by B C Schiller
‘But you found the rucksack. It’s clear evidence that my client wasn’t lying to me.’
‘The rucksack did indeed belong to Lisa Manz.’
‘Well then, I was right about that. Maybe Lisa is alive, and it was another girl who was murdered.’ Olivia was getting upset.
‘What do you mean?’ Reiter said, trying to calm her. ‘Lisa Manz was murdered five years ago. Her body was identified beyond all doubt. All of this was clearly proved.’
‘But Jonathan saw a person who could be Lisa in some dark house and took a photo of her,’ Olivia said, trying to keep the frustration from her voice.
‘So you claim, but we haven’t found any mobile.’
‘What direction are your investigations taking now?’ Olivia knew she sounded impatient. Once she was upset, she found it difficult to control her emotions.
‘Frau Doctor Hofmann,’ Reiter said, his tone formal and cool. ‘Keep out of things that are not your business and leave us to do our job in peace. I’m not allowed to give you any more details about the case. Only what you know already from your own inquiries. When Lisa Manz was murdered five years ago, no perpetrator could be identified.’
‘I know. Another cold case.’
‘That’s what they call them on TV. We call it Investigation Level Three.’
‘Low priority, I assume.’
‘Exactly. I did check the files, of course. There were several persons under suspicion at the time, and they were all interviewed. Jonathan Stade was one of them.’
‘Jonathan was among the suspects?’ Olivia was speechless. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘There was no evidence against him – then.’
‘What do you mean?’ Olivia had no idea where this conversation was going.
‘In the next few days we expect to close the Lisa Manz case. We think we’ve found the murderer.’
Only now the penny dropped. ‘You think Jonathan Stade murdered Lisa?’
‘I’m not allowed to say any more,’ Reiter said.
‘Please! He was one of my patients. I was there when he died.’
‘Sorry, not possible. You must understand my position. Look on the bright side – after five years we may finally have found the murderer.’
‘Even though Jonathan’s dead and can’t defend himself?’ Olivia asked in desperation.
‘Yes, even though he’s dead,’ Reiter repeated. ‘In short, Frau Doctor Hofmann, the case will be closed very soon.’
‘So a cold case is turning into a closed case,’ Olivia retorted sarcastically and ended the conversation. She knew she’d never be able to accept this. She also knew she had only one chance of clearing this up: the ex-policeman Levi Kant. She had to convince him that Lisa Manz’s murderer was still free.
Only now did she remember the pendant Jonathan had given her to look after. Should she have told the police about it? Yes, certainly, but it would only have strengthened the inspector’s belief that Jonathan was the murderer.
She turned back to her laptop and checked her emails. Aside from the usual newsletters and medical info there was an email from an unknown sender. No text, just an attachment. Olivia hesitated a moment before clicking on the file. A blurred photo appeared – the one Jonathan had claimed to be of Lisa.
9
Levi Kant was waiting at a street corner near the police headquarters, away from surveillance cameras. ‘Have you got the photos?’ he asked the blonde woman who walked up to him.
‘Here, on the memory stick.’ Katharina pulled the stick from her pocket. ‘There are some photos of the red rucksack with the initials LM and shots of the dead Jonathan Stade from forensics.’
‘Any evidence of external influence?’
‘No, nothing, although we did find considerable traces of psychotropic drugs in his body. By the way, it wasn’t easy to get this for you.’
‘You’re a star!’ Levi gave Katharina a kiss on the cheek.
‘You owe me one, Levi.’
‘Maybe we can go out for dinner some time?’ Levi looked at Katharina in anticipation.
‘No, let’s leave that – you’re taken already. But hey, that witness made quite an impact on you, didn’t she?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, she’s exactly your type,’ Katharina said with a smirk.
‘But I’m happily married.’
‘I’m not so sure . . . Anyway, I need to get back.’ Katharina gave Levi a pat on the shoulder. ‘You look after yourself!’
‘Well, you know, people like me have nine lives.’
Was that true? Levi had nearly died. He’d lost an enormous amount of blood and his heart had stopped. He didn’t want to think about it any more. Ever since the shooting, he’d felt like a caged animal, like the living dead. He gave his lectures at the academy, worked regular hours and abstained from high-impact exercise, but he missed the rush of adrenalin he used to get when he came across a decent lead, or when he’d worked day and night with his team on a case. That had stopped abruptly, from one minute to the next. And now, Lisa Manz’s rucksack had catapulted him back into that life. He had a goal again.
He went to the narrow road where he’d parked his Saab. The convertible purred along the streets of Vienna, attracting envious looks from other drivers, but Levi didn’t notice – he was too busy contemplating his next move.
Soon he had left the city centre behind and was driving along the Höhenstrasse. Massive entrance gates on either side shielded mansions surrounded by enormous gardens. Levi stopped the car in front of an ornate wrought-iron gate and got out. A surveillance camera on the wall next to the gate followed his every move.
‘Inspector Levi Kant,’ he said in response to a distorted voice from the loudspeaker.
‘On what matter?’
‘I have new information about Lisa.’
Immediately the gate swung open, and Levi drove his car up a broad gravel driveway. The mansion reminded him of an oversized country residence. Beneath the wooden shingles of the steeply pitched roof hung the skull of a stag, complete with antlers. A balcony with an intricately carved railing ran the entire length of the first floor, while a curved set of steps led up to the entrance on the ground floor. Levi was expected.
‘There’s new information after five years of silence? I find that hard to believe.’
Levi knew this woman well – Theresa Manz, née von Stollwerk, Lisa’s mother. Her ethereal, elfin beauty had scarcely changed over the past five years, although when she came down the steps to greet Levi, he noticed that she was swaying slightly.
‘My daughter’s death has done some damage to my career, but you’re well aware of that,’ she said regretfully.
What career? Levi thought. How awful it must have been for Lisa to live with a mother who seemed devoid of all emotion. She’d not called him once at the police headquarters to ask for information or progress on her daughter’s case.
‘I’ve brought a few photos I’d like you to have a look at,’ Levi said, opening his folder.
‘Ah, only photos?’ Theresa dismissed it with a disappointed look. ‘I thought you were bringing me the head of Lisa’s murderer.’
‘He could be in one of the photos,’ Levi said.
‘Come in,’ Theresa said, taking Levi’s arm. ‘What happened to your leg?’ she continued as he awkwardly climbed the steps.
‘I overdid the jogging a little,’ he said.
The entrance hall hadn’t changed at all during the past five years. The stuffed polar bears and lions still guarded the place; on the walls, stuffed eagles with spread wings kept a watchful eye on their prey.
‘Pretty scary,’ Theresa said, noticing Levi glancing at the animals. ‘I’d rather put the whole lot on a bonfire, but for Richard these are all symbols of his masculinity.’
‘Isn’t it your old family home?’ Levi asked. He knew from the files that it was Theresa who had the money in this family.
‘Yes, but if I throw out all this rubbish, it would be l
ike castrating my husband.’ Theresa laughed out loud. ‘Let’s go to the drawing room,’ she said.
‘And now show me the photos,’ she ordered, sitting down on a huge sofa with a theatrical flourish. ‘Would you join me in a drink?’ she asked. ‘Ah no, you’re on duty.’ She answered her own question.
‘Is that Lisa’s rucksack?’ Levi asked, showing Theresa the first photo.
‘Yes.’ Theresa nodded, waving her hands excitedly. ‘I recognise that thing. Lisa got it from one of those dreadful vintage shops you find everywhere these days. I hated that scruffy thing.’
‘It is Lisa’s rucksack then. You recognise it. Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. It also has her initials, LM. I remember so clearly when she turned up with it. I was preparing for my role as Medea when she came bursting into the room and completely ruined all my concentration. Out of the window. She was such a demanding girl.’
‘I think she was rather a lonely girl,’ Levi said. He couldn’t help himself.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Levi quickly moved on, pulled out the picture of Jonathan Stade’s body from his folder and put it on the table.
‘Oh my God!’ Theresa placed a hand in front of her mouth in faux horror. ‘Who is that? Is the man dead?’
‘We found Lisa’s rucksack in this man’s flat,’ Levi informed her. ‘Is he familiar to you?’
‘No. Was he Lisa’s friend?’ Theresa asked in disgust. ‘If he was, he was a bad choice.’
‘No, the man was not Lisa’s friend.’
‘Is he her murderer?’ Theresa fiddled with her jewellery nervously.
‘It looks like it,’ Levi answered. ‘All the evidence points in his direction.’
Disappointed but not quite sure why, Levi collected the photos and put them back in the folder. What had he expected? That Theresa would look at Jonathan’s photo and shriek, ‘Yes, he was our gardener!’
‘What’s going on here?’ A tall man with bushy eyebrows appeared in the doorway. His hair was thinner than five years ago, but the moustache was still neatly trimmed. Wearing short lederhosen and the traditional linen waistcoat, he perfectly matched the country-house style of his mansion. Without acknowledging Levi, he approached Theresa and stopped, his stance deliberately intimidating. ‘What have you told him? None of your usual nonsense, I hope,’ he hissed.
You haven’t changed a single bit, Richard Manz, Levi thought. You still want to control everything. Back then you were also constantly meddling with the investigation, calling up all your medical friends when you didn’t like how something was going.
‘Herr Kant, what are you doing here?’ Only now did he turn towards Levi, looking him up and down with open contempt.
‘I just wanted to share our latest findings about the case with your wife,’ Levi answered calmly.
‘And in what capacity are you here, pray?’ Richard Manz stuck out his chin, his hands buried in the pockets of his lederhosen. He was even carrying a short ornate knife with a staghorn handle in its special side pocket. Dressed in his Tyrolean costume, nothing but perfection would do.
‘Not in an official capacity,’ Levi replied honestly. ‘But since I led the investigation at the time, I considered it my duty . . .’
‘There was no need for it, Kant,’ Manz interrupted him. ‘I have the latest information. What’s that?’ he asked, pointing to the folder with the photos, still lying on the table.
‘I asked your wife whether she knew the man in question,’ Levi answered, taking the picture of Jonathan Stade out of the folder and handing it to the other man.
‘So this is the man who murdered our daughter?’ Manz said, squinting at the picture before dropping it as though it were poisoned. Slowly it sailed to the floor. ‘What do the other photos show?’ he asked, clicking his fingers impatiently.
‘Lisa’s rucksack,’ Levi said.
‘And . . . what about it?’
‘I just wanted to ascertain whether this rucksack did indeed belong to your daughter.’
‘But they all look the same,’ Manz said, shrugging his shoulders.
‘No, this ugly thing definitely belonged to our daughter,’ Theresa chimed in.
‘Well, she had your bad taste. You only ever deal with superficial things – another reason why your brain is so empty.’
‘At least I don’t have to kill defenceless animals to prove my masculinity,’ Theresa hissed before getting up and going over to the bar in the corner.
‘Stop bloody drinking!’ Manz said.
‘You can’t boss me around any longer. All that is over and done with now.’
‘You’ll get the rucksack back once the case is closed,’ Levi told them, heading for the door. He had no intention of watching them row.
‘What did you say?’ Manz appeared to have forgotten Levi was there.
‘I said that you’ll get the rucksack back,’ Levi repeated.
‘Burn it! I never want to see it again,’ Manz said.
‘But it’s Lisa’s rucksack!’ Theresa propped herself on the sideboard. ‘I want it here, with me.’
‘I repeat: burn the rucksack, just like Lisa was burned.’
10
LISA’S DIARY
I’m terrified of horses, but I absolutely must not show it. I shake every time Mama takes me to the stables. Mama sits there with her friends, drinking tea to calm her nerves, while I stand in front of my horse as it paws the ground nervously. The trainer talks reassuringly to the animal and only then turns to me.
‘Get up now, Lisa. This horse is very calm. You don’t want to disappoint your father, do you?’
I sit on the horse and hold my breath. I only have to do a few circuits around the paddock then it’ll all be over. If I fail again, the riding instructor will talk to Papa, I’m sure about that. I need to pull myself together.
‘You’re making the horse very nervous,’ the teacher tells me. He’s irritated and pulls at the long rein. The horse leaps forward and I can’t keep my balance, so I slide forward and grab its mane. My feet lose their hold in the stirrups and I fall heavily to the ground.
‘You’re so clumsy. Can’t you do anything right?’ The riding teacher rolls his eyes. ‘We’ll just have to practise more. Your father won’t be happy that you’ve not learned anything yet.’
‘Don’t tell him,’ I beg the instructor. ‘Papa pays for the lessons and never asks whether I’m making progress. It’s part of my therapy.’
‘But it’s my duty to inform him. Your father wants me to report to him.’
‘But then I’ll have to go back to the clinic,’ I say, my voice cracking. I shake the dust off my boots.
‘You should have thought of that before, Lisa.’ His face hardens. ‘You have no grit, and your anxiety makes the animals nervous.’
He doesn’t know I hate horses.
‘Why don’t you simply tell my mother that I have no talent for riding?’ I try again. ‘She’s just over there.’
‘That’s enough. I’ll tell your father you have no interest whatsoever in learning to ride – you simply refuse to learn. And then you will have to face the consequences.’
My riding whip is lying in the sand where I dropped it when I came off the horse. I pick it up and walk towards him. He’s stroking the horse’s nose and talking to it quietly. He can calm down horses, but not me.
‘Please don’t tell my father,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so afraid of him.’
‘I have to take the horse back to the stable.’ The trainer turns his back on me and walks off. I follow him, my head hanging down. From the bar I can hear Mama’s loud laughter. As usual she’s telling everyone about her career in the theatre. I hear glasses clinking. They’re drinking a toast to her past successes.
‘You’re drinking yourself stupid,’ Papa once said to her, before slamming the door shut on her and coming up to my room.
‘What do I have to do to stop you telling Papa?’ I step behind the riding teacher and
begin unbuttoning my shirt.
‘Stop that!’ he growls. ‘You’re making things worse.’ He takes his phone from his pocket. ‘You can listen while I talk to your father.’
He turns around and starts dialling the number. I’m still holding the whip and, taking a deep breath, I swipe the phone out of his grasp.
‘Are you insane?’ He steps towards me, raising his hand. ‘Enough is enough!’
Before he can say anything else, I strike him across the face with the whip. His skin bursts open and blood spurts out. He begins to yell. A stable hand comes running; he wrenches the whip from my hand. More and more people rush into the stable. The trainer holds his hands up in front of his bleeding face.
‘I didn’t mean to do it. It was the whip that did it,’ I stammer. I lower my head and stare at the ground. No one must see my tears. ‘It just happened.’
But nobody listens. They all surround the trainer. They pat his shoulder in sympathy and tend to his wounds.
‘What has my naughty girl done this time?’ My mother appears. Her eyes are as cold as her heart. ‘I was just talking about my last big role and you interrupted it,’ she accuses me angrily. ‘You always mess everything up.’
She doesn’t embrace me, but that’s no surprise. She has never taken me in her arms. And how I long to be held by her, to feel protected. Particularly now, when everyone is turning against me. I am all alone here.
Then Papa’s dark motor glides through the gates. It stops in front of the stables. Silently the window glides down.
‘Get in,’ he says quietly.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the clinic.’
11
It was a mild evening as Olivia cycled to see her father. She was trying to focus on the traffic, but the phone call with Reiter was still troubling her. ‘The case will be closed very soon.’ It had sounded so definitive and felt like a slap in the face – everyone involved would now go back to their everyday life.
Me too, of course. Olivia only just managed to swerve away from a car whose driver had ignored the cycle lane. We’ll all just get on with our lives and forget that people like Jonathan even exist, because we like our peace and quiet. But he has rights too. He was my patient and we owe it to him to find out how he really died.