Not Her

by Noah Fitz

The boy gradually seemed to calm down. He frowned and listened attentively.

  “You left no fingerprints at the crime scenes or on the net.”

  “So I’m not going to get life?”

  Marc shook his head. “You still have your whole life ahead of you. Take this chance. The children you took the life from weren’t so lucky.” Marc nodded to the guards. “Mr. Holm may leave. His parents are waiting for him on the third floor.”

  “M-my parents?” stuttered Peer. “Together?”

  “Yes.”

  Peer was suddenly in a terrible hurry and ran into the hallway without saying goodbye. His lawyer trotted along silently.

  “Are we really done?” Tine looked at Marc hopefully.

  “I promised my mom I’d be home tonight,” he said. “You’d best start with all the paperwork right away… and be there at eight o’clock. Do you still have the address?”

  Tine got up. “What will happen to Peer Holm now?”

  “What I said. He’s only fifteen.”

  “And Mr. Kräuser?”

  “He’ll probably get off with a slap on the wrist. But that is not within my power. The judge must decide that.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  “I promised my son I would go to the swimming pool with him. My promises must be kept.”

  “And who’s going to clean all this up?” Tine looked at all the instruments and tools Peer had used in his deeds. She frowned. “How did he actually sabotage the bridge? Without any electricity at all?”

  “With the cordless angle grinder we found in the workshop. He bought it himself. I found the invoice in his trash can. The paper strip from the envelope we recovered from Enno’s room was in it too.”

  “So he did leave traces.”

  “Traces, yes, but no prints. And please be punctual.” With that, Marc waved goodbye and left Tine alone with the mess.

  Chapter 44

  Eichwalde

  Tine timidly pressed the bell and heard the melodic ringing behind the door.

  “Marc?” she heard someone say from inside. “I think your lady friend is here.”

  In the hallway, Tine’s blood shot up into her face. What did that idiot tell his mother? she thought. She whirled around and was about to flee when she heard Marc’s voice. “How many more times, Mother? She’s my student! She’s hardly older than Luck.”

  “How old is she? Twelve?” his mother exclaimed. Something rattled loudly. “Now my ladle has fallen off!”

  “Oh, man!” The door was ripped open. “Oops! Where are you going?” Marc stood in the doorway. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with creases and an apron. “I’m helping my mother with the cooking. Come on in.” He smiled broadly.

  Tine looked at him in disbelief. She was speechless.

  “I had to wear this. The sauce stains while cooking.” Marc stroked the apron with obvious embarrassment. “And the shirt, too. Because Mom ironed it specially,” he added quietly.

  “Don’t leave the girl out in the cold and come inside.” His mother’s voice drifted closer.

  Marc turned, stepped aside, and waved Tine in with an inviting gesture. “Make yourself at home.” He took off her coat, hung it up, and pointed to the left. “There’s the room where we’ll have dinner. You can take a seat at the table. You’ve already met my son, Luck.” Talking quieter, he added, “He’s a good boy most of the time.”

  Tine smiled sheepishly. “I’d like to wash my hands first.”

  Marc nodded.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Mother?” he shouted. “Are you expecting visitors?” To Tine, he said, “It’s right over there,” and he pointed into the hallway.

  “Hello!” The mistress of the house greeted Tine with a skeptical look. “Your pupil is nice, but you’re right, too young, and too intelligent for a dolt like you. Anyway, no, I’m not expecting anyone. Didn’t you notice while setting the table that I only put out dishes for four? You can still count to four, can’t you?” She rubbed her calloused hands dry on a towel and waddled to the door.

  After a second she came back. “It’s for you. A fat woman who says she’s your boss. She brought another woman with two children with her—I hope for your sake that they’re not yours.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “Be right there.” Marc looked at Tine apologetically.

  She stopped in the narrow hallway and took an interested look at the unexpected visitors as Marc greeted them at the door.

  “You shouldn’t have,” he said, accepting a bouquet of flowers.

  Is this his birthday? Tine thought, suddenly embarrassed.

  “Thank you,” Marc said. “It was really very nice to meet you. Would you like to come in?” His voice had a tone to it that Tine had never heard before. He seemed touched. The door closed again.

  “Is it your birthday?” she asked.

  “No.” He looked at her with a startled look. His face brightened as he interpreted Tine’s gaze. “No, I got these flowers because I stuck a knitting needle into a man’s leg and almost lost my job because of it.”

  “You saved the lives of two girls with that. So they were not rumors.” Tine smiled gently. “You’re a hero.”

  “A fool whose heart is in the right place,” his mother lovingly blasphemed. “But now we want to eat. Oh! Are those for me?”

  “Yes, Mother. I hope you like pink roses.”

  Mrs. Wulf beamed. She accepted the bouquet and pressed her nose into the flowers. “They may not smell, but they’re beautiful. Oh, even with a card. How nice!”

  Marc bit his lip and wanted to reach for it, but his mother beat him to it. “I can’t read it… Wait, I’ll get my glasses.”

  “I can read it to you,” Tine offered with a smile.

  Mrs. Wulf handed her the card.

  Mark tugged uncomfortably at his shirt collar.

  “For the best mother ever,” Tine read aloud.

  ***

  Marc’s mother secretly wiped a tear from her eye, then shuffled into the kitchen to get a vase.

  “I believe this is mine.” Marc took the card out of Tine’s hand and scratched his head, embarrassed, as he skimmed over the lines: “Thank you. You not only saved the lives of my children, but also mine. My husband and I are forever in your debt.”

  “Whoever doesn’t come to the table now will get canned fish!” his mother said.

  “She really means it. You wouldn’t believe how many mackerel I’ve eaten.”

  He and Tine laughed and hurried into the living room. “You can wash your hands later,” said Marc, pulling out one of the chairs and offering Tine the seat next to his son. “This way you have a safe distance from my mom.”

  “What’s so funny?” his mother said. “You better help me fix the roast.”

  “Already here, Mother. And you, Luck, can tell Tine how great you are at jumping off the five-meter tower.”

  Luck’s eyes lit up. “My daddy taught me that.”

  Tine? Not Pride? she wondered. She suppressed a smile and listened to the enthusiastic boy, who showed off his daring jump.