by Noah Fitz
“What secrets do you have that might interest others? Your ‘secret recipe’ for Königsberg meatballs is known to half the village.”
She disappeared into the bedroom, the receiver still pressed to her ear.
Marc buried his face in his hands and pressed at his skin. The fatigue just wouldn’t go away.
His mother resurfaced. “What pearl necklace shall I wear to mass tonight?”
Marc huffed, annoyed.
“The red or the green?” She placed two boxes on the newspaper.
“The green pearls are beautiful,” he said.
“But I don’t have a dress to go with them.”
“Then why did you take them out?”
“Because they’re beautiful.”
“What do you want me to do?” Marc said.
“It may surprise you, but there are actually children who drive their mothers to the shops.”
Only then did Marc understand what his mother wanted from him. “You need a new dress to match that necklace. I’ll take you to Berlin if I have time.”
“That’s my boy.” Radiantly, she pinched him on the cheek, took the boxes from the table, and disappeared again.
Marc stood up and put the plate next to the sink.
His mother peered around the corner. “I’ll be a little late today. We have to rehearse everything by tomorrow and practice the speeches. Hans will play clarinet tomorrow.” Her gloomy eyes sparkled. “You should cover your plate, or the meat will dry. I don’t want to throw it away.” She stepped into the light and Marc could not believe his eyes. His mother wore nothing but a semi-transparent nightgown.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said.
“Do that, and when you return you can heat up the leftovers and eat it.”
“I will.” He disappeared into the hallway, where he promptly tripped over the phone cord. “Mother!” he said. But she wasn’t listening.
“Hello, Lisbeth!” she said into the phone. “I have been trying to reach you for half an hour. What? You were listening this whole time? Why do you always eavesdrop on me? Yes! I’m almost ready. I’ll meet you at Heidi’s. She baked a cake. My boy is taking me shopping, so I thought I’d ask you to go with me.”
This will be a great trip, Marc thought.
“Of course, we can take Heidi with us, but she can sometimes be very tiring after a while.”
Shaking his head, Marc slipped into his shoes, pulled his laces tight, and grabbed the leather jacket.
“Next time you should say something! No, I am not bossy and often irritated! It’s not appropriate, my dear…” He heard his mother’s voice drone on as he shut the door behind him.
Chapter 8
Marktheide | At the cemetery
Enno stood at his girlfriend’s fresh grave. He still felt partly responsible for Yara’s death. Even the police had hinted that he might have prevented the accident had he not been filming her on his damn phone.
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. The stupid phrase came to mind.
He wiped his tears with thumb and forefinger. His chin trembled.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Lisa, Yara’s best friend. Enno had cheated on Yara with her. It had not been serious. It happened one night when Yara was on her period and had stayed home from a party. Enno and Lisa had gone without her. They had gotten drunk and had done it in the bathroom.
Enno looked over at Lisa. They just stood there in silence. He imagined all the things he would have said to Yara if she had been standing here instead of this girl. Lisa wasn’t even very pretty. Her dyed-black hair hung down in wet strands, which shimmered brightly in the pale light of the moon.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, taking a tiny step towards him.
“Get lost,” he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips.
“I love you,” she said.
And although Enno knew how inappropriate it was, he said, “I love you, too.”
Lisa wrapped her arms around him and briefly nestled her head against his ribs, but then puckered her lips and stretched her neck upward. He bent down and received her greedy kiss, disgusted by her probing tongue.
When a dry crack in the darkness broke the silence, the two of them clung together.
“Who’s there?” Lisa asked and squeezed herself tighter against Enno. The source of the noise remained hidden in the darkness.
A soft pling sounded, and Enno’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. A message. He reached in, but nearly pulled back, surprised by how hot his phone felt. Maybe it was just his cold fingers, but his phone was unusually warm.
“Enno,” Lisa said. “Let’s get out of here.” She tugged on the lapel of his coat. “Enno, I’m scared.”
The cell phone vibrated again. Enno fished it out. A yellow light was flashing, which did not bode well. So the game would go on. He took a quick look at the message.
“Fuck.” The icon gave him the creeps. His thumb hovered over it for what felt like an eternity.
“Enno, what’s the matter? Let’s get out of here, please.”
A flash of light tore the darkness. As if in a horror movie, a dark silhouette stood not far from the two of them. Enno’s neck was tingling. This was too much like that night on the bridge. All that was missing was the roll of thunder and the bloodcurdling scream of a dying girl. Then a thunderclap rocked the night. Thick raindrops pelted the earth, so all that was missing now was the scream.
“Oh, God!” Lisa said. A crow croaked and rose into the air.
Enno flinched again. Unintentionally his thumb touched the icon on his phone. A fairy appeared, which turned into a monster in a flash. The creature laughed and opened its mouth. In its slimy throat lay a key. Enno tapped it. The wet screen lit up and illuminated their faces.
You will receive your next assignment tomorrow.
Here are your instructions.
He scrolled on.
You will find out the exact time for your test later.
Enno closed his eyes. Two bracelets dangled from his wrist. He would get the third one tomorrow, if he passed the test with good luck, like Peer.
“Are you playing the game too?” Lisa asked. She looked up at him with admiration. The reverence in her voice was clearly audible.
“Leave me alone,” Enno said. He broke free from her and stomped along the poorly lit path to the entrance. He would have to climb over the gate again.
“Enno! Wait!” Lisa’s sharp fingernails clawed into his upper arm.
“Leave me alone!” he said.
“Fine. As soon as we get out of here,” she said. “You didn’t give me that good a time anyway.” A scornful grin twisted her face. “I know you’re gay!”
“Are you stupid? Then why did you screw me in the—”
“Shut up, there’s someone here.”
Enno climbed over the fence. His trousers caught on an iron point, and he fell to the ground. Lisa followed him. She was not as clumsy as he was. When she reached the bottom, she helped him up. Together they ran to Enno’s Fiat, which shone yellow under a streetlight.
“Open it!” she said, yanking on the door handle. “Come on, he’s coming!”
Enno found the narrow key slot on the third attempt. The key was difficult to maneuver into the slot. Finally, he got the damn door open. Enno threw himself into the seat, rammed the key into the ignition, and started the engine. With squealing tires he raced away, leaving Lisa in the darkness.
Chapter 9
Two days later | Berlin | Forensic Medicine Department
Marc stood in front of the dissection table and looked at the girl’s pale-blue body, which was already beginning to decompose. The child’s formerly delicate figure was now bloated and deformed. In the bright glow from the lighting, the corpse resembled a prop prepared for a film.
“How long do you plan to stare at this dead child?” asked Dr. Birkenholz. Her rough voice testified to one of her vices. She was
around sixty and headed the department of “silent patients,” which was what she jokingly called the corpses. Her spiky hair had always been dark yellow and stood in stark contrast to her pale face. Two straight wrinkles ran from her nostrils to the corners of her mouth, so that whenever she spoke, Marc was reminded of a wooden doll.
“I thought this was a suicide,” he said.
“Well it turns out the coroner’s report was superficial,” said Dr. Birkenholz. The white-tiled room repeated every word she spoke, making her voice sound hollow.
Marc cleared his throat. He was trying to appear calm, but the gloves on his hands squeezed uncomfortably and the mask on his face was irritating. “Did all the injuries come from the fall?” he asked. “Or are there fractures from an earlier date?”
Dr. Birkenholz just stared at him. “It’s only eight o’clock,” she said. “My workday begins at nine. But as always, you have special rights. So I have you to thank that my boss considered this special meeting essential. I quote, ‘If Wulf gets something between his teeth, he will not let go until he—’ ”
The loud ringing of a telephone interrupted her. Doctor Birkenholz hurried to her office. She muttered something to herself, something like, “This is the call I was waiting for.”
Marc took his chance and picked up surgical tweezers. With the rounded tips he grabbed the two ribbon bracelets and pushed them apart. Yellow and red.
Did they have any significance?
Marc crept around the table. The girl’s bare feet had deep cracks in them, possibly from the sawed-off bars of the bridge. With the same tweezers he spread her toes and took a closer look at the injuries.
Dr. Birkenholz appeared behind him. She watched Wulf without interference, at least for now.
Marc raised his head. “She was only fifteen,” he said and involuntarily thought of his nine-year-old son.
“She had herself filmed. I don’t know if it was a challenge or something else.”
Marc went back to the girl’s head.
“Can we look inside?”
The pathologist nodded and picked up a small pair of scissors.
“So,” Marc said, as Birkenholz put on her mask, “I’m being referred to behind my back as a vicious animal, is that right?”
“Far be it from me to offend you.”
Marc’s face tightened and then relaxed. “I can live with that.”
Brow furrowed in concentration, Doctor Birkenholz cut the thick threads and opened Yara’s mouth. A canine tooth was missing. The gap was padded with absorbent cotton. “The morticians made every effort to breathe as much life into the girl as possible.”
Marc tensed. He would have preferred to be beaten a thousand times over examining this corpse.
“What were you hoping to find there?” the coroner asked, pointing with her chin to the child’s feet.
“That scar on the little toe. It comes from a self-inflicted injury,” Marc said. “Yara cut herself, probably without her parents noticing. There are three more incisions on the left foot.”
Doctor Birkenholz grabbed a magnifying glass, walked to the feet, and held it in front of her right eye. “Indeed,” she said. “And you just happened to… ?”
“No, the parents found out later. I read the medical records.”
Doctor Birkenholz nodded.
Suddenly Marc lifted his nose into the air, which smelled of disinfectant, lye soap, and decomposition. Then he bent forward and pulled the mouth guard away. His nostrils flared. “You’re not wearing perfume, are you?”
“No,” the coroner said. She took off the surgical mask and sniffed her white coat. “It’s not me.”
The scent seemed like a sensory illusion. It did not belong in this place. And then Marc heard the soft clicking of high heels. That perfume. It was…
“Gabriela,” he murmured. Like a bad premonition, his superior, now in a bright red pantsuit, appeared in front of the glass door. She was not alone. A young woman accompanied her. Is that supposed to be my new partner? Marc thought. He placed the tweezers in the kidney dish and hurried toward them.
As soon as the door opened, he was the first to speak. “She’s hardly older than that child on the slab.”
The young policewoman’s cheeks reddened. She was short and petite. Her face was finely cut and framed by dark brown hair that brushed her narrow shoulders. She was wearing a white blouse and a gray blazer, and a skirt that was a little darker than the top.
“Her name is Tine Stolz,” Gabriela said. “And yes, she is your new partner effective immediately.”
“Good afternoon,” said Tine and extended her hand to him.
Marc chewed on the inside of his left cheek. “Does the term vivisection mean anything to you?”
“Of course,” Tine said. “An operation on a living animal, usually performed for research purposes.”
“That is exactly what I’m going through. They are mentally cutting me into pieces.” Marc focused on his boss, who grinned. “What am I supposed to do with a kid this inexperienced?”
Gabriela arched her brow. “Dogs that bark do not bite, and old dogs only want to impress with their barking.”
“Okay, then please come with me, Tina.”
“Tine,” Gabriela corrected.
“Tine,” he echoed and turned sideways so his new partner could look at the dead child unhindered. Tine hesitated only briefly, then walked toward the brightly lit body and stopped right in front of it.
Gabriela gave him a brief smile of triumph. “Is it really true that the oh-so-strict chief inspector is living with his mama again?” she whispered as she passed by.
Marc growled and walked after his boss.
“Was it suicide then?” Gabriela asked, holding a perfumed handkerchief in front of her nose.
“We can’t say that with certainty until we’ve examined the crime scene,” Marc said. He tugged at his left glove.
“How far along are you?”
“Those bracelets worry me, and the missing tooth,” Marc said.
“Can you be more specific?” Gabriela asked, looking up at Wulf and Doctor Birkenholz.
“Inspector Wulf is right in his assumption,” the coroner said. “At least as far as the tooth is concerned. The corpse was not autopsied carefully enough, because my colleagues assumed an accident. The tooth was not knocked out during the fall or professionally extracted. The gums show traces that indicated she pulled it herself with combination pliers or a similar tool. The poor child had to attempt it several times.”
“The bracelets are a status symbol,” Tine said.
“Excuse me?” both Marc and Gabriela asked, as if from the same mouth.
“Yes,” Tine said. “They’re numbered.”
“Aren’t those letters?” Marc pointed to the metal clips used to fix the ribbons around the narrow wrist.
“In my opinion, these are Cyrillic numbers, namely one and two.”
“Don’t the Russians have the same numbers as the rest of the world?”
“Yes,” Tine said. “So do the Italians, but the ancient Romans had their own.”
“And this leads you to believe that these signs have some symbolic meaning?”
“It’s just a hunch.”
“A pretty good one, too,” Marc said.
Gabriela’s brows lifted in surprise at Marc’s praise of Tine. He shrugged it off.
“Come,” he said. “We’ll hopefully get the final autopsy report tomorrow.” He left the room without turning around. Almost silently, the glass door slid aside. Marc stepped into the wide hallway, and Tine followed him in silence. The fluorescent lights came on one after the other with a flicker and soft popping sounds.
“And don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “You just got a lucky shot, that’s all.”
Tine said nothing as they walked to the exit.
“Don’t you agree that the human mind is something wonderfully mysterious?” Marc asked. He pushed
the massive door open with his shoulder and let the young woman go first. “Sometimes we think we’ve done something truly wonderful,” he continued. “Huge amounts of dopamine are released and our bliss knows no bounds. Until, with sober realization, we realize that this feeling was fake. Deep down we know that we’ve only landed a lucky shot. I praised you in front of our boss so she would finally get off my back. Actually, I’m a very direct man, and a misogynist.”
“Just because you’re divorced, you have no right to hate all women,” Tine said. “But that does not make you a misogynist. You’re hurt and you feel abandoned, that’s all.”
“Are you always this glib?”
“I guess I shouldn’t have practiced that before.”
“And I see that our boss has already told you all about my private life,” Marc said.
“I didn’t want to start my first day at work unprepared. And my colleagues were not really keen on saying anything nice about you.” Tine’s bold smile made her even more attractive, but Marc remained serious.
“Come, let’s go talk to Yara’s parents. We’ll take my car. Do you even have a license?”
“Why?” Tine said. “Don’t you have yours anymore?”
“Enough.”
Marc stomped to his red Audi 80.
“We can take my Passat,” Tine said. “It might belong to my father, but it doesn’t have to be pushed.”
Marc looked at her across the roof. “Very funny. Get in, or you’ll have to walk.” He tore open the door and threw himself into the driver’s seat.
Tine shook the door handle in vain.
Marc bent over the passenger seat and pulled up on the lock. Tine sat down and put on her seatbelt.
“You don’t have to buckle up with me,” Marc said.
Tine buckled in anyway. “I don’t like my head smashing against the dashboard,” she said. “It gives me a migraine.”
A crooked smile appeared on Marc’s lips. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea that you and I work together after all.” On the second try, the engine roared to life. The car started moving and threw up small stones at Gabriela Meierbach’s new Panamera.