by Tanja Pleva
The price had been so low that at first she had thought the estate agent had made a joke. But when she handed him the bag full of cash, he left in his Volkswagen without counting it.
So there she stood, watching the great wall painting of her predecessor. 'Blasius' was written underneath in Roman characters: the patron saint of doctors, appointed bishop and convicted martyr because he had called Jesus Christ his Lord, as had Saint George who stood in a corner and pointed his lance at the dragon beneath him. Obviously, the house had belonged to a very devout man. That was reassuring; yet a strange, almost oppressive power was there about it.
She passed through the first two halls and at the end opened the double door and the windows to the courtyard. Light flooded the room clearly to reveal its quirks. The walls were marked by deep cracks and the ancient wooden floor needed an overhaul.
She opened the second door, which led to four other rooms that she wanted to convert into sleeping quarters for the orphans of the town. The street children of São Paulo were supposed to get a home and a future here.
She looked on her watch. Luano Peres, the architect to whom the conversion of the house would be appointed, was again late.
Maira examined the rooms. Something confused her. And then she noticed that all the windows to the street had been bricked up. Light fell merely through the small windows on the corridor side. She shook her head. What foul idea had the previous owner implemented here? This house was like a fortress, sheltered from outside looks.
She entered the courtyard through a squeaky side door. She wanted to transform it into a garden paradise for parrots and other birds. A net would have to cover it then. Scrutinizing she looked up as she approached the old gnarled tree in the center and then tripped over something. She tumbled on her knees and grazed her palms on both hands while breaking her fall.
Maira quietly cursed and looked for the malefactor.
It was one of many square stones that the court was paved with. Now it was lying beside her. She lifted it, intending to put it back at its place, when she noticed something in the little gap. It looked like a pink earthworm.
At that moment, Luano came through the double door.
'A great house! I am absolutely hooked! I already have some ideas how to …' Luano paused in the middle of the sentence.
Maira's face was distorted. She withdrew a few steps without looking away from what there was in the ground. 'There … there…!'
She fell backwards over another stone that had also come loose.
Luano assisted by quickly catching her and sparing her thus from another fall. His eyes followed her finger, which pointed at something. Then he also saw what she had discovered there.
Three hours later, the police had uncovered half of the courtyard. Corpses of young women showed up like dead fish, which an explosion had blown up to the surface. A subterranean river had provided that: It had risen from strong rainfalls and, by its expansion, laid bare the sinister secret of the courtyard.
22.
Hamburg They had just passed the Elbtunnel when Sam received a call from Barcelona, confirming that the slip, which had been lying beside Jasmin Rewe, had also been written with A+ blood.
Did the murderer possibly write with his own blood? Or did he write with the blood of one of his victims? So far, it was not known yet which blood group the prostitute from Vienna had belonged to and whether the slip, which had been lying beside her, also showed A+.
In any case, the Barcelona lab had found other traces on the paper: traces of a plant, an orchid. Which species it was they could not tell yet, but they were investigating that.
Had the murderer intentionally left those tiny particles there? Did they maybe deal with an orchid lover? It was even possible that he bred those flowers that grew on every continent, except for Antarctica. Botanists called the orchid a most clever plant, because of its high adaptability to diversified living conditions. It grew in any ecological zone except for the desert. The orchid symbolized not only sexual desire, fertility, wealth and power, but also wittiness and cunning - qualities which the murderer could absolutely claim for himself, because up to now, he had always been several steps ahead.
'Hey, stop thinking so loudly! Let me share in that, Sam.' Juri got him out of his reverie, disrupting his mental framework that he was piling, level upon level.
'Blood group A is worldwide the most common one. Represented by 90 percent in Northern Europe and by 42 in Central Europe. Next is the blood group 0, 38 percent. Do you know where it occurs most often?'
'Humph - I quit.'
'A full 90 to 100 percent in South and Central America, but it's also found in North America. And of course in Europe.'
'You mean the murderer is Central European in any case … if he writes with his own blood at all.'
'Yes, if he does. If not, we are as wise as before. Just thinking loudly, as I was told to do.'
Juri parked the car in a parking bay for disabled just in front of the clinic, earning a disapproving look from Sam. 'So what? You are disabled without your glasses, aren't you?'
Sam punched him slightly in his side and got out.
The 4-storied building of the gynecological clinic was located on a restricted traffic street and, as far as the eye could see, there were no other parking spots available.
'I'm on tenterhooks.' Juri jumped carelessly over a pile.
Dr. Rewe, dressed in a green surgeon's coat, was standing at his office window to observe how a young woman was taken from an ambulance into the emergency room, when Sam and Juri knocked and entered.
The doctor was working eighteen hours a day to distract himself, and he looked like it. His changed appearance struck both of them immediately. He had lost at least ten pounds, his cheeks were haggard and his skin as pale as if he was dead.
'You should take a break, Dr. Rewe. Otherwise your children will soon not have much left of you either', Sam hinted.
'I know. I am a doctor myself, actually. How can I help you? Did you discover anything on my wife's computer that will offer you the solution to the case?'
Juri and Sam exchanged a glance. They silently agreed not to mention Ms. Rewe's online contact.
'We didn't. You may collect the computer from the police at anytime.'
Sam and Juri took a seat on a brown leather couch without being invited to while Dr. Rewe kept standing by the window. Gloomily he did not fail to notice that the cops obviously planned to stay for a longer time. Out of politeness he asked whether they wanted to have something to drink. And he was relieved when both of them refused.
'Tell us, Dr. Rewe, are there other doctors in your family?' asked Sam.
'There are, actually.'
'Who are they?'
'My father was a doctor as well. May I ask you why that might be of concern?'
'After the murder of your wife, there was another deed. It looked similar, yet was different.'
Dr. Rewe was surprised. Now Sam had his full attention. 'Different? In what way do you mean?'
'Did your father happen to be by chance…' Sam hesitated intentionally, also because he feared to be quite wrong. '... an orthopedist?'
Dr. Rewe looked puzzled. 'Did you research that?'
'Just guessing.'
A look at Juri revealed to Dr. Rewe that Sam was telling the truth.
'That is a joke, right? What has my father got to do with the murder of my wife? He was buried ten years ago, actually.'
'Whereas Dr. Richard Steiner died twenty years ago. He was a dermatologist and the father of Dr. Harry Steiner who was with his mistress in Paris. And while he attended a medical conference, someone peeled off her skin.'
Dr. Rewe was flabbergasted. He kept shaking his head and murmuring to himself.
'There must be some kind of link between your family and his, Dr. Rewe. Please, try to think.'
Dr. Rewe sat down behind the desk and buried his face in his hands. When he looked up again, he said slightly desperately, 'The name Steiner tel
ls me nothing at all, actually. I cannot help you, as much as I wished I could.'
'Are there any records of your father left? Any diaries, legacies, photographs, anything …'
Juri got the little leather book from his pocket which he had found in Dr. Steiner's study and gave it to Dr. Rewe who turned it back and forth in his hands.
'What is this supposed to be? There is nothing inside, look. I inherited from my father nothing but some money.'
Sam had almost given up hope when Dr. Rewe mentioned that maybe his mother might know more. But his relief did not last long, for Ms. Rewe did not live in Germany and did not have a phone, unlike other inhabitants of the earth.
'But you can access her through a little restaurant in her vicinity. Usually they will tell her, and if she happens to feel like it and is in good mood, she may even call back.'
Dr. Rewe looked in his mobile phone for the number, wrote it down on a slip and passed it to Sam. Then he took them to the exit and ran down the corridor with flowing coat.
Sam loudly exhaled as he looked closer at the phone number. 'In France? Damn!' He slashed his flat hand on the car roof.
'Nice. You aren't going to drive there, are you?'
'You heard what he said, didn't you? If she happens to be in the mood then she will call back. I'm not inclined to hinge upon on some shrew's mood again.'
'And what if she doesn't know anything, either?'
'She must know something. She was his wife!'
Sam realized that he tried to convince himself. Of course he was aware that he tried to catch on to something which did not perhaps even exist. But what other option did he have? Twiddle his thumbs and wait for the next murder, hoping that the murderer would then commit a mistake, as Germain had said? Ah, that Inspecteur Germain. Didn't he want to show him something? He claimed as well to have discovered things, like Dr. Steiner had.
Now Sam became curious. Well, he would meet l'Inspecteur again and accept his invitation to the country estate.
23.
Florence They had gone by plane from Venice to Florence. Now Leila stood just beneath Brunelleschi's 15 century dome, watching the frescoes of the torments in hell. Very impressive she thought and automatically reached for the cross on her breast. She was Catholic, very devout and believed in hell.
Where was Rafael? He had said he needed only a quick visit to the toilet. That had been quite a while ago. In general his attitude was strange today; he was quieter and pondering. Did he regret their secret marriage now?
She slowly turned on her feet and tried to locate her husband among the visitors of the cathedral. Which way had he gone? Then she saw him. He stood halfway behind a column and was talking to two other men.
Leila observed them. It did not seem as if Rafael was telling them how to find some place, although one of them held a tourist guide in his hand. On the contrary, they seemed to know each other and Rafael looked almost angry. Then he noticed her. His face turned friendly again, he left the others and came up to her.
'Hey, corazón.'
'Who were those men?'
'They asked me for a hotel here in Florence.'
'Tourists?'
'Yep.'
'And could you help them?'
'Of course.Come, let's go to this antique bookshop. I would like to buy an old Italian book of poems that I saw in their shop-window.'
Rafael took her hand and pulled her out of the cathedral.
Now he seemed to be in a better mood again. But why had he lied to her? It was quite obvious that he had known those men.
She would find out.
After all, she was working for the Fiscalía, Colombia's dreaded state police.
The Rodriguez family did not enjoy a good reputation. They were suspected to be involved in some nasty business, but nobody could prove that, because they had too much money and knew how, when, where and whom they had to bribe.
Rafael had been an easy prey. She had twisted him originally around her little finger with good sex and charm, and he had been bewitched. He still was, as she could read it in his eyes. She had not expected though, that she would also fall in love with him. She came from a poor background and what he offered her was more than she might ever have expected.
She was still on guard though, because she knew what had happened to his other three wives. And she did not want to share their fate by any means. Despite all the love, she had decided to unravel the secret and to solve the mystery. Her interest was purely personal, because one of Rafael's wives had been her cousin.
24.
Chanteau The small witch's house in the Loire valley, right in the forest, was so well hidden that Sam and Juri had driven by its rusty iron gate several times without noticing it.
He had called the French number of Dr. Rewe's mother the evening before and asked whether she was at the moment in Chanteau. Robert Camus, the owner of the restaurant 'La Rue', had confirmed that he had met her this very morning at the market in the small village, whereupon Sam had immediately booked two flights to Paris. From there they had driven by rental car about sixty miles towards Orléans.
The idyllic peace in the forest was so unusual that Sam felt like he was on another planet. Here even the trees seemed to be breathing aloud.
'This is quite a lonely place for a single woman, don't you think?' Juri looked out of the window into all directions. 'Not only lonely, but also scary. Trees as far as your eyes can see. You cannot even see the sky above.'
'I can imagine that there are people who are so fed up with the outside world that they would just find a spot like that to withdraw from it.'
They left the car in front of the gate and entered the property.
'Whereas I can imagine that you would be one of those people, if you could, isn't that true?!'
'Maybe. I would find something by the sea, though.'
Sam knocked on the massive door. The notion of smelling the sea every day was indeed tempting.
A small graceful lady in washed-out jeans and a thick woolen jacket opened the door. 'You must be the men from the police who called Camus. He had already sent somebody over yesterday evening. He is always so caring. Then I called my son at once, to make sure that he and his children are all right.'
She drew aside and made a swinging gesture to invite them into her home. 'Take care that you do not knock your heads!' She pointed at the doorframe, which had been built for rather small-grown people.
Sam ducked and turned to Juri with a grin. 'You fit right through, Shorty. I guess it was made for hobbits just like you.'
Juri, being five foot eight, really fit through the door without a problem.
Inside was the smell of cake and cookies as if it was the Christmas season.
Sam's stomach suddenly growled.
'I am supplying the restaurant and a few cafés in the area with cake and curd cheese dishes à l'Allemand. You look hungry, would you like a piece?' She pointed at a cake with a creamy filling. 'And a coffee or a tea as well?'
'May I have a cocoa, maybe?' Juri asked carefully.
'Of course. Sit down and tell me why you undertook this long journey to visit me.'
While Ms. Rewe took plates and cups from an old glass cabinet, fetched the cake and made coffee, Sam briefly told about the three murder cases and that they suspected that the Rewe and Steiner families were somehow connected. Occasionally he observed how Ms. Rewe paused shortly now and again. Something seemed to bother her.
'Do you think I am heartless because I will not attend the burial of my daughter-in-law?'
'You have good reasons not to', answered Sam.
'I did not like her, God bless her, for she was selfish, after my son's money and preferred to party with her friends instead of looking after the children.'
She put the cake and the coffee on the table and served both.
Juri watched each of her movements like a hungry snake sneaking up on its prey.
'Help yourself.' She smiled and sat down at the table. 'My two grandc
hildren come here every summer. That is always a very nice time. We gather herbs and berries.'
Sam nodded and tried the first piece of cake. 'Delicious', he praised her baking skills before the first gulp of coffee. Which was burning hot, but one question on his tongue burned even hotter. And that he did not want to postpone until he had finished the cake.
'Does the name, Steiner, tell you something?'
'Oh yes, I think it does. There is something ringing in the backyard corner of my grey cells.' She got up, fetched a box from an old wooden chest with iron hinges and placed it beside herself on the table. Then she pushed a bite of cake into her mouth and smiled at Juri's empty plate. 'If I had known that the two of you were so hungry, I would have started cooking. But I did not know precisely when you would arrive. Take some more, please.'
Watched by Sam's curious eyes, she opened the lid of the box and took a pile of photos out. They were old and yellowish, sepia or black-and-white.
'This I found when my husband died ten years ago. I wanted to throw it away at first, because it did not mean much to me. These were his memories, not mine. But then I changed my mind. Now I know why. Everything in life has a meaning.'
Lina had always said that as well, thought Sam.
He picked up the photos that she was spreading before him on the table.
'This is Dennis and his father. He was only about one month old then.'
Sam held the photo into the light. In this image, Richard Rewe's hair was thin, slightly stocky and wore horn-rimmed spectacles. He handed the photo to Juri.
'At that time he was forty six, and I was just twenty.'
Sam quickly calculated in his mind how old Ms. Rewe was now, according to that, and got exactly seventy years. Her face was smooth and youthful though, making her seem fifteen years younger than that. She wore her well-kept grey hair down to her chin. It elegantly caressed her narrow face.