in the hallway and looked at her with a twisted face. “I don’t want to argue with you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Eleonora said. She wiped away the tears and smiled tentatively. With playful seriousness she waved her hands to chase him out. “Now go on. We’ll eat in an hour.”
“See you later, Mom.”
“See you,” she said. And then Eleonora was alone again.
Chapter 7
Berlin Eichwalde
“How was your day?”
Marc sat at the table and poked at his plate. His mother had made meatloaf.
“Like every other day,” he said and shoveled a large lump of steaming meat into his mouth.
After the divorce he’d had no other choice but to move in with his mother. His ex and the judge had conspired against him. Luckily his nine-year-old son was allowed to visit him every other weekend.
“Do you like the food?” his mom asked.
“Mmhmm,” Marc said, his mouth full. He chewed faster; the chunk was still much too hot. All he wanted now was to eat in peace. But his mother was busy being a mother.
She shuffled into the hallway, stubbornly trying to get a conversation going. “Do you still work for the police now or have you been thrown out for good?”
Marc swallowed and allowed himself a sip of beer straight from the bottle. He deliberately ignored the glass he had been given, as well as his mother’s admonishing look from the semi-darkness.
“No wonder Betty was so mad at you,” she said. “You act as if I taught you no manners.”
“Betty didn’t leave me because of that.” He slammed the bottle on the table. “She wanted me to quit my job and devote myself entirely to my family.”
“She has a point there. You’re almost never around.”
“Somebody has to go to work,” he said. Then, muttering to himself, he added, “Guess it’s time to try harder at finding an apartment.”
His mother was still standing in the hallway. She made a thoughtful face. “What was I doing here?” she asked, clicking her tongue. “I’m getting forgetful.” Her silver hair was wrapped up in curlers, as it always was while she was in the house. “Your f
ather was no different. He never listened to me, either.”
“But you didn’t leave him.”
“Those were different times,” she said. Her face brightened. “Oh, yes, that’s what I was doing. I was going to call my girlfriend.” She held the old house phone to her ear and played with the wire after she pressed the buttons.
Marc blew on his next forkful and shoved the steaming food into his mouth.
“Lisbeth doesn’t answer,” his mom said.
Marc shook his head in annoyance. He opened the newspaper from the previous day and went through the apartment ads.
“Are you looking for an apartment?” his mom asked from the hallway. “Not that I want to get rid of you, but you won’t find a woman living here.”
“Because you scare them all away?” he said.
“Your sarcasm is not funny.”
All these months Marc had done nothing but try to put back together the fragments of what he’d thought he was made of. Brick by brick. Still, he was missing individual pieces of the puzzle. “I’m not ready for a relationship yet,” he said and drank the rest of the beer in one go.
“I did not marry your father for love. He was a decent guy, and that was enough for me. Love came afterwards. And we stayed together for a long time.”
Until one day he hanged himself in the cellar, Marc thought.
“Remember when we were all together at the zoo and your father got scared because one of the lions started roaring?”
It wasn’t a lion, but a puma. He corrected her in his thoughts, like every time his mother started talking about the past. Some people consist only of their memories. Mostly they are old, broken people who have nothing left but the good times of yesteryear. Marc pushed the half-empty plate away.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked.
“How long is this phone cord, Mother?” He turned to her. The chair beneath him creaked loudly.
“The electrician didn’t have another one, and you know Klaus. He told me to buy a cordless phone, but I don’t need a new thing like that where everyone can listen in on me.”